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408 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1985
"... your mistake was in not killing me when you had the chance.”
Feral’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, but understanding came too late. He smelled death, his own.
“I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you,” she said defensively. “There will be no marriage rights before the marriage.”
“Will you force me to fetch the preacher then just to ease my pain?”
Her belly tightened. “What pain?”
He frowned. “Don’t play with me, Sharisse. You can’t have been married and not know any more about men than that. You feel this.” He pressed her hips firmly to his, and she gasped. “You think that doesn’t hurt if I can’t do anything about it?”
“I… I…” Her face flamed red, and she tried with all her might to push away from him. “I’m sorry, I—”
“All right.” He cut her off sharply and let her go. Then he cursed himself, seeing the fear in her eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Sharisse. I know I’m rushing you, and I apologize. But you’re so damn desirable.”
“You… you’re not going for the preacher, are you?” she asked hesitantly.
Is that what had frightened her? “How the hell should I know?” His voice rose again. “Damn, you frustrate me, woman!”
He turned on his heel and left the house. Sharisse ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t go through that again. What on earth was she going to do?
Sharisse managed a smile for the Indian girl. “Yes, I’m fine, really. I was just remembering something… distasteful. So you are Billy Wolf’s wife?”
The girl nodded. She was quite exotic looking, with almond-shaped eyes in an oval face, straight black hair that fell just below her shoulders, and smooth, dark skin. She wore a faded blue skirt that just reached her bare feet and a loose long-sleeved blue shirt. Sharisse had not expected her to be quite so lovely or gentle looking, not with that heathen for a husband.
She surprised herself by having fun learning things, and she began to wish Lucas would just stay away. She wasn’t looking forward to a return of the tension his presence caused.
His hand slipped behind her neck, exerting a gentle pressure that drew her forward. “No,” she whispered. “No. Please.” She could hardly breathe.
His mouth closed over hers, hot and demanding. Fear shivered down her backbone. A knee parted her legs and pressed against her groin, and she couldn’t stop him. An ardent shock followed that reverberated through her system, and she moaned despite herself.
Did she love the fellow perhaps without knowing it? Was she only hurt by his rejection?