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But she was with Thorn, who held her arm tightly against him. Somehow, his closeness left her feeling more defenseless than any peril she imagined. She continued forward, though her heart raced. |
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The water's gurgling soon became louder than the rustling. As she stepped from behind a tree, Mariah saw the meandering stream's reflection shimmer in the moonlight. |
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"There," Thorn said. "Take your drink." |
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She stooped and, cupping her hands, lifted cool water to her lips. It felt refreshing as she swallowed. She had been thirsty. |
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Scooping more water into her hands, she started as Thorn knelt beside her. "I want some, too," he said. |
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She expected him to drink from his own hands. Instead, he touched her forearm with his broad fingers, guiding her hands toward his mouth. He drank from the cup she had made, and the feel of his lips on the sides of her fingers caused a shiver of desire to rocket through her. |
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"Oh," she moaned as his tongue snaked out and licked her palm. She reached to touch his cheek, toughened by the day's growth of beard, then let her fingertips move toward his mouth, where they, too, felt the soft caress of his tongue. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Her upper body bent toward him as though it had a will of its own, until her cheek rested on the rough linen of his shirt. She put her arms about him, taking crawling steps on her knees to draw closer to him. |
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She could feel the hammering of his heart, smell his leather-and-smoke aroma. She waited for him to cast his arms about her, to kiss her as he had before. She wanted it, more than anything else. Here, in the wilderness, with the night and the moon and the trees as witnesses, she wanted to lose control with Thorn. To make love with this aloof but vulnerable man so different from, yet similar to, the man in the screenplay. |
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But he didn't move. She heard his breath come in painful gasps, as if he fought for control. |
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Despite all rational thought, she didn't want control. She moved her hands along his back, kneading the muscles of |
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