Maggie lay down again, pulling the covers up to her nose. The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to get out of Reeve McKenna’s narrow bed, put her clothes back on, wet or not, and leave. The trouble was that the sensible approach had a distinct lack of appeal. Wet clothes would be cold clothes, and the rain was still beating down outside. If Maggie left the warm, though admittedly scandalous sanctuary of the wagon, exactly where could she go?

Finding Tansy would be impossible, since there were a thousand and one places the little devil could be, and the thought of throwing herself on the mercy of one of those fire-and-brimstone preachers was the worst prospect of all. Far worse than anything Reeve could do even if he were to return to the wagon in a rage of lust.

Snuggling under the covers, her hair an unruly mess around her head, Maggie smiled as she imagined Reeve in a rage of lust. The prospect was intriguing.

The covers warming her, her body feeling all soft and boneless and profoundly cherished in the bargain, Maggie yawned and closed her eyes. Within moments she was sleeping, untroubled by dreams of any kind, erotic or otherwise.

There were other places Reeve could have slept, other places where the needs that tore at him might have been appeased, but in the end, after wandering for nearly an hour in the rain, he went back to his own wagon and crept inside.

Maggie was sleeping; he knew that from the soft meter of her breathing. Reeve smiled to himself as he stripped away his wet clothes and flung them into a corner of the wagon. There was only one bed and it was too damned cold to sleep on the floor, so he crawled into the narrow berth beside Maggie and huddled close to her. He’d just have to control himself, that was all.

She stirred as his icy flesh pressed against her, but didn’t awaken. Reeve was filled with tenderness—Maggie was exhausted—and he was gentle as he laid one possessive, protective arm over her and ordered himself to sleep.

Maggie’s plump little posterior wriggled against him as she stirred in her sleep, and Reeve swallowed a groan as he felt himself growing hard again. The effects of an hour’s walk in the frigid rain had just been undone.

A shudder went through him and then he sneezed, shaking the whole bed. As luck would have it, Maggie awakened and he felt her turning toward him, the peaks of her breasts brushing his chest and making matters generally worse.

“You’ve caught a cold,” she scolded softly, sleepily, her small, smooth hand moving up and down his arm in an effort to warm him.