It's Me, Luv

It’s Me, Luv

by

Lucia Bruels

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

© 2004 Lucia Bruels

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/19/04

ISBN: 1-4208-0264-X (sc)

ISBN: 9-7814-6851-611-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

- Books by Lucia Bruels -

PROLOGUE - taken from Pure As Sin

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE - Paris

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX - city of Quebec 1759

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - weeks earlier

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE - months later

Notes:

About the Author

- Books by Lucia Bruels -

Start at the beginning:

To Mark, my husband. You are much appreciated.

PROLOGUE - taken from Pure As Sin

Near Quebec in the Canadas - 1750

In the forest of the northern colonies, Storm Omar bent his head against the whistling sting of sleet lashing out at his face. Each tiny piece of ice stung like a needle of fire and he burrowed his chin deeper. Fur-wrapped leggings, now soaked, were beginning to freeze. He pulled the hood even closer about his face.

The trading post was near. He could smell wood-smoke when the wind shifted. He patted the large bay in encouragement. He had dismounted several hours back when the lowering icy limbs threatened to dislodge him as they passed.

Perhaps he was hallucinating. He stumbled, fell, then struggled erect. The clearing was there all right but no cabin. Charred timbers stood against the white sky. Nothing! There was nothing! The snow was several feet deep where it had drifted but small mounds broke the clearing here and there.

Ah, God! Storm knelt and scraped at the crusty snow and ice until the body appeared. The stripling son, scalp gone, grimaced up at him. Storm gasped and, still kneeling, surveyed the remaining humps. He counted six. Yes, the trapper, his brother, and four children. Or had there been five children? He shook his head.

He’d last been here two years ago. Well, for now he had to get into shelter until the storm died. Again he smelled smoke and turned in that direction. The late storm had caught him by surprise and he hadn’t slept more than two hours in the two days it had raged. There would’ve been time for rest once he’d made it to the trading post.

Through thick pines he found its source. Someone had made a lean-to using a steep hillside for one wall - no, it was hiding entrance to a cave. He could see the glow of a fire within. Speaking softly to encourage his horse he plowed through the snow, careless of his approach. He’d be dead anyway if he didn’t get out of the cold.

He stopped when he heard the sharp click of a weapon being cocked behind him.

What do you want here? The voice was unnaturally pitched deep, and quavering. Was it fear, or the cold?

Storm turned slowly to face his foe. He was in shadow but the wind was dying down and the sleet had slackened. The man was slight in stature but aimed the musket as though he knew how to use it.

I need shelter - ‘bout frozen to death. Mind if I share your fire? I have food enough for both of us. Storm waited.

The musket wavered, then motioned toward the shelter. He moved ahead of his host, leading his horse into the lee out of the cold as much as possible. He removed the saddle, throwing a blanket over the mare as he led her further into shelter. His skin prickled. The long gun still pointed at his back. He stooped, brushing the encrusted ice from his leggings, and retrieved the wicked blade he always carried there.

The figure stepped into the light, the gun still aimed at Storm, but much too close now. Storm grabbed the barrel and jerked it from the startled hands, pulling him forward. His arm about the fellow’s throat, the blade poised to use, he pulled him against his muscular chest.

A startled cry, then the young boy struggled in his arms, hitting out and kicking, ignoring the poised blade. Storm dropped the knife and used both arms to subdue the lad, throwing him full length on the packed earth beside the fire, hands over his head. It was no match.

Eyes the deep blue of an autumn sky. Eyes glittering with anger glared up at him through thick, auburn, lashes. A perfect nose, high cheekbones, wide mouth - a smile tickled his grim expression. Full lips parted, so close to his own, Storm could feel her warm breath. He laughed. Her. His host was definitely female. Even beneath all the furs he could feel her shape as she wiggled under him in an attempt to throw him off. He forced his knee between her legs and covered her mouth with his but just as quick jerked back, licking at the blood on his lip.

Do that again and I’ll bite back! She tried again to throw him aside but her writhing hips had another effect altogether. He hadn’t been near a woman in over a year, hadn’t wanted to. He was rock hard in an instant.

The garment she’d had about her had fallen open in the struggle and he could feel the soft mounds of lush breasts as his hand roamed over her. He’d released one of her wrists to remove his glove and leaned down to her again, his mouth brushing her lips. He felt dizzy. With what - lack of sleep, cold, lust? He shook his head to clear it.

An instant more and he’d have been skewered. Instinct brought his fingers downward to grasp her wrist but not before the tip of her blade drew blood. He swore, rolling with her, wrestling the knife away, his hand to his side checking the damage. Little harm done but his shirt was ripped and he was bleeding from a long slash. He glared down at her, quelling the urge to strangle her. She tried unsuccessfully to knee him in the groin but he pinned her down with his weight.

He needed sleep. It would be a shame to leave her trussed up like a trophy all night but murdered in the dark - .

A crooked grin brought his dimple back into play even beneath his beard. He’d never met a female he couldn’t seduce and she was a nice handfull. He felt her move involuntarily beneath him as his hand weighed her breast, squeezing lightly, his thumb teasing the peaked tip. She arched, her lips parted, her eyes closed. He chuckled deep in his chest and her eyes flew open. His hand stopped its caress.

Found something you like?

She tried to hit him but his body held her in place, his hand splayed over her flat stomach. Long fingers moved lower, forcing their way inside the tight laced trousers she wore. She stilled, her belly quivering where he stroked her. Her eyes widened, her full lips parted but her teeth caught at one corner.

He lowered his head, nipping at her lips, then covering them as his tongue slid between her teeth. Ah, she tasted sweet. He kissed her again and again, deepening each one, forgetting his reasons, flames of desire dancing through him.

His fingers covered the springy curls between her legs and he began a slow stroking, each longer, deeper, than the last. His hand was still encased snugly within her laced breeches, enhancing each movement within the erotic confinement, when she ceased struggling. He felt the wet heat of her arousal flood his fingers and smiled in satisfaction as he took her mouth yet again.

Her scarf and hat had long ago come undone and wisps of hair tickled his face. He stopped long enough to look into her eyes, his hand cupping her woman’s place, grinding the heel of his hand against her. They were both breathing hard and she seemed dazed. He sat up to unlace her trousers. She watched him, moving slightly as his fingers continuing to stroke her.

Her blue eyes suddenly widened, her kiss-swollen lips parted in a gasp. Not only was his touch a pleasure, more than a pleasure, but she knew him! Storm Omar, she wasn’t sure which familial name he went by, but it was he; the single dimple, the golden eyes. He hadn’t been bearded when she’d seen him last but she knew him. How many nights had she dreamed of him in her girlish fastasies? And he was here, touching her, kissing her - and it was not a dream.

She murmured something, questioning, some name, but he wasn’t listening. He kissed her instead. His mouth and tongue doing wonderful things to her. Her hand touched his cheek and he smiled down at her as he peeled the breeches from her hips. She shivered as the frigid air hit her and he moved over her, his body warm, his mouth taking hers again, and again, and again, as his fingers worked magic.

He had forgotten his purpose in her seduction. He was heavy with need of her. She was hot and tight where his finger probed her. He hadn’t meant to go so far but now his fingers fumbled with his trousers until his manhood sprange free like a rod of iron, its heat caught between them, hot, pulsing.

Her eyes widened. He kissed her again, his tongue stroking deeply. He caught her hand and brought it to his cock. Her fingers curled around him. Her tongue flicked over her lips and he thought he’d lose it before he took her.

Say you want this. Say it!

He’d never forced a woman and by all the gods he wouldn’t now. Her small hand moved on him, slid up to run a finger over the tip where the drop of his come welcomed her, tightened. He bucked once into her cupped hand and groaned, his head thrown back. He felt her withdraw and bit back another groan. She was going to kill him with torture, that’s what.

He looked down at her, so lush, lying beneath him. Her eyes so blue, her lips kiss swollen.

He repeated his demand. Say it. Say you want me. His words were softer now but just as unrelenting. He buried a finger in her wet curls. Let me - . Ah, God but he wanted her. The fragrance of her sex filled his nostrils, made him dizzy. He hadn’t slept since - when?

Her lower lip trembled, her blue eyes were wide, gazing up at him. The rose lips pouted, formed the word, No. A slight shake of her head; then again, No.

Storm stared down at her full lips, such a kissable mouth. No? Just no? Suddenly it was too much. The near pain of his erection, his wildly throbbing heart, the lack of sleep or rest - it was too much. And she was saying ‘no’, just like that. Trusting him not to drive his shaft so deep, so deep, -. Ah, God, but he was so weary.

His hand shook as he removed it from her cunt. He lowered his head between her breasts, nuzzled against her neck, as he collapsed onto her. His body shook with laughter. Hadn’t he always wanted a woman to say him nay? But dear Lord, why now?

Astonished at his reaction to her simple rejection, she savored the feel of him atop her. He was heavy but she felt his body gradually relax as the laughter quieted then stopped. She waited. She would not have the will to refuse him again. She’d never wanted anything so much in her life. She shifted slightly beneath him. He didn’t move other than his mouth, moist against her throat.

By all that was holy! He was asleep! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her entire body ached for his touch and he lay limp atop her. She snuggled deeper into the fur of their coats, pulling them together so that they were both covered. She turned her head to nibble at his ear. She thought his mouth curved into a small smile but he lay as one dead.

Damn the man. It wasn’t as if she had wanted to be ravished but it was not very flattering for him to fall asleep. Angry tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. He had forced her to want him and now this - this - weight. He was heavy! She tried to roll him away but it was no use although his arm wrapped about her when she shoved at him. She closed her eyes.

He awoke with a startled jerk and struggled from between her soft thighs, feeling foolish. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was.

She didn’t know how long they lay there, his hard body still spreading her legs. She felt a light brush against her cheek and opened her eyes. Had she also slept? He was hovering over her, observing her with a serious expression, his fingers poised to brush her hair away from her face.

His shaft was hard against her again. She gulped. Would he finish what he’d started?

The cold air tightened her nipples to pointed nubs when he rolled from her and stood up. He leaned down and pulled her blouse into place. His eyes dropped lower and it seemed that flame stroked her there.

Embarrassed now and angry that she’d wanted him to truly make love to her she turned aside and relaced her breeches.

Neither of them spoke. It was still dark and the fire was mere embers. His back to her, he threw more branches on it and watched as the sparks rose in a sputter. At last he turned to face her again.

Things were a bit out of hand earlier. My apologies. I suggest we get some sleep. I’ll be leaving here in the morning. Storm was trying to control the lust that threatened to devour him. He gazed into the blue, blue, eyes - like deep pools in his native Italy - pure, peaceful. He shook his head to clear it. They weren’t peaceful. They shot sparks of anger in his direction.

Just like that? You’re sorry? You come close to raping me and you simply apologize? He’d said ‘I’. Was he not taking her with him? How could he not?

Her father’s words came back in a rush. ‘A female is only worth keeping if she pleases a man. Your mother was good at that, at least.’ Papa had always been annoyed that she’d refused to marry any of the men in the backwoods. They wed young of necessity out here. Her mother’s pleading had allowed her to go to her aunt in Paris to escape - until her mother’s death not eight months ago. Tears stung her eyelids and she blinked them away. Were they all like her father? Is that all they wanted?

She bit her lip. She didn’t know why she was so angry. Maybe she was like her mother. And what good was innocence if she died out here? She gazed into the whiskey colored eyes glaring at her. Just the thought of his hands on her made her warm all over. It was the first time she’d ever felt desire and she’d denied him, even so. Now he didn’t want her and he was standing there - so handsome and male. He was ignoring her and she wanted him to kiss her again and, and, oh, but she was suddenly furious! She reached for the musket not knowing what she was planning to do with it.

Damn it, woman! Storm was on her in a moment, jerking the weapon from her hands and bringing her hard against him. His body reacted to her as though drugged. What was it about her?

What is it you want? His tone was harsh. He knew what he wanted and she was treading on thin ice.

He swallowed hard. A man could drown in the deep blue of those eyes. Even in the firelight they beckoned. The wind was dying down but an occasional shift in direction and it curled its way into their meager shelter. Her long hair had come undone and the red-gold strands flickered about to caress him, teasing him with fire.

He bent his head to her and in his golden eyes was the reflection of his lost dreams if only she’d seen. He took in the vision in his arms. The perfect female, sensuous but chaste. She was young yet but she would grow to her beauty. Of a sudden he wanted her, more than lust, all of her, to keep, to cherish perhaps. Why not?

He kissed her gently and she clung to him, her anger dissipated. She was gazing into his eyes, her cheeks flushed with color. She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him back, murmering against his lips. I knew you’d come back someday. I so wanted you to. He had been her dream for years. Her anger forgotten, her fingers tangled into his hair. She kissed him yet again, her mouth soft, open. Her tongue slipped within, tangling with his. I just didn’t recognize you at first.

Storm allowed her mouth’s seduction, half shocked by her expertise, sucking on her tongue. Her words meant nothing to him but her knowing mouth on his melted any resolve to treat her gently.

He answered her with the fire she had stoked, his hands roaming within her jacket. He cupped her round bottom, lifting her so that her hips cradled his erection. She gasped and pushed at his shoulders but he felt her arousal, her nipples tight points against his chest, her wildly beating pulse. He rocked against her as he lowered her to the earth when they’d lain earlier. She went willingly enough and he was almost disppointed. Somehow he felt more than pure lust for the girl and he didn’t like it. It would betray him. It always did.

Do I know you? His voice was harsh, a growl, his mind on other things. He focused on a wisp of a curl that circled her throat. He itched to feel it in his fingers but did not wish to release his hold on her bottom. He rocked against her, feeling her excitement growing. His thoughts were confused. He wanted her but somewhere inside he still wanted her to resist him.

He held her closer, one hand now roaming over her while the other locked her to him. His mouth continued to kiss her in every way possible. Thinking to stifle the warm feeling she engendered, to prove she was no more than a warm body to him, he began to unlace her breeches. He lifted his head. She would stop him now - but she didn’t. She arched into his touch, her fingers cupped the nape of his neck, and her mouth found his, his lower lip sucked into her heat.

Impatient, Storm jerked her blouse open, peeling it away from her shoulders. He stopped long enough to palm her breast and felt it swell to fill his hand. She twisted under him, as heated with wanting as any wanton. Or was she fighting him? He no longer knew. He became fascinated with her long, slender legs. He wanted those legs around him while he ploughed deep. Her words swirled in his head. No, he didn’t know her but she trusted him. She shouldn’t.

He barely hesitated. She’d said ‘no’ yet she invited him to touch her, to take her. Her cunt where he touched her was hot and wet, swollen with need. She was a contradiction of innocence and seduction. He should be ashamed, yet he wasn’t. He pushed away the flicker of guilt. His mission would be accomplished. She wouldn’t try to kill him now, at least not tonight.

His face must have displayed his thoughts. She pushed his hand away, staring at him in disbelief. Somehow she managed to scramble to her feet, losing her fur-lined jacket where his elbows held it in place. The open blouse barely clung about her shoulders. Free, her breasts rose and fell with each breath, so beautiful in the firelight, perfect globes tipped in pink.

He laughed, a growl deep in his chest. He answered her at last. It seems an introduction is needed then, Sweet. I never saw you before in my life.

He rose and moved to hold them together again, reaching for the blouse about her shoulders. But whoever you are, I’m willing to get to know you better. It was too late. He wouldn’t do without her now.

He gave her a crooked grin, brushing her lower lip with a rough thumb. Unblievable, but he wanted her with or without her assent. Somehow she was meant for him. He shifted his hardening shaft and felt her tremble against him. They were freezing out here and all his cock could think of was her hot cunt?

She frowned and tried to shove him away but it was useless. He took her to the ground with him again, close to the fire, onto the dark fur of her coat. It was too hot against his side but he wouldn’t have cared if he’d gone up in flame.

Her deerskins were not now tightly laced and he pushed them away from her hips, down her long legs. He palmed her breasts, his mouth suckling her as she squirmed in his arms, half fighting him, half enticing.

She’d never known a man. Only in her imaginings had she lain with Storm Omar, her dream suitor. And it was nothing to compare with the actual man. She’d thought the first assault, the teasing of his fingers, to be everything. Not so. Now she was truly lost. She arched into his hands, his mouth. In return he gave her heaven.

She ran her hands under his coat, inside the deerskin shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers, not able to get close enough. Her palms circled the taut male nipples, feeling the bands of muscle ripple where she touched. His hair was like thick silk and she buried the fingers of one hand in it pulling him closer.

He stopped long enough to breathe, his eyes roaming over her as she lay within the dark fur lining her coat. A few flakes of snow drifted inside, tickling her bare skin and melting into the heat he’d generated. She shivered and Storm laughed deep in his throat, a growl more than a laugh. Somehow he’d pushed her breeches downward until they were caught only on her ankles.

You’re beautiful, like a wild kitten, all legs and fur. Like cream spread on dark chocolate, like - . Storm dipped his head and sucked a creamy breast.

Oh, God, that was heaven. She licked her lips, trying to get her thoughts back. She was spread on the fur like an offering, her body his for the taking. Somehow her breeches no longer covered her. She couldn’t - she just couldn’t. She didn’t know this man. Panic seized her.

Enough. Let me up. I’ve - I cannot do this. Her breath was coming in short little pants. I won’t -.

There was a flicker of fear in those big blue eyes. Storm registered it just as it disappeared, replaced with barely veiled passion.

Won’t you now? Storm grinned and ran his hand over her rib cage and down to tangle his fingers into the thatch of auburn curls. He watched her arch into him as he buried a long finger into the heated flesh, his thumb circling the swollen nub that ached for his touch.

Meghan closed her eyes as flame spiraled through her, throbbing, spreading. He didn’t even know her, didn’t know her, didn’t know her. The words danced in her head and she knew she ought to fight him and her own fickle body but she couldn’t. His mouth was bliss, his kisses teased her lips, her eyes, her ears. He suckled a breast, then enticed the other. The cold air teased where his moist mouth had been, puckered the nipples tighter. His teeth raked the pouting buds, his long fingers were everywhere.

Somehow her hands moved with his as he stripped the deerskins from her ankles. Both of them frantic now. Roughly he’d pulled off her moccasins to strip the breeches away. She was wet, fragrant with the scent of arousal. Inhaling deeply, he parted her legs, lifting them to circle his hips. He cupped her round buttocks with both hands and slid into the hot center of her, a deep, powerful, stroke. Pumping now, each stroke longer and deeper than the last, he filled her again and again; a completion, a completion of himself.

Storm stopped, gasping for air, his shaft buried against her womb. Sanity returned but the act wasn’t complete, wasn’t over. She’d been a virgin. But then, he’d suspected that, hadn’t he? He’d never been so out of control. He looked down at her. Her lip trembled but she hadn’t cried out. He brushed away a lock of hair that clung to her cheek.

Then her fingers caught the nape of his neck, tangling in his long hair, pulling him down. Her lips parted in a hot kiss. The velvet prison that encased him seemed to suck him deeper yet. His manhood swelled, lengthened, throbbed. He wanted to laugh aloud he was so ecstatic. He began to pump into her in earnest and now she matched his rhythm. So tight, her sheath pulsed about him, hugging his cock, as she began to climax. The waves caressed his length with hot satin, absorbing his male intrusion in her sacred place.

She cried out as they spiraled together, her senses numb to everything but him. He rolled her above him then again beneath as he took her, deep, pounding into her with a madness he hadn’t known he possessed. He’d forgotten it was her first time in his frenzy. There was only her, this fiery beauty that was his, only his. And he was her first. He’d whispered love-words against her ear, not even aware that he’d spoken in his native French or that he’d offered her his heart, his soul.

Her tongue circled his ear when he bent against her neck, gasping. He had come again and again in white-hot spurts, deep in her womb. He’d given her his child. He knew it as surely as he knew it a sin. Virgin she might have been but she knew what she was about and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her go until he’d had his fill. Dreamily he thought of the nights ahead of them on the trail.

Her soft words were a whisper against his cheek. Meggie, I’m Meghan Glynhavn. She waited for his reaction, for his smile. Had he realized she’d understood the French words? He couldn’t have meant them, could he?

Storm raised his head. He stared at her. Dear God! The trapper’s youngest daughter - of course. Welsh, but her mother had been French. She’d been maybe fourteen, when he’d seen her last, skinny, like a boy. Had that been four - five - years ago?

The family had been on board a vessel where he’d taken passage after being released from prison, after his reprieve from the firing squad. She’d followed him about with adoration in her eyes, she and her little brother. A mere child, he’d paid her little attention.

His rough hands pulled her clothing together. His exertions, enjoyable though they were, had taken the last of his energy. He tried to cover for his scattered thoughts with the first thing that came to mind.

Well, Meghan, glad I am to know you. And thank you for a delightful evening. His eyes threatened to shut of their own accord. Tomorrow was time enough to straighten things out. All he could think of now was not letting her out of his sight - and sleep - blessed sleep. He didn’t remember his words whispered against her ear.

Her soft words brushed his hair, You - you are Storm, aren’t you?

He raised his head before settling lower against her. His crooked smile would have melted any feminine heart. His eyes half closed, his voice like gravel, he nuzzled against her. It’s me, luv. Just me. He sighed in contentment as she snuggled against him and his eyes closed. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, both her body and mind swirling with new sensations.

He didn’t hear her mumbled words though they tickled his ear. I think I love you, Storm Omar, and I always have. But I should have killed you while I could. I will not belong to a man of this savage country. She kissed him where he lay nestled against her breasts, tears in her eyes.

.………………………………………………………

CHAPTER ONE

Meghan buried her face against the black waves of his hair. He wore a small loop of gold in one ear. She tasted it with the tip of her tongue and he stirred but did not awaken. She smiled through her tears. They’d said his father had been a Muslim Prince, or a pirate in the Mediterranean, his mother of the French aristocracy, that he was the black sheep of the family - adrift - alone. Anything could be true. Storm Omar was handsome enough to be a pirate, or what she pictured a pirate looking like. He was every woman’s dream; had been her dream from the day she’d first seen him up on deck. That was four years ago. Of course, that was before she’d known what life was like in this wilderness.

She’d not recognized him at first. The beard made him look wilder and he was older than she’d remembered - not too old for her though. But the dimple was still there and the twinkling eyes. And now she was his woman, in every sense. So what if he hadn’t known her at first. He’d made love to her, taken her virginity. The next step was marriage, wasn’t it? He’d take her back to Paris - wasn’t he from Paris? Surely he wouldn’t want to live here forever.

She worried her lower lip between even white teeth. He shifted in his sleep and pulled her tight against him. She could feel the bulge of his manhood prodding her belly and a yearning ache began deep inside her. She thought back over the night. She tried to erase her initiation into womanhood from her mind and sleep but it was no use.

She twisted in his arms and his eyes flew open, surveyed the scene, then closed. Her thoughts wove round and round in widening circles. She’d not been close to her father but he lay dead not too far away, buried in snow, beside her siblings. She was a bad person, heartless, to be wanting Storm Omar and not thinking of what she’d lost - her entire family. Tears choked her, their cold streaking her face with wet paths that threatened to freeze.

She pulled free of Storm’s arms and he raised up on one elbow, his knife glinting in the meager light. She stared at him, motioning that she had to relieve herself. He lay back and she disappeared from the circle of light.

Tales her father had told her of Storm returned with a vengeance; warnings that the man wanted no family, no wife. Even her older brother had tried to get her to take a husband, laughing at her fantasy. Had everyone but Storm, himself, known of her adoration? Her whole body flushed with embarrassment. And now she’d given herself to the man with no promises for a future. Shame! As her father had said, she was no better than her mother or her aunt. It must be the bad blood - that wild part of her.

She was sure Papa had loved her mother but he had to made allowances, as he’d always said. She was French, after all. Meghan couldn’t believe she’d been so lucky when they had sent her to live with Aunt Milli to escape the wilderness for a few years. She’d only just returned some months ago, sent for when her mother died. Her father would have no foolishness taught her by her aunt and with her mother gone -. That was why she’d not been around when Storm had visited the outpost on his infrequent occasions.

When Meghan again approached the cave she saw that Storm was up and adding wood to the fire. She stared at his backside, the long legs, narrow hips. She remembered the feel of him between her thighs and her legs trembled. His shoulders were wide and his arms muscular. The short beard, shoulder length hair, and heavy coat only made him appear larger, as wild as the savages hereabout.

This morning his black hair had been pulled back into a queue with a piece of leather but a lock escaped to hang into his eyes. Long black lashes curled against high cheekbones, lashes longer than hers, she noted with envy. What would he see in her, anyway? She took a deep breath and waited for him to say something.

He was frowning as he turned to her. He took her hands and looked down at her, tipping her chin upward with one finger. The remembered twinkle was not in his golden brown eyes now. He cleared his throat.

He’d been thinking. He’d practically forced her - and her no more than a girl. He was getting tired of it all anyway. He’d marry her and be done with it. He might even like it. She was taller than