Damned if I know why you ain’t
got that filly in a double harness yet!
“Make up your mind, Corinne,” he urged impatiently, showering her neck with damp kisses that made her want to scream.
His hard hands began to roam, kneading her breast in a manner that clearly was driving him to a state of further arousal, but left her feeling stone cold.
“If you refuse, say so now,” he panted, his breath warm against her neck, “and have your father’s death on your hands for the rest of your life.”
There was no compromise in his expression, now urgent with desire, or in his hands, now tweaking and pinching her nipple beneath her chambray shirt. With a deep groan, Griffin began unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her firm young breasts, encased in the black lingerie that was Corinne’s only luxury, her one concession to femininity in the hard world on a ranch marked with poverty and privation.
Corinne, held firm between Griffin’s hard body and the parlor wall, bit down on her lip and turned her head away, her eyes blurred with unshed tears of frustration and hopelessness. Desperately, she wished she’d had the foresight to hide a sneak gun among all that black lace . . .