IK2

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turned it for the charge. But instead of thundering toward the dragon, the knight was coming toward her.

    Sophie willed her legs to run, but they would not move. The dragon snorted
    again, but the sound was almost like laughter as the knight descended on her. My God, she was going to be trampled!

    At the last moment, the horse skidded to a stop, clumps of grass and dirt
    scattering around her. The knight slid from the saddle, the flaming sword still in his hand and reached for her…

    And suddenly it was Michael who was holding her, clad only in leather breeches,
    the sword and armor gone. His bare chest felt like smooth, chiseled marble as his hands stroked up and down her back, soothing her.

    “The dragon will not hurt you,” he whispered as he bent to nuzzle her neck,,
    sending pleasant little shivers down her spine.

    Her weak spot—kiss her nape and her knees turned to putty— whatever thoughts
    she might have had flitted away like dandelion silk on the wind. How did he know?

    Michael‟s dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I know all about you. I am
    going to make you mine.”

    Like hell he was. Hadn‟t she already made the message clear—and then, he
    nuzzled her neck again, this time mouthing her skin softly as he trailed kisses to her earlobe. A little mewling sound escaped her throat.

    “You wanted to say something?” he whispered and before she could, his mouth
    covered hers, seductive and persuasive.

    Dear Lord! Who could have thought a man‟s lips could be so soft and firm at the
    same time? And warm and dry while his tongue was wet and hot? And when had she
    opened her mouth to let him in? But he certainly was in, his tongue doing a wicked
    impersonation of what his other member would do.

    He tasted of some spice she could not identify and smelled slightly of salt-air and
    heather, as though they were on were on Scottish moors rather than in Texas. It was a heady combination and the world tilted as she pressed suddenly heavy, swollen breasts against him. His hands slid down her back and grasped her buttocks, bringing her fully against his large, granite-hard erection.
    SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 21

    “Let me make love to you,” he whispered as he took them both slowly to the
    ground…

    Sophie landed with a thump on the floor beside her bed. She squinted in the dark
    room illuminated only by the wash of moonlight streaming through her window onto the
    hardwood floor. The silence told her she was alone. There certainly was no dragon or
    knight with a flaming sword. And there was no Michael.

    She disentangled herself from the twisted bed sheets that had accompanied her
    fall, picked herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. To her chagrin, her breasts tingled, her nipples were tight, and there was warm moisture between her legs.

    For the past year, since her galling divorce from her cheating husband, she had
    not even entertained a thought of dating anyone. Her body had numbed and become
    neutral and that was how she wanted it. Much safer than to allow a man to play with her emotions again. Too much pain….

    Why in the world had she dreamed about Michael McCain? And who was the
    knight with the flaming sword?

    * * * *

    The dragon curled its tail around its claws with a clanging of metal sca les and
    settled on the hardened earth of the cave he‟d found near Crawford Mountain. He
    snorted, puffs of smoke streaming out the entrance. It could hardly be called a cave—
    more like a hollowed out crevice beneath a shale overhang—and he barely fit, but it was
    close to the girl he needed to protect. He sighed, careful not to shoot flames that would ignite the scrub brush that attached itself to the rocky hillsides. Brighid had not allowed him to take his hoard of gold and silver with him, telling him he needed to focus his
    dragon‟s lust for bright, shiny objects on finding Excalibur before Balor did.

    His problem was that he didn‟t know where to begin in this very strange

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