Caine's Reckoning

She frowned up at him. “What are you doing?”

He turned the poncho around and put the knife back. She was cold and scared and almost out of fight, but she kept her head. A man had to admire that. She was something. “Making you a nest.” He held out his hand. “Kneel up.”

She grimaced as she did and he felt like a heel for making her move at all. He steadied her the last two feet with a hand on her ribs just under her breasts. Christ, his hand about swallowed the widest part of her bone structure. Compared to him, there really was nothing to her.

He lifted the poncho and dropped it over her head. A tug and her head popped through the opening. Her hands came up against his chest as he worked his fingers under her hair and lifted the mass free of the neck. She leaned forward as he got the last foot free and he decided he liked her like this, giving him her weight and the illusion of her trust. Someday, it would be for real.

He glanced over his shoulder, shifted them a couple of inches to the left and then with only a “hold on” to warn her, hooked an arm under her buttocks and leaned back. Her short nails scraped his chest as he caught their combined weights on his elbow, and a quick glance determined her little gasps were from fear, not pain, as he took them down the last couple feet, not stopping until he was resting supine to the ground, his head supported by the leather saddle, her weight a welcome warmth atop him. Her head rested just above his breastbone, her legs falling naturally between his.

“Better?” he asked.

The shake of her head was immediate. “No.”

He frowned. “You hurting anywhere?”

“No, but I liked it better before.”

“You were cold.”

He said that as if it mattered. Desi lifted her hips as he yanked the coat out from under her, wincing as a button scraped her inner thigh. Tracker had fetched her a dress but with only one layer of petticoats, it wasn’t much protection from anything.

Caine patted her back. “Sorry about that.”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you comfortable.”

On top of him? “You intend for me to sleep this way?”

“You got a better plan?”

“The ground was working just fine.”

She could hear his hair swish across the leather as he shook his head. “The cold would sap the life from your bones.”

“You’re on the ground.”

“I’m a lot bigger with a lot more muscle to take the cold.” His hands slid up her thighs under the coat. “You’re just a little bit of a thing.”

He was right about one thing. He was warm, very warm, and if his hands weren’t gathering up her skirts as she lay there, she might have been able to enjoy the heat radiating off him. “Why can’t you let this go?”

“Because you’re afraid of what I’m going to do, which is loco, seeing as I’d cut off my arm rather than hurt you.”

“So you intend…”

She just couldn’t put into words what he intended to do. “I intend to let you experience my touch so you can stop dreading it.”

“The others—”

“can’t see a thing, which means they won’t have any idea anything is going on over here other than sleep unless you make a fuss.”

The thought was little consolation. She pressed her face into his chest as his palms curled around her thighs with only the pantaloons to protect her modesty. He pulled and her thighs separated on either side of his thighs. She could feel his cock—hard and hotter than the rest of him—pressing up into her groin. She shifted to the side to relieve the pressure. “I don’t want this.”