To Claim a Wilde. Kimberly Kaye Terry
attention was riveted on the woman.
The wind again blew a gust of air over her. She wore her hair in a high bun, but tendrils of curls escaped and whisked across her face. The woman raised her face toward the sun, a half smile tilting the corners of her full mouth upward.
It was as though she and the sun were old friends, communicating. She remained in that pose for what seemed like an eternity. And Canton wouldn’t have been able to look away had his life depended on it.
When she lowered her head, she continued her pace toward the door.
He knew he should walk away. Something was telling him to move his ass now, before she caught him.
Something told him if he didn’t his life would never been the same again. That instinct he had, the same instinct he’d inherited from his rough and rugged father, the same instinct that he and his brothers and as their baby sister all shared, the kind of instinct that told a man in business when it was time to move, in poker when to fold.
The same instinct that was now telling him to turn and move away before it was too late. But damned if he could.
So he just stood there, watching her stroll closer to the house, to him. He frowned when he caught her lips working, as though she were talking to herself. She stopped, closed her eyes and performed the sign of the cross. He felt one side of his mouth quirk in a half smile.
She had no clue she wasn’t alone, that she was being watched. Something told that if she did, she would be mortified.
She was stylishly dressed; he ran his gaze over her as she came closer. From the soft-looking leather jacket cinched tightly at her waist, over her curved hips in the calf-length leather skirt, down shapely legs, housed in knee-high boots, she was the epitome of sophistication. He wondered if she were from around Cheyenne.
Canton’s frown deepened. She was so lost in her own thoughts, he knew that she believed she was alone.
But Canton observed her as she walked with determination in her stride, up the winding path that led to the house.
She was a woman on a mission.
Everything about her told him that.
He again felt that curious shift in his awareness. Whatever her mission was, that same instinct that told him if he wanted his life to remain unchanged he should run the hell in the complete and opposite direction, also told him that part of that mission she was clearly on would involve him.
She reached the front of the house and lifted her face, and it was then that Canton nearly gave himself away.
He had never forgotten that face.
He’d never forgotten the feel of those curves on that body...
His hungry gaze roved over her, head to toe.
She had one of the prettiest complexions he’d ever seen. Her heart-shaped face was the color of deep milk chocolate with a hint of cream. He had never forgotten the color or feel of her...
Large, light brown almond-shaped eyes stood out against the richness of her complexion.
But it was her lips that captured him now, as they had before. Neither had he forgotten how they tasted. Full, plump and delicious, they called out to him, beckoning him, daring him to taste their ripe lushness.
Just as they had seven years ago.
His body hardened, alert; like a hunter watching his prey, his gaze was unwavering.
And in that moment Canton knew his life had, again, changed forever.
He also knew in that moment that running was the furthest thing from his mind. And neither would he allow her to run this time.
Hell no. Not this time. Not ever again. His face, body and everything else about him tightened up.
A purely masculine gleam shone from his eyes as he pulled his hat down further on his head, shielding his eyes.
Hell no. She wouldn’t get away from him this time.
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