Trace Castillo, U.S. Marshall has his hands full with a fiery red-headed Irish lash by the name of Mary Rose Thornton who was traveling with her brother taking freight to Ft. Ewell on the Texas frontier. When they are attacked and her brother killed, Mary Rose wants revenge in the worse way and the Marshall? He just wants her in the best way.
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God forbid, he craved her, wished to devour her, and when she curled her tongue against his, Trace thought he would lose control. Blood pounding in his ears, he managed to pull his lips away. Holding her tight, he listened to their ragged breathing as she clung to him for support.
“Mary Rose, Mary Rose.” He repeated her name, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her nose, her other cheek.
Her breathing deepened, and he felt her pull slowly back, her hand pushing against his chest as she regained
her balance. The swell of her bosom strained the calico she wore. Her eyes, still heavy with passion, struggled
to open. But, when they did, she stared at him, her cheeks filling with color and her face with confusion. He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her lips made swollen by his actions.
“Do not go back to the freight office,” he said.
If he had thrown a bucket of ice water over her, her expression couldn’t have grown more distant. Then her
shock gave way to anger and, before Trace had time to react, her open palm made contact with his left cheek.The sound broke the silence like a clap of thunder.
Her eyes wide in a blaze of female indignation, she snapped, “Your duty here, Marshal, is over.”
Trace drew himself up straight. He deserved that, he supposed, but he had needed to demonstrate how
easily a man could break down her defenses.Meanwhile, she turned on her heel and stomped away. His eyes followed her across the yard and into the house. Only when the door slammed did he look away,
his mouth grim.
“On the contrary, my job has just begun,” he called out.