< previous page page_247 next page >

Page 247
Chapter Fifteen
Mariah didn't sleep that night.
It had nothing to do with the hardness of the straw-filled mattress or the rustling of hay as she tossed and turned, for her body seemed to float with delicious memories of touches and caresses, kisses and thrusts. It was happy, sated, relaxed.
But her mind . . . Oh, her mind! It was grounded in terrible, irrefutable reality. Her head ached unbearably, her thoughts swirling in a grief-laden tornado.
At the vortex of everything was Thorn.
The image of him, his muscles hardened by physical labor, his pervasive masculinity, was etched forever in her mind.
She was glad, for it was a sight she would surely never drink in again.
How sweet and tender and giving his lovemaking had been. And utterly, erotically unforgettable.
Then, when he was no longer consumed by the heat of passion, he'd become himself again: formal. Remote. Unreliable.
Hurtful.
She hadn't been kind, either. Or wise. She'd bombarded

 
< previous page page_247 next page >