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Excerpt:
"Ye
must learn not to shy away when I touch ye." Once again, he spoke
softly, his tone meant to seduce and conquer. Conquer. He wondered
at that, openly marveled at the sweet possibility and the enduring
promise.
Lady
Callie would not willingly surrender to anyone, least of all Colin
MacPherson. No, now that she knew most of the story, she would fight
him in her own way, subtly and artfully. She would flirt and dance
attendance upon him when they were surrounded by people she needed
to enchant, but when they were alone she would lift her chin and
dismiss him silently.
He
would never understand what motivated her.
Yet
he wanted to win this contest--this battle of wills. He needed to
have her need him, to want him and to come to him with her darkest
fears and in her loneliest hours. And he wanted her to burn for
him just as intensely as the flames rose within him.
All
the loathing he felt for her--for her father and her family remained--still...
He
picked up her hand in his and studied her long, delicate fingers.
Hands that had never seen a day's hard work. Hands that had pursued
the finer arts, stitchery perhaps. He knew so little about Callie
Whitcomb and what he now planned would weld them together for eternity.
This
could only result in heartache for both of them. And yet...
Her
face now framed by his hands, he traced her jaw line, marveled at
the softness.
"Hawke,"
she whispered his name and the sound was bittersweet.
"Nay,
do not try to figure out why we have been thrust together. Do not
try to understand what I am about to ask of ye for ye will not be
able to make sense of that which I am about to tell ye."
"I--"
she began.
"Hush."
He lowered his lips to hers, and brushed them softly with his own.
He lingered upon the lush ripeness beneath his mouth, he feathered
kisses--light kisses--where he would have liked to delve deeper
and taste all that was Lady Callie Whitcomb.
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