Finally, as the other bandits mounted their horses, Fabrizio stopped in front of Ethan, gaze raking him from head to toe. He barked in Italian, the words undecipherable.
With a frown, Ethan looked to hisladra, standing beside Fabrizio’s mount.
With an oath, Fabrizio cracked Ethan across the face with his palm.
Ethan’s head snapped back, his ears ringing from the blow.
“Keep your eyes offla mia signora,Englishman,” he snarled, his accent thick.
Ah.
So the man spoke English.
“I’m a Scot,” Ethan lazed in return, tasting blood in his mouth. “Not English.”
Fabrizio’s hand raised again, fisted this time.
“Bastate!” Ethan’sladrastepped between them, a restraining palm pushing on Fabrizio’s chest.
She said something in clipped Italian.
Fabrizio spat a reply.
She waved Ethan’s revolver in the air, arguing some point.
Fabrizio’s face turned red. He glared at her, lungs heaving, before shooting a murderous glance at Ethan.
“Vai.” She flicked her fingers, ordering Fabrizio to leave.
“No,” he replied, continuing to glare at Ethan.
The lady rolled her eyes. She and Fabrizio sniped back and forth for another two minutes.
Finally, hisladrahuffed and slipped the revolver into her pocket.
Pivoting back to Ethan, she did the last thing he expected—
She grabbed his lapels in two fists, raised onto tiptoe, and pressed her lush mouth to his.
Surprise jolted him.
Her kiss scorched, hot and punishing.
Ethan could taste his blood on her lips, feel the sharp desperation in her touch.
Leaning into the kiss, he returned her fury, straining against the bonds that tied his hands.
She reciprocated with a breathy gasp, a hand around his neck, her chest pressing into his.
Electricity crackled between them. Ethan’s blood turned to lava.
Dimly, he heard the highwaymen hooting and shouting.
He was too lost in his lady’s plump lips to care.
When she finally pulled away, he chased her with his mouth, refusing to lose the connection.
Stepping back, she pressed her palm to his cheek, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with her thumb.
