Welcome to Paradise by Carol Grace Read Free Book Online Page A

He should have known the first moment he saw her yesterday, that she was the type who didn't give up. He should have known she was married, too. A woman who could sleep on the ground, ride a horse for the first time and still look like a million dollars would be married. As usual, he was a day late and a dollar short. No, a few years late and about fifty-thousand dollars short was more like it.
    Chloe stood there, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. “I don't understand you,” she said at last.
    She didn't understand him? Frustration built and threatened to swamp him. “Would this help?” he asked, grabbing her by one arm and hauling her up against him. His fingers tightened around her wrist in a bruising grip. Ignoring her effort to pull away, he jerked her into his arms. He didn't imagine the thudding of her heart against his. It was real. He didn't mistake the look in her eyes for curiosity. He recognized desire, hot, pure and simple. It matched his own.
    His hands moved to her hips, cupping her buttocks, pulling her against his aching erection. She wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her, and with matching fervor she kissed him back. Over and over, as if she wanted him as much as he wanted her. As if she was just as aroused and frustrated as he was.
    Her sighs, her soft moans made his blood boil. Her tongue tangled with his. He could take her down on the ground with him right now, make love under the trees, everything else forgotten—her refusal to sell him the land, and the fact that she wasn't free. This was madness. She was married. But she sure as hell didn't act as if she was.
    Abruptly he dropped his arms and backed away. “You don't understand me?” he demanded.
    “That's right,” she said as she stumbled backwards, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand as if to erase his kisses. “And that didn't help at all.”

 
Chapter Four
     
    Adrenaline pumped through her body as Chloe carried the first box down the trail and through the woods to the old resort. It might have weighed twenty pounds, it might have weighed fifty. She was oblivious. She was so mad at Zebulon Bowie she could spit. How had she let this happen?
    And all she knew was that she was not going to accept one more favor from the randy, dominating, insulting cowboy she had the misfortune to live next door to. Not if she starved and they found her bones at the end of the summer. Not if she sprained her ankle and lay helpless on the bare ground. She wouldn't call him for help. And if he stumbled on her by accident she'd close her eyes and play dead before she'd let him help her to her feet.
    Not that she was going to starve or sprain her ankle, she told herself as she planted one foot after the other on the rough ground. She could take care of herself. She had supplies. She was in good health. She had confidence. Yes, she did. She didn't need him to provide her with food, or rides. She didn't need help carrying her supplies in from the road. She was glad he hadn't offered, because then she would have had to refuse.
    She just wished she'd taken a moment to decide which box to carry in first. But she couldn't. Not and retain her dignity. Because he was watching her. Waiting for her to stumble. To fail. Then he'd close in on her like a mountain lion after a deer and snatch away her property.
    If she had taken a moment, she would have chosen the box with the hammock or the groceries. Because by the time she got back to the bathhouse next to the stream, it was dusk and her arms ached. It was no problem to hike back to where her boxes sat, no problem at all. On the other hand, it would feel so good to stretch out in that tub and let the steaming waters work their magic on her aching muscles, then heat something over her new propane camp stove and rock herself to sleep in her new hammock.
    She dumped the box on the ground and rubbed the muscles in her arms. Then she tore at the cardboard with her fingernails.