Tender Taming Read Online Free Page B

wondering yearningly what it would be like to have those strong arms wrapped around her with desire … the tight lips with their sensual play of amusement softening to caress her flesh … the whole of his sinewed body exposed to her appreciative view …
    A cold shower is just what you need! she scolded her muddy reflection in the mirror above the porcelain sink. How ridiculous! She did not—repeat, did not—like domineering men, and he would certainly fit such a description. Tomorrow she would get out of here and never see him again. She would forget these strange feelings that were so foreign to her … forget the dizzying sensations he had awakened that she, for all her sophistication and assurance, hadn’t known or even believed existed …
    His voice, just outside the curtain, caused her to jump. She had forgotten that he could move without a sound. A soft, husky chuckle sounded. Through the curtain he knew he had startled her—he knew he had sent her blood racing.
    “I wanted to let you know there’s a clean towel over the rack and soap and shampoo in the cabinet behind the mirror.”
    “I found them; thanks,” Whitney answered shakily in return.
    Nothing more followed. Had he moved away again? Her wide green gaze lighted upon her own reflection. Did he know that he frightened and yet magnetized her, this half-breed with his brilliant, knowing blue eyes. That he shook her cool confidence to the core?
    Appalled by her own thoughts, she scoffed but couldn’t deny them. A strange longing swept through her as she peeled away her torn stockings and slip. Did he find anything appealing about her? Her skin, beneath the crust of mud, was good, soft, silky and pampered. Her figure tended to the slim side, but it was adequately curvy and her breasts were high and firm and … and what? Not voluptuous, she thought with a sigh.
    Although confident that she was attractive and cut a pleasant appearance, she just didn’t know if anyone would ever refer to her as enticing. She had entered marriage with shy eagerness, sure that she would discover the sensual pleasures of life and love. She had been sadly disappointed. To staid Gerry, the act of love was performed without fanfare, never spoken of and indulged in only in darkened rooms. Like an anachronism from the past, Gerry believed that sexual release was something needed strictly by males and that passion in a woman hinted of sheer wantonness.
    Embarrassed and humiliated, ignorant and young, Whitney had buried her own feelings, the hint of desire she had learned and the fantasy yearnings she was convinced were abnormal. After their friendly divorce, she had remained cool and untouched, convinced that there was nothing to be found in the many overtures she had received and rebuffed.
    But now her mind turned to her host. If she was ever to have such a man, she wouldn’t know what to do with him! She would be too frightened of her own inadequacy ever to come to the point of … Stop! she silently wailed. What on earth was possessing her? She was a career woman, authoritative in her own world. The man outside was a stranger—educated and cultured, maybe, but still a stranger! Hostility had flared between them more than any other recognizable emotion. She didn’t even know his name!
    That thought stopped her, her hand pausing on the water fixture. Glancing at the curtain, she straightened and tentatively called, “Excuse me!”
    “Yes?” the velvety baritone inquired politely.
    “I just realized I’m standing in your shower and I don’t even know your name,” Whitney warbled apologetically.
    There was silence for so long that she began to wonder if he had heard her. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, she heard a soft rustling at the curtain and another throaty chuckle.
    “My name is Eagle,” he said quietly. “In the Seminole Nation I am known as White Eagle.”
    There was silence beyond the curtain. Whitney turned the spigot, and the refreshingly icy