“You’d test any man’s gentlemanly conduct to the limit,” he said lazily. He squatted where he was, hands dangling between his knees. “In any case, I’m rather curious to see what you have hidden.”
She was mute—fuming, no doubt. “At least turn your back.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
“Give me your word.”
So she’d guessed that was the one way to make him do what she wanted. “My word on it,” he said. He scooted around until he faced the path, expecting her to take some time about trusting him. But he could hear her scramble out of the water almost the moment his back was turned. Her feet squelched over the muddy bank at a rapid pace. There was a brief pause when all he could hear was her breathing, and then she darted up beside him to snatch the clothing he’d left hanging on the bushes. Pale, bare skin flashed in the corner of his vision.
He kept his promise and let her dress in peace. When he turned, she was enveloped in his clothing, shirt cuffs dangling to her fingertips as she bent to roll up the trouser legs. That accomplished, she straightened, and the waistband of the pants fell to her hips. She grabbed at them and hung on, her ears fiery.
“You need a belt, Mac, or a good length of rope,” he commented. “But otherwise…”
Otherwise, she looked… He frowned. The only words that came to mind were frankly nonsense. Patches of damp shirt clung to her body, including a large portion of one breast and brown nipple. Her legs were invisible, but the very looseness of the trousers was strangely alluring.
“A belt would be useful,” she said, folding her body to shield her chest and simultaneously keep her trousers from puddling around her ankles. “Too bad this jungle doesn’t have a nice Banana Republic.”
“Banana—”
“Never mind. Forget I said that.”
They stared at each other. Liam felt something so powerful and unanticipated that he bowed to impulse. In a few rapid strides he closed the distance between them and pulled her hard against his body.
Her lips were unexpectedly sweet. He tested her innocence with a quick thrust of his tongue between them. She opened her mouth on a gasp, allowing him deeper access.
She had been kissed before. He was certain of it. She didn’t shriek or beat at him or pretend to swoon, any of which acts would have caused him to let her go instantly. Her astonishment was real, but it was untainted by fear or virginal disgust.
To be sure, the resistance he felt in her body was unfeigned. She was no whore used to being mauled by men. If she were acting now it was beyond his ability to recognize it.
Neither virgin nor whore. Unlike any woman he’d ever known. Astonishingly feminine in his arms, wiry and strong though she was. No fragility, no need to hold back as he embraced her.
And if she didn’t fully return his kiss, she sure as hell wasn’t hating it.
He had nearly half a minute of enjoying her astonished and unguarded compliance before she began to resist. He kept her imprisoned until he had taken full measure of her lips. By then she had gone rigid as a board in his arms, but he’d made his point and satisfied his impulse.
He released her and stepped back, grinning. “I believe you have some natural talent, Mac. Maybe you should attempt to develop it.”
She smiled at him broadly. “Maybe I should.”
And she pulled back her arm, made a fist, and planted it violently on his chin.
Chapter Seven
Enough, if something from
our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve
the future hour.
—William Wordsworth
LIAM O’SHEA WAS considerably more solid than the neighborhood bully Mac had supposedly trounced as a child. An explosion of pain shot through her knuckles, she cursed with feeling, and Liam staggered back with a few choice curses of his own.
She shook her throbbing hand and backed away.
“You little hellion!” he rasped. She had a second’s satisfaction at his disbelief before he grabbed for her, and then she was concentrating on keeping out of his reach.