Forever a soldier, p.26
Forever a Soldier, page 26
part #1 of Always a Cowboy Series
The sheepishness of his grin was what inspired her then. Yes, there was an inconvenient attraction between them, but what she was about to do wouldn’t hurt. Juniper raised her arms and wrapped them around Ash’s waist, needing to give him something more than a simple thank-you.
She realized her mistake immediately. He was so big and solid and he smelled… She drew a deep, shuddering breath, drawing as much of him as she could within her. The friendly hug she’d meant this to be slipped into something intensely intimate.
Ash wasn’t her friend or her brother or anything safe or anodyne, and neither was this embrace. There was power in him—power over her and her body’s responses.
But she knew that. His gazes had told her she was more than simply Owen’s mom or an ordinary waitress—in his eyes, she was a woman, with needs and a body aching with want. That was why his watching her unsettled her so much.
She hadn’t hugged him as a thank-you. She’d done it to feel his body close to hers. Her lies to herself weren’t enough to cover the truth of this moment.
And because she knew in the marrow of her bones he’d never abuse his power, she rolled up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
There was a moment of stillness, of aching waiting. Then his mouth opened on hers, his lips testing hers, shaping them from every angle imaginable. His hand sank into her hair, heavy enough to hold her to him no matter what might try to tear them apart.
He kissed her as if he’d only been waiting for permission, and now that he had it, he’d pour all his desire into her. No, not desire—there should be a bigger word for what was coming off him, something as large and solid and sure as the man himself.
Juniper touched her tongue to his lips, tasted salt and cinnamon and a hint of his morning coffee. Again, once he had permission, he took advantage, his tongue thrusting against hers, a raw suggestion of what their bodies might do if they were naked.
Her hands traveled up his arms, his biceps taut as steel cable, and she hooked her arms around his neck, bringing her entire self flush against him. Her nipples came to hard points as his chest crushed her breasts. He made her feel delicate, desired, something to be savored and treasured. Juniper had never felt like that from only a kiss before. She’d never felt like that ever before.
“Mom!”
Aw, hell. Juniper pushed her arms between them and shoved. But Ash was so damn solid she only managed to knock herself backward. Ash grabbed for her elbow, the both of them panting like guilty teenagers.
“Can I come out now?” Owen called plaintively. “I’m ready to say sorry.”
“Shit,” Juniper muttered. In all that being delicate and desired and treasured, she’d forgotten what really mattered. Kisses—even the best of her life—were all well and good—
She shook her head and took several steps away from Ash, pulling her arm out of his grip. Kisses were not well and good. Kisses were dangerous.
“Sorry,” she said as she spun around. She started off for the house, thanking God that Owen wasn’t one to sneak out of time-out. “Forget this ever happened,” she hissed over her shoulder to Ash, not daring to see his expression.
Except the sound of his heavy, sawing breaths followed her, and her lips tingled with each and every exhale, remembering exactly why he was so worked up.
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AFTERWORD
Many of the historical events I reference in this book are products of my own imagination (if you want to get the real story of what happened way back when, you can read about it in Summer Chaparral, Autumn Sage, and High Country Spring—and if you want a refresher on who’s related to who, there’s a family tree here), but one incident did actually occur: the hanging of Josefa Segovia in Downieville, CA in 1851. One night a miner broke down her door, then went the next morning to supposedly apologize. An argument broke out and Josefa stabbed the man. She was convicted by jury consisting of the men’s friends the very next day and a mob hung her from the bridge crossing the Yuba River. In most of the accounts of the time she is mis-named as “Juanita” (when she’s named at all) which is why she’s often referred by that name in histories.
Downieville is now a small, quiet town in the Sierras, still sitting at the fork of the Yuba and Downie Rivers. There is a plaque there commemorating “Juanita” and her tragic death today, which you can see along with the bridge itself.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The first round of thanks on all of my work always goes to my amazing critique partner, Emma Barry, who also was an enormous help with the humanities side of grad school. Thanks also go to the folks at Victory Editing for their wonderful editing efforts. And finally, thanks to my husband (and my in laws and extended family) for providing fifteen years of inspiration on Turkishness.
OTHER BOOKS BY GENEVIEVE
Las Morenas
Summer Chaparral
Autumn Sage
The Sheriff Takes a Bride
High Country Spring
The Farmer Takes a Wife
Las Morenas: The Complete Series
A Cowboy of Her Own
Her Billionaire Rancher Boss
Her Bull Rider’s Baby
Rescued By Her Firefighter
Her Cowboy Rival
Reunited with Her Cowboy
Always a Cowboy
Forever a Soldier
Forever a Maverick
Forever a Heartbreaker
Forever a Bad Boy
Fly Me to the Moon
(written with Emma Barry)
Star Dust
Round Midnight
Earth Bound
Free Fall
A Midnight Feast
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Genevieve Turner is a USA Today bestselling author of western romance. She loves cowboys, the rural life, and happily ever afters. She lives in beautiful Southern California with the perfect number of kids, dogs, and turkeys—and probably too many chickens.
You can find her on the web at www.genturner.com.
Genevieve Turner, Forever a Soldier
