Liquid Fire Beauty
By Rachel's Angel
CoyoteRachelNY@aol.com
Roxton's views as he watches Marguerite sleep.
Lord John Roxton looked over at the woman asleep next him. The idea of camping out overnight without any equipment had not thrilled the young heiress. Actually, Marguerite Krux had been downright against the idea altogether. That is, until, Roxton had politely informed her of exactly how many hours of walking they had ahead of them in order to reach the treehouse. That had stopped her. Dead in her tracks.
'Please tell me you're joking!' Marguerite had ordered him as she'd whirled around to face him.
Now, by the fire, Roxton sat leaning against a tree, his rifle by his side, already cocked and loaded, ready to be used in an instant should the need arise. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn't. He was having too much fun watching Ms. Krux as she slept.
The fire twinkled in the darkness. The light it provided was coming from behind Marguerite leaving her form in darkness. The good thing, John noted, was that the light emphasized her small waist and slender figure.
A rustling in the bushed set his spider-senses a tingling. Taking his rifle in his hands he looked around for what was responsible for the disturbance.
Nothing appeared so Roxton set his gun down once more.
It was no surprise that the raven-haired beauty hadn't even stirred.
Roxton smiled thinking how deeply he was taken by this firey, selfish, opinionistic lady. She was far too loud to be a real lady. Still, that did nothing to change that obvious fact that he's succumbed to her spell.
Never before had he been at a loss for words to describe how he felt towards a female.
Marguerite Krux enchanted him. Plain and simply put: he's fallen head over heels in love with her.
Roxton chuckled inwardly as he remembered back to when they'd only recently arrived on the plateau and he'd been amazed at the incredible fire that marguerite had inside of her.
Then another memory flashed through his mind. Roxton couldn't help but smile. The mud wresting match between International woman of mystery and the born and bred jungle girl Veronica. He'd just been stabbed by Veronica who'd been under the influence of a drug, when Marguerite had raced onto the scene. She'd tackled Veronica to the ground in a move that would impress the best of football coaches. The two women had landed in a large mud puddle. Over and over they'd fought for control over each other. Marguerite had won eventually.
Coming back to the present, Roxton looked over at her again. Still she peacefully slept. Well, as peacefully s she ever got. Roxton's hawk like eyes didn't miss the tension lines etched permanently into her face. Marguerite's pale skin contrasted sharply with her raven black hair.
Each day Roxton fought an internal battle with himself. And with each new day he knew that he was losing the battle. He had this irresistible urge to caress those long dark locks. The way the curls hung over her shoulders and half way down her back when she left them loose. The way her hair straightened and lengthened when drenched with water.
This woman had the ability, equal to none other Roxton had ever met, to keep him guessing. He marveled the way she could talk about herself and yet never reveal anything. She was cagey, smart, aggravating, sexy, infuriating, sly, bossy and lovely all in the one package. She was the woman Roxton just loved to hate.
And arguments, they had some whoppers. An off comment could fire her up like a volcano about to erupt. Roxton was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, to spar with her at least once per day.
Sometimes he thought he argued with her simply to role her. She looked stunning when she was mad. Her eyes seemed to flash anger like lightning bolts.
Eyes. They were such an unusual colour. A mix of silver, green and blue. An amazing intensity seeped through them. Lock eyes with her and he could feel her power, her strength, and her fire. That feeling sent shivers down his spine time after time.
Oh how he craved to hold her. He'd tried once and she'd felt like liquid fire slipping through his hands. She'd recoiled as though he'd burned her. That passion in her was overpowering. It clouded his mind just thinking about that feeling.
Eventually he hoped to be able to get through her trust barriers to her heart. To the real Marguerite. This woman had more walls than China to get through.
Until then, Roxton knew that he'd have to settle with watching this woman, with the liquid fire flowing through her veins, from a safe distance.
Maybe when some of the fire cooled would it be safe enough for him to capture this flame for his own.
The wait was going to be torture.
But Roxton was more than willing to wait for his liquid fire beauty going by the name of Marguerite Krux.
The End.
By Rachel's Angel
CoyoteRachelNY@aol.com
Roxton's views as he watches Marguerite sleep.
Lord John Roxton looked over at the woman asleep next him. The idea of camping out overnight without any equipment had not thrilled the young heiress. Actually, Marguerite Krux had been downright against the idea altogether. That is, until, Roxton had politely informed her of exactly how many hours of walking they had ahead of them in order to reach the treehouse. That had stopped her. Dead in her tracks.
'Please tell me you're joking!' Marguerite had ordered him as she'd whirled around to face him.
Now, by the fire, Roxton sat leaning against a tree, his rifle by his side, already cocked and loaded, ready to be used in an instant should the need arise. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn't. He was having too much fun watching Ms. Krux as she slept.
The fire twinkled in the darkness. The light it provided was coming from behind Marguerite leaving her form in darkness. The good thing, John noted, was that the light emphasized her small waist and slender figure.
A rustling in the bushed set his spider-senses a tingling. Taking his rifle in his hands he looked around for what was responsible for the disturbance.
Nothing appeared so Roxton set his gun down once more.
It was no surprise that the raven-haired beauty hadn't even stirred.
Roxton smiled thinking how deeply he was taken by this firey, selfish, opinionistic lady. She was far too loud to be a real lady. Still, that did nothing to change that obvious fact that he's succumbed to her spell.
Never before had he been at a loss for words to describe how he felt towards a female.
Marguerite Krux enchanted him. Plain and simply put: he's fallen head over heels in love with her.
Roxton chuckled inwardly as he remembered back to when they'd only recently arrived on the plateau and he'd been amazed at the incredible fire that marguerite had inside of her.
Then another memory flashed through his mind. Roxton couldn't help but smile. The mud wresting match between International woman of mystery and the born and bred jungle girl Veronica. He'd just been stabbed by Veronica who'd been under the influence of a drug, when Marguerite had raced onto the scene. She'd tackled Veronica to the ground in a move that would impress the best of football coaches. The two women had landed in a large mud puddle. Over and over they'd fought for control over each other. Marguerite had won eventually.
Coming back to the present, Roxton looked over at her again. Still she peacefully slept. Well, as peacefully s she ever got. Roxton's hawk like eyes didn't miss the tension lines etched permanently into her face. Marguerite's pale skin contrasted sharply with her raven black hair.
Each day Roxton fought an internal battle with himself. And with each new day he knew that he was losing the battle. He had this irresistible urge to caress those long dark locks. The way the curls hung over her shoulders and half way down her back when she left them loose. The way her hair straightened and lengthened when drenched with water.
This woman had the ability, equal to none other Roxton had ever met, to keep him guessing. He marveled the way she could talk about herself and yet never reveal anything. She was cagey, smart, aggravating, sexy, infuriating, sly, bossy and lovely all in the one package. She was the woman Roxton just loved to hate.
And arguments, they had some whoppers. An off comment could fire her up like a volcano about to erupt. Roxton was the only one brave enough, or stupid enough, to spar with her at least once per day.
Sometimes he thought he argued with her simply to role her. She looked stunning when she was mad. Her eyes seemed to flash anger like lightning bolts.
Eyes. They were such an unusual colour. A mix of silver, green and blue. An amazing intensity seeped through them. Lock eyes with her and he could feel her power, her strength, and her fire. That feeling sent shivers down his spine time after time.
Oh how he craved to hold her. He'd tried once and she'd felt like liquid fire slipping through his hands. She'd recoiled as though he'd burned her. That passion in her was overpowering. It clouded his mind just thinking about that feeling.
Eventually he hoped to be able to get through her trust barriers to her heart. To the real Marguerite. This woman had more walls than China to get through.
Until then, Roxton knew that he'd have to settle with watching this woman, with the liquid fire flowing through her veins, from a safe distance.
Maybe when some of the fire cooled would it be safe enough for him to capture this flame for his own.
The wait was going to be torture.
But Roxton was more than willing to wait for his liquid fire beauty going by the name of Marguerite Krux.
The End.