“I could report you to Horace.”
“You won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
He inclined his head in an exaggerated bow. “There is nothing to divulge, and then Horace might learn you are blackmailing me in order to help you escape.”
Her mouth dropped opened. “You blackguard.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
A violent gust cracked against the house. She narrowed her eyes on him. “Consider that a most flattering dedication.”
He chuckled. “Checkmate.”
He lingered and awareness filled his every pore, even the air he breathed. She pushed at him. He didn’t budge.
“Get away from me.” She shoved with all her might. “I’m sure you make all of your colonial women swoon with glib flattery by hailing your exploits, and then settling on them like a rattlesnake. Pray save your amorous attentions for your lamentable frontier women.”
“Do I detect a wholehearted spurning? Or jealousy?” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “So soft.”
“You are perhaps the lowest specimen of a man that I’ve ever met.”
“And you talk too much.”
Her breath sped and the lacy fringe of her eyelashes lifted in question.
Heat from the fireplace washed over them and allowed a drowsy warmth. A spell was woven and he thought, for one moment, he might kiss her. How would that feel? Her soft generous lips beckoning him…
He was a man who took what he wanted. He was by no means blind to his attraction, for the woman radiated strength and fire, drawing him like a magnet.
Why not take her with him? Because, if he took Horace’s servants, he’d be hunted down. He didn’t fancy a noose laid over his head. His mission demanded he remain invisible. He and Two Eagles had been ordered to move among the Indians and Loyalists on the frontier to spy for General Washington. He had to report soon to Colonel Rufus Putman.
But his reconnaissance was not the real reason.
The revulsion he held for himself, the sleepless nights, pushing himself beyond exhaustion over the death of one woman he had cherished was enough to last him a thousand lifetimes. No. He could not take her.
“I’m sorry.”
He wanted her. Wanted to silence her with his lips, cover himself with the soft strands of her hair, and see it blazing red against his skin. He grew fascinated with the swift fury and intelligence he saw in her blue eyes.
He had meant just to brush her mouth with his, a whim, a slight memory to take with him. He felt her heart beating rapidly against his chest, felt her fingers burn upon his neck. But the instant their lips touched, a surge of possessiveness churned in his mind, merging with the memory of her blood trailed across their fingers, pulsing with the beating wind. He dragged her into his arms, marveling at her rounded body, and crushed his mouth down upon hers, opening his and letting his tongue search, taste, seek a treasure he couldn’t name.
She tasted like some heady, indescribable pureness and her lips were soft, so unbearably soft. An explosion of feelings burst inside him, like a man too long confined and then too, abruptly unchained.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat—a helpless whimper, an entreaty for him to stop.
“Someone is coming,” she begged.
He stepped back, arms to his sides. Juliet wore a bewildered expression; her lips were moist and bruised by his.
He cleared his throat.
To hell with Horace. Joshua would return for her and take her friend, too. He didn’t know what he’d do with them but by damn, he’d get her away from this vile place.
He folded the letter, placed the missive in his pocket and picked up his long gun. “If I’m still alive, I’ll be back in the spring. I promise.”
Chapter Seven
