His other arm encircled her waist, pulling her to him as he gently drew her head back. "I'm going to kiss you the way you were meant to be kissed and need to be kissed." His lips caressed hers.
It had nothing to do with his arms around her, holding her, preventing any retreat. It was a deep raging need, a hunger that had waited too long. A soft sound escaped the back of her throat as the kiss deepened, his lips tender against hers, his tongue plunging between.
"I knew you would come back to me."
She didn't try to understand how or why the thought came to her. She only knew that it had, like a litany from her soul. There was only this man and the lean, hard strength of his body bruising hers with such tenderness.
Desire slammed through Zach. He was out of control and knew it. He didn't like being out of control, or... vulnerable. And instinctively he knew the one went along with the other. He'd never allowed it with any woman. He especially didn't like that feeling now. She was betrothed to Barrington, as off limits to him as England itself.
Holding her in his arms, Zach knew it was all a lie. But he needed the lie as a barrier between himself and this young woman. She was as good as a Barrington, and because of that she was the same as Barrington, not to be trusted any further than it might serve his purpose.
Even when he was certain he believed that it took every last shred of control he could call up to close his fingers over her slender wrists and pull them from around his waist. Slowly, he pushed her from him. When he looked down at her passion-filled eyes, his gaze once more held the sting of cold mockery.
He pushed her away. The change in his mood was swift, like a cloud engulfing the sun. Coldness replaced the heat in that cold gray gaze, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a cruel smile.
"Is that what you wanted, my lady?"
She flinched at his stinging words, and inhaled sharply, choking on pain and humiliation.
"I was right about you. You're no gentleman. Damn you! You're nothing but a... ''
He cut her off. "I'm certain you'll think of the words in a moment, Miss Winslow."
"You pompous, overbearing...!"
"Of course." His smile was cruelly mocking. "I get the general idea of what you're trying to say. Now, if you don't mind, I don't think I care to hear the end of your tirade."
Elyse couldn't think of anything bad enough to call him. Cheeks aflame with humiliation and embarrassment, she blazed with cold fury. Jerking one wrist free of his grasp, she drew back her arm, intending to strike him as hard as she could. Instead, the sudden movement completely unbalanced her.
She gasped as she landed on the trail with a sickening thud. Then she raised cool eyes to St. James. "Bastard!" she hissed.
Equally stunned by her sudden fall, Zach checked his first instinct to dismount. He certainly hadn't intended this. But the murderous look in those vivid blue eyes told him she wasn't about to listen to any explanations. Inhaling deeply, he forced back regret and a feeling of self-loathing. She had every right to be angry.
"Obviously, you're not seriously injured," he commented as he turned his horse about.
"Injured? I might have been killed! Where are you going?"
"I'm certain you can manage quite well on your own. You seem to be a young woman of great resourcefulness."
"What about my pendant?" Elyse demanded. She held her breath when he hesitated, turning back in the saddle.
"You may have your pendant back whenever you like. You have only to call at my house for it," he announced.
"That will be a cold day in..."
"Miss Winslow, soon-to-be Lady Barrington, whatever will people think of your choice of words?" And with that, he turned back around. The faintest pressure of his heel sent his mount down the trail, leaving her behind with her bruised ego and an equally painful backside.
"I don't give a fig about what anyone thinks!" Elyse shouted after him. For emphasis, she pounded the ground beside her bruised hip. Mud splattered into the air, peppering her pants and jacket. It streaked the white shirt and plastered her hair and face.
She groaned as she looked down at her soaked pants. Of all the places for her to fall. The entire trail was dry except for this one place where rainwater from the light shower just before dawn had pooled.
"Of all the damnable luck!" She struck at the mud puddle again, completing the damage. Then she rose slowly, wincing at the pain in her bruised backside as she walked toward the stream.
If Lucy could see me now, she thought morosely. "And he still has my pendant." Tears pooled in her vivid eyes. She hated him. Oh, how she hated him!
Her head came up at the sound of hoof beats on the trail. She hastily wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, excitement sending her heart racing. It quickly died as Quimby rounded the bend in the trail.
"Damn!" she whispered, to no one but herself.
