Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(29)
Shiloh had done that very thing at age eleven when she became the prosecution’s star witness in the murder of her own mother. The resilience and strength she possessed blew him away. He hadn’t seen it in her. And usually, he was very adept at assessing a person. But he hadn’t with her. Why? Roan’s mouth twitched and he stared sightlessly across the valley as he realized his whole reaction to her had been purely sexual. Shiloh was beautiful. Willful. Her feelings on the surface. Like a ripe fruit to be plucked and eaten. And he did want her in every possible way.
His brows flattened out as he considered her in this new, realistic light. Whether Shiloh was aware of it or not, she was a warrior. That what she’d survived, most eleven-year-olds would not have survived without wounds scarring their souls forever. She, on the other hand, had not only survived, but she had thrived. She had a career and she was highly successful. The only reason she was here was to get a respite from her stalker in New York City.
And that concerned him deeply. Roan tightened his arms around her for a moment, trying to feed her some of his strength. She was relaxed in his arms. Trusting. Not stiff. Not tense. But . . . at ease. For whatever reason, Shiloh trusted him. Roan closed his eyes. He wanted her to trust him and to come to him, to want him as much as he desired her. Then, and only then, would they be on equal, respectful footing with each other. Roan wouldn’t chase Shiloh. He’d let whatever was between them, if anything, unfold naturally. He refused to push her, get her in a corner, or manipulate her.
More than anything, Roan wanted Shiloh to be drawn to him just as much as he was to her. Could it happen? And why the hell did he WANT it to happen?
Chapter Seven
The feeling of being protected was so overwhelming to Shiloh as she lay in Roan’s arms that it made her want to cry all over again. Only this time, tears of relief. She had always felt this sense of safety around him, but now, she was getting a taste of it firsthand and it was incredible. As he gently moved his gloved hand across her shoulders and then slowly down her back, she thought of him doing this to a fractious, wild-eyed horse. Well, she was one, in a sense.
Licking her lower lip, Shiloh didn’t want to move out of his embrace. She could feel the slow, solid beat of his heart beneath her ear, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Most of all, her eyes closed, she absorbed each of his ministrations. The roughness of the leather across the thin fabric of her shirt made her tense and skitter with fire of the most pleasurable kind. And those tiny, heated shocks tightened her breasts, hardened her nipples, and then dove straight down to remind her how long she’d gone without sex. She knew she wanted Roan in bed. But she’d been so scared. Commitment was something she’d never been able to muster and manage. And she knew without a doubt that Roan Taggart was not the kind of man who played around. He played for keeps. She wasn’t sure at all if she could. At least, not yet.
But to feel his quiet power, the strength of his arms around her, the sensitivity he possessed, as if knowing she needed to be tenderly held, made her stop and look at herself. What did she really want? She wanted a marriage like her mother and father had. Yet look what had happened to them. It scared her to death. Shiloh was afraid to fall in love because she could never take the loss of the man she fell in love with. It would destroy her. Utterly. Forever. Unlike her mother, she didn’t possess that backbone to survive the loss and move on.
“Better?” Roan inquired, his lips against her hair. He could smell the scent of her and it was the most incredible fragrance in the world to him. Her hair was a mix of pine, a sweetness, the scent to her skin and the fragrance of the honeysuckle shampoo. He felt her nod, felt her hand move from the center of his chest to her cheek. If he didn’t release her, he was going to do something really stupid: kiss her. Take her mouth, ravish her, taste her, feel her woman’s burning heat. His heart counseled otherwise, knowing she had trust issues with men.
Yet, she’d willingly collapsed into his arms, huddled against him, scared and grief-stricken by revisiting her traumatic past. Roan had not felt any resistance on Shiloh’s part toward him. He wanted to kiss her so badly, to heal her, and he knew he could. Not fooling himself, yes, he wanted her sexually as well, but he was content to wait on that part. His senses told him she would allow him to kiss her. But what if he was wrong? It would destroy whatever trust had just been quietly built between them. Shiloh was shattered in another way. He knew if he kissed her, it could cut two ways. Either it would be healing and supportive to her, or it could trigger darker issues she had and their trust would be dissolved, nothing left between them to build on. Roan decided not to kiss her. The chances of being wrong would make him pay too great a price and he wasn’t willing to risk it.
“Yes, I’m okay now,” Shiloh whispered, her voice hoarse from crying so long and so much. She felt his arms relax and she found herself sitting up, near him, already missing his embrace. Wiping her eyes, removing the beaded tears still on her lashes, she gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil your day.” She saw his gray eyes lose their hardness, saw a warmth in them that curled around her heart and made her breath hitch. Something told her she was seeing the real Roan without his game face on for the first time. And it stunned her; it called to her heart and fractured soul. There was such a sense of care, of protection radiating toward her that her eyes widened. Her heart started a slow pound and urgency thrummed through Shiloh as never before. When the hard line of his mouth softened, she shook inside with a need so urgent that she felt starved for more of his attention, his touch. It felt as if the earth had literally moved beneath where she sat.