Tender Taming Read Online Free Page A

anything her host might have to say. “Do you know Stewart?”
    He rose with sudden agility and took her empty mug from her hand. Walking back to the kitchen area with his silent tread, he disposed of the mugs on a butcher block and replied, “As a matter of fact, I do.” Spinning on a heel, he turned to a bureau and bent with the lithe grace of a beautifully powerful cat to comb through a drawer. Watching him, Whitney couldn’t help but indulge in wistful admiration. He was as tightly muscled and sleek as a magnificent animal. Probably, she mused, the long years of exercise, manual labor and life in the Glades had given him the superb tone more urban men worked for diligently in sports rooms across the country yet never achieved. What did he do for a living, she wondered. Fish? Hunt? Wrestle alligators …? With his proud and noble profile, she couldn’t imagine him in some innocuous occupation.
    Whitney blushed a bright crimson as he turned back to her, the light of crystal in his eyes telling her clearly that he had read her thoughts and again found them amusing. “What is—uh—Jonathan E. Stewart like?” she asked, feigning indifference to his look.
    He answered with a chuckle and a friendly question. “What do you imagine him to be like?” He had pulled a flannel shirt from the drawer and held it as he walked nearer to her.
    “Crusty, old and hard to deal with!” Whitney returned honestly, too unnerved to lie or hedge diplomatically. “Am I close?”
    “You will find him hard to deal with!” was the reply. “Here.” He tossed the flannel shirt to her and Whitney quickly threw up her hands to catch it. Pointing to a curtain at the rear of the cabin, he said, “Shower is that way. You’ll find everything else you might need—except hot water. I’d like to meet you devoid of mud, and then I’ll try to help you a little by giving you a brief education on the Seminole Nation.” Grinning contagiously, he moved to her side and offered her his hand.
    Glancing nervously at it, she noted that it was firm and tanned although lighter than she would have expected, and the long, wiry fingers were oddly well manicured and neat. His touch sent another strange heat-chill through her, and she glanced at him tentatively as she came to her feet and brushed past him, her head tilted up as he ranged a good foot taller than she. His masculine scent assailed her at this close range, a pleasing scent that was low-keyed and woodsy, pleasing and titillating, a scent that fit his aura of virility to a t. “Thank you,” she murmured uneasily, clutching the shirt to her breast and rushing past him to the curtain, completely bewildered by his effect on her and therefore nervous as a stray kitten. What was the matter with her?
    The bathroom was surprisingly modern. New tiles sparkled in the shower stall, contemporary porcelain and brass formed a sink and its fixtures and an intricately carved wooden cupboard hung above the sink. Double shiny fixtures adorned the wall; apparently her host was planning on providing hot water at some future date. At least, she decided, a modicum of civilization had come to the Glades! The room offered a great deal in the way of efficiency except—except there was nothing between her and her host but the curtain … Crunching her lower lip, she curiously pondered the uniquely compelling stranger as she tentatively began to doff her mucky clothing.
    She was sure he wasn’t going to come barging through the curtain. However rude his comments might have been, not one was in the least insinuating or suggestive. He had seemed totally unaware that she was even of the feminine gender—except to sniff disdainfully at her sex’s foolishness. Any indecent thoughts had been generated in her own mind. No! Whitney protested her silent admission with horror. But yes. She—who had decided after her short-lived and stoic marriage that great and erotic passion was something only read about in books—was