#SableHunter #RyanOleary #Romance #HellYeah #1Click
What the hell? His vixen in red ran right up to several pens full of big black bulls. He remembered what the bartender had said about a bull run. Was it her job to begin the event? The path they were to follow was clearly delineated by rope barriers with flags attached to keep the animals from escaping down side streets. Just as he anticipated, the beautiful woman opened the gates and began urging the animals out. But instead of coaxing them toward their designated path, she began to coax them in the opposite direction, toward an open area bordered by woods. “Well, I’ll be,” he whispered. She was letting them go.

He rushed ahead to help her, not fully understanding what was going on, but willing to take her side, whatever the outcome. With his heart in his throat, he watched as the massive animals passed so close to her that he was afraid she’d be trampled or grazed by their sharp horns. The nearer he drew, the more entranced he became. She was fierce, standing her ground to keep the big bulls from turning in the most logical pathway.

A shout behind Bull alerted him that someone else was coming.

“¡Párala! ¡Párala! Ella está dejando que los toros escapen!”

“Stop her! Stop her! She is letting the bulls escape!”

Bull was glad at least one of the crowd spoke English or he would’ve just had to wonder at what they were saying.

Rushing forward, he waved his arms, urging the last few of the stomping, huffing, animals in the direction his beauty wanted them to go. “There!” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to one side. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they catch us.”

Isabella’s head was swimming. She was panting from exertion and adrenaline. Freeing the bulls was amazing, but not nearly as exhilarating as the cowboy coming to her rescue and the feel of his large hand enveloping her own.

“This way!” She pointed down a narrow alleyway. Behind them, people were rushing toward them, some carrying lanterns. Their voices grew louder. “In here!” Pushing open a gate, she hurried inside a small courtyard, guiding him in with her. As soon as she could, she shoved the gate to, just about the same time as footsteps came thundering past.

Isabelle flung herself into the shadows and turned her ankle on a rock. With a startled gasp, she fell against the broad, hard chest of her handsome champion.

To keep her from falling, Bull grasped her to him, pulling her against him and filling his arms with soft, sweet woman.

Isabella gasped. His broad, warm palm covered her breast.

In the glow of the moon, she looked down at the large hand cupped over the scarlet material of her bodice. Due to the cut of her dress, she wore no bra. So, the only barrier between his palm and her nipple was a very thin piece of scarlet material. Isabella held her breath, waiting for him to free her – to push her aside. But he didn’t. His strong arm curved around her waist, clasping her body tightly to his.

“Who are you?” she asked softly, in perfect, yet stilted English.

“Shhhh, people are right outside the gate,” he whispered back, not moving, still holding her close.

Isabella closed her eyes, willing this provocative dream to continue. A stranger, the living manifestation of her desires, held her in his arms and she never wanted to move. No alarm sounded in her mind, she felt safer than ever before.

When the footsteps on the other side of the wall abated, his hand seemed to move reluctantly – but not before it had skimmed over her nipple, leaving a hard, aching peak in its wake.

Isabella moaned, wishing the sensation could continue. To her relief, he didn’t turn her loose, he simply began caressing her bare arms from her shoulders to her wrists and back. Her knees became weak and she sank back more firmly against him.

“What possessed you to do that?” Bull couldn’t help but ask. He wanted to know more about her, but this information seemed paramount. “You could’ve been killed.”

Her skin felt alive where he touched her, a hot tingling pervaded her body – traveling from her arms to her nipples, down her spine, and even to the tips of her toes. “I had to, they were to be killed. Fed alcohol, then chased down the streets, across the river to be slaughtered.”

“Why?” Bull asked, wanting to know the answer, yet needing to know her more.

“An ancient, stupid, barbaric custom.” Isabella bit back a moan as his fingers caressed her neck. Her breasts ached and the evidence of her arousal was pooling between her thighs.

Another shout out in the street caused Isabella to jump, a small cry erupting from her lips.

“Shhh, they’ll hear.” Bull spoke near to the soft velvet of her cheek. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

Isabella quaked. Should she tell him. “Who are you?” she countered his question.

“Bull Redford.”

She couldn’t help but be amused. “That’s not your name.”

Hearing the smile in her voice, he smiled back. “Well, that’s what my friends call me. My name is Benedict, Benedict Carson Redford.”

“I shall call you Benedict – I like that.”

And he liked the sound of his name on her tongue.


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