Only 04 - Only Love

was certain she had touched him. Whip could see it in the sudden expansion of her pupils, the rush of color to her cheeks, the breath that hesitated and then came out in a ragged sigh.
    “I’ll—I’ll wait by the door,” she said breathlessly.
    “You don’t have to,” Whip said. He lowered his face into the fabric Shannon had once worn against her skin. “I won’t bite.”
    “Prettyface might. That’s why I’m keeping him inside for now. He’s not used to being around men.”
    “How old is he?”
    The question was muffled, but Shannon understood.
    “Oh, a little more than two years, I guess,” she said.
    Whip’s head came up quickly.
    “What about Silent John?” Whip asked. “He’s a man, isn’t he?”
    Shannon blinked, bit her lip, and flushed.
    “Silent John is the exception, of course,” she said, looking at her hands.
    Whip had a strong suspicion that Shannon was lying. He just didn’t know why.
    Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to know how often Silent John is gone. And for how long.
    Then Whip understood more than he wanted to: Shannon’s husband had been absent so much that her dog never had a chance to get used to men.
    Judas Priest!
    Shannon has had God’s own luck keeping out of reach of gold miners and renegades. But she can’t count on luck to keep the Culpeppers at bay forever.
    Before I go yondering, I’ll have to have another talk with those boys. Make them understand all the way to their black souls just how lacking in Christian charity their manners have been.
    Absently Whip wiped off his hands and started toward the cabin door.
    “Wait,” Shannon said, stepping closer.
    Whip looked down at her through half-lowered lids.
    “Change your mind?” he asked.
    “About what?”
    As Shannon spoke, she took the damp rag from Whip’s hands and blotted his mustache right above the peak of his lip.
    “There,” she said, examining the cleanly drawn curves of Whip’s mouth. “Now the biscuits won’t taste like soap to you.”
    Then Shannon looked up into Whip’s eyes and forgot to breathe. Close up, his eyes were a clear, luminous gray surrounded by a glittering circle of black. Intriguing splinters of blue and green radiated from the pupils, which were expanding as she watched them. Soon there was only a smoky crystal band of color left in his eyes.
    Whip was looking at Shannon’s mouth with a smoldering intensity that made her feel weak.
    “You missed a bit of lather,” she explained, her voice shaky.
    “Just one?”
    She nodded.
    “Sure there aren’t any more?” he coaxed.
    His dark, husky voice made shimmering sensations chase down from Shannon’s breastbone to her thighs, as though she were watching him in secret from the cabin window again.
    “More?” she whispered.
    “Bits of lather. To wipe off.”
    With shuttered eagerness, Shannon’s glance went over the pronounced planes and masculine angles of Whip’s face.
    “No,” she said, unable to conceal her disappointment. “Not a speck.”
    “Maybe next time.”
    The smile Whip gave Shannon was like his voice, dark and very male. It sent another odd cascade of sensation through her, making her breath break.
    “I’d better go inside first,” Shannon said. “Prettyface might get the wrong idea otherwise.”
    Her voice was faintly husky, reflecting the quickening of her pulse.
    Well, Whip thought in relief, whatever Silent John did to Shannon as a husband, he didn’t ruin her. There’s real passion in that sweet body.
    And real hunger.
    Whip watched with a barely veiled hunger of his own while Shannon opened the cabin door.
    Instantly, gleaming fangs appeared in the narrow opening. Shannon stepped between the dog’s muzzle and Whip. Snarling, growling, the big hound stood squarely in the opening.
    “No,” Shannon said firmly. “Prettyface, stop that! Whip is a friend. Friend, Prettyface, Friend. ”
    Slowly the dog’s lips came down over his fangs, but the rumbling sounds of menace didn’t stop.
    “It’s all right, Prettyface,” Shannon said. “Friend.”
    Whip looked into the dog’s feral eyes, saw the wolf blood staring back at him, and knew that Prettyface wasn’t convinced he was any man’s friend.
    “No wonder you didn’t bring Prettyface into town,” Whip said. “That’s one hardheaded son of a bitch. What is he?”
    “Mastiff, mostly. And some wolf, I think. I’m sorry he’s so edgy.”
    “Don’t apologize. I know the hardheaded breed well,” Whip said dryly. “Got a