He gaped at her through a drunken haze. He shook his head.
She started the truck going forward again. Her face felt hot.
“How do you know that, about me?”
“Tank told me,” she said gently. “The last time I had to go get you from a bar. He said it was tragic, not only what happened to you, but that you wanted to forget something that won you a silver star.”
“Oh.”
She drew in a long breath. “Why do you date women like that in the first place?”
“Most of the women around here are married or ugly.”
She glared at him. “Thanks, from the ugly brigade, I mean.”
“I didn’t mean you,” he said easily. He pursed his lips and studied her. “You’re not ugly, but your breasts are too small.”
The truck almost ran off the road. “Cane!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t worry about it, a lot of men like small breasts. I just like nice big ones. And a soft, sweet belly to sink against when I get inside all that delicate, wet...”
“Cane!” she exclaimed again, flushing.
“Oh, come on, you know about that,” he said, leaning his head back. “Nothing so cushy as a woman lifting to you on cool sheets, feeling you thrust into her, swelling and swelling until you burst and she cries out with the pleasure.”
“I get sex education in school!”
“Well, you get the basics, but they don’t tell you how good it feels, do they? Or that men come in different sizes and shapes. I’m well-endowed myself. Not too big, but I can...”
“Will you please stop?” she raged.
He glanced at her. “Getting aroused, are we?” He chuckled in a deep, soft, sensual tone. “You’re not really my type, kid, and you’re too young, but I could make you get off like a machine gun firing.”
She swallowed, stepping on the gas.
“But I don’t think your grandfather would ever forgive me. That’s probably why you go to college out of state, so he won’t know what you’re up to. How many lovers have you had?”
“Can’t we talk about the weather?” she asked, trying not to sound desperate. She was aroused, unbelievably aroused. He wouldn’t know it, but she was still a virgin. Despite that, the imagery was giving her real problems.
He stretched and grimaced. “Sure. It’s cold.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you like the man to get on top, or do you like to get on top? I can go deeper that way,” he said as easily as if he was discussing the weather.
She groaned.
“Real deep, in fact,” he murmured, getting drowsy. “I remember this one woman, she was small and I was afraid I’d hurt her. But she got on top and pumped me like a shotgun, screaming the whole time. We went all night long.” He grinned. “She liked to try new positions. So one time...”
“I don’t want to hear about your sexual acrobatics, Cane!” Her voice was high-pitched and desperate.
He rolled his head against the headrest so that he could see her face. “Jealous?”
“I am not jealous!”
He smiled. But the smile faded. “You’d have to get on top,” he said coldly. “I don’t have two arms to prop on anymore. I don’t even know if I could do it now. I wanted to find out. I wanted to see if I could still be a man....”
“Cane, there are men all over the world who have lost arms and legs and who can still have sex,” she pointed out, trying to restrain her embarrassment. “People find a way!”
He drew in a long breath. “I won’t have the nerve to try again,” he said in a haunted tone. “She said I was a cripple.” His eyes closed. “A cripple. She wanted a whole man....”
She pulled up at the front of the house and blew the horn. She almost jumped out when Tank came onto the front porch.
Copyright © 2012 by Diana Palmer
ISBN-13: 9781460320891
WYOMING BOLD
Copyright © 2013 by Diana Palmer
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Wyoming Bold (9781460320891) Page 27