Read Morgan's Rescue for Free Online Page B

closer. What was she going to say to him? What could she say? He'd never understand nor forgive her for what she'd done. Worse, if he knew the whole truth, he might try to take from her the one thing that mattered most in the world.
          Culver was not conventionally handsome. He'd once said that his face was carved from the rugged granite cliffs of his Scottish home. But Pilar adored those craggy features. Now crow's-feet marked the corners of his eyes, and slashes on either side of his mouth gave new depth to his face. His cheekbones were high, like her own, but his face was square, with a hawklike nose that reminded her of the harpy eagle, a huge aggressive white eagle that plummeted like a dive-bomber through the Peruvian jungle to snatch a monkey for its dinner.
          Pilar tried to steady herself, but it was impossible. Already she could feel strength ebbing from her with each wild heartbeat. Culver's eyes looked merciless. Pilar knew from experience that a deep, dark blue meant he was angry, while they became lighter with happiness. Right now they were a stormy cobalt, and the set of his mouth frightened her. How warm, exploring yet powerful that his mouth had once been against hers. As big as he was, when Culver kissed her, he'd taken her gently, inviting her to surrender herself to him. Then his kiss would deepen, becoming hotter and more frantic, until their mouths clung together with passion.
          Shakily, Pilar removed her hard hat, and the black hair she'd coiled on top of her head spilled in a cascade about her shoulders. It was nowhere near the length it had been when she'd been Culver's lover. But right now, it seemed as if the eight long years between then and now had not occurred at all. Pilar felt pinned by his gaze as he moved ever closer. She trembled inwardly with a violence that frightened her. Oh, to be touched by him in that special way once more! How many nights over the years had she tossed and turned, aching to feel his strong hands caressing her damp skin as if she were a high-strung thoroughbred in need of a gentle touch to soothe her fractiousness?
          Pilar's mouth grew very dry as Culver closed the distance. Only belatedly did she realize he was wearing Levi's, rough-out boots and a short-sleeved, white cotton shirt that outlined his magnificent chest and shoulders. There was nothing weak about Culver. He was macho in a way few men would ever be, in Pilar's opinion. As always, his skin was darkly bronzed, a tough shield, seemingly capable of challenging any harshness the world had to offer. A lock of dark hair tumbled across his lined brow, which was covered by a light sheen of perspiration in the summer heat.
          One of the many things Pilar had come to love about Culver was his loose, elastic gait. His athletic build was his heritage, he'd told her. He came from a line of warriors who'd repeatedly challenged the kings of England . So many nuances from past conversations jammed Pilar's spinning senses as Culver came to a halt no more than six feet away. She felt the hot, angry rake of his gaze, like a wildfire burning from her black leather boots up across her thighs and abdomen, over the gentle curves of her breasts. Then his eyes locked with hers, and Pilar felt her lips part as she stared back at him, seeing the good and the bad, his weaknesses and strengths. Culver wasn't perfect by any means, and he had a nasty temper when things didn't go his way. She strove to shield herself from that anger now, fairly boiling in his dangerously darkened eyes.
          "You're early," Pilar heard herself say faintly. Honey moved restively, as if sensing her confusion and anxiety, and she turned and placed her gloved hand on the mare's sweaty neck to soothe her.
          Culver stared at Pilar, struggling to hold on to his anger. When she'd removed her hard hat, her delicious hair had showered around her, blue black as a raven's wing. The straight, shining