Diana Palmer - Rawhide and Lace

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that. She seemed to hold me in contempt most of the time. We never understood each other.”

Her quiet eyes searched his face, the hard lines around his mouth. The iron man, she mused. “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you,” she said quietly. “You give nothing of yourself.”

His jaw tautened and his pale eyes kindled through the cloud of smoke that left his pursed lips. “Now that’s an interesting statement, coming from you.”

It was the emphasis he put on it. She saw with sudden clarity a picture of herself lying in his arms by the firelight, moaning as he touched her breasts….

“I didn’t mean…that kind of giving,” she said uneasily, and dropped her eyes to his broad chest. It strained against the denim, rippling muscles and thick dark hair that covered him from his collarbone down.

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