“You weren’t asking,” she said stubbornly.She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t want to give up without a fight, no matter how feeble.“You were ordering.”
He had to hold back a smile.“Don’t try my patience, Miss Randall.”
“And if I do?”
He held out his left hand and moved it down her arm in a sensuous, suggestive way that had nothing of the momentary gentleness of his earlier touch.It was meant as a threat, plain and simple, but he hadn’t expected the shudder that ran through his own body, a need so strong he was almost consumed by it.His voice was hoarse as he spoke.“I’ve been in prison ten years, Miss Randall.I don’t know whether you realize what that means to a man.”She blinked, and her face drained of color.“I see that you do.”
Her face suddenly flamed with color, and she tried to turn away from him, but his hand stopped her.“Look at me.”
Shea did.She had no choice.His brilliant eyes were mesmerizing in their intensity, and she wanted to believe that anger sparked that intensity.She was too afraid to consider the cause might be something else.Her hand clenched the rock even tighter.
With his gloved hand, he gently pried the rock loose from her fist.The feel of leather against her skin was pleasant, and apprehension drained from her.Still, she didn’t know what to expect from him, what he might do next.
As always, he surprised her.“It would have taken you a very long time to break that lock.”He paused.“Are you a good rider, Miss Randall?”
She wasn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him.She was grateful, however, to leave the previous conversation, the threat in the air between them.
“I wouldn’t like it if my horse broke a leg because of you.”
“And ifIbroke a leg?”
He sighed.“At least you would stay put then, but I stopped being lucky a long time ago.”
His indifference to her possible injury irritated her immensely.He cared about the horse being hurt, but not her.“I’ll try to escape again,” she said in one last spurt of defiance.
“And I’ll stop you again.”
Their gazes met and locked.Shea felt a sizzling heat start inside and spread.Her fingers still tingled with his touch.She balled them into fists.She didn’t want to respond to him this way.
He broke the contact first.“We did accomplish something,” he said in cool words that quenched the heat quicker than any water could.“I know exactly how far I can trust you.And your word.”
It was calculated cruelty.She should be getting used to it, and yet it still hurt her.Perhaps it wouldn’t have, if she had not fought her own conscience on the matter.She hated the aching regret the words created in her; even more she hated feeling like a chastened child.
She struck back.“Yousaid you wouldn’t touch me.”
He smiled slightly, but it wasn’t pleasant.“Ah … the kiss.I didn’t get the feeling that I hurt you, Miss Randall.For a moment you seemed to even enjoy it.But maybe your objection wasn’t over the kiss at all.Maybe it was me.Am I … unworthy of your high standards?An ex-convict too base to touch you?”
“That’s exactly it,” Shea countered, furious at his mockery.“I don’t owe you anything.You’re a thief and a kidnapper and a …”
“Don’t stop there,” he said smoothly, but something in his eyes warned her.They had darkened, and she felt she was about to plunge headlong into something far beyond her ability to control.She swallowed.He was so still, so watchful.She sensed from him that quiet, desperate pain again, that anguish stored up inside him.
His expression suddenly changed, as if he’d seen something in her eyes, something he wanted to banish.The faint smile disappeared, and his lips firmed in a grim line.“You must be hungry,” he said abruptly.“All that stalking around.”
“I didn’t stalk,” she said indignantly.But she was hungry.And the frightening thing was, she felt hunger for something other than food.
He took her chin between two fingers.“I wanted to see what you would do, Miss Randall.You kept your head, but you underestimated me, and you overestimated yourself.I wasn’t lying when I tried to explain how dangerous these mountains can be.A mountain lion could have easily heard or smelled you.”
She remembered that moment of loneliness, that almost overwhelming fear she had fought down.She wondered whether she would ever completely feel safe again.She didn’t want to go back in the woods alone, but neither would she feel safe here.With him.With those eyes that were cold and hot at the same time, aloof and needy.Threatening and understanding.She didn’t know what to expect of him.Nor of herself.Everything that was happening was so foreign to what she knew.
His fingers lingered on her chin, but then, as if regretful to do so, he moved away.“The trout is in the cabin on the spit.Eat what you like.”
She hesitated.“What about you?”
“I thought you didn’t care for the company of a thief and kidnapper,” he said, sneering, “and … whatever else you think I am.”
“Don’t forget convict,” she said.She was angry with herself for that moment of consideration for him.
“Oh, I don’t forget that, Miss Randall.I never forget that.”He headed for the stable but turned back suddenly to see her still standing there, as if rooted to the ground.“And you’ll stay in the cabin until I say otherwise.”
