He raked a hand over his mouth and chin, his eyes fastening much lower than her face.
Oh, damn.
Only now did it occur to Abby what she must look like. A quick glance down confirmed the worst. The rain that had turned her hair to a thick soggy mat had rendered her silk shirt almost invisible. She might as well be standing here in nothing but her bra.
Leaving her vest to protect the artifact she’d found seemed a pretty stupid idea in retrospect.
Her face heated to the point she expected steam to begin rising any second as she headed into the trees. Jonathan was instantly at her side, pushing back branches to assist her, his free hand lingering at her lower back guiding her forward.
When they stepped into the little clearing where she’d been working, he hurried ahead, snatching up her vest and reaching down to run a finger over her find.
“A magnificent treasure, to be sure,” he said, his eyesfastened on her. “Come, tell me, what do you think these markings might mean?”
Reluctantly eying the vest he’d tossed out of her reach, she dropped to her knees beside him, once again studying what appeared to be a design carved into the ancient wooden handle.
“I can’t be sure until we have it out and cleaned, but I’m thinking it might be some type of overlapping circles.”
Her thoughts were cut short with a gasp as Jonathan trailed a hand up her spine, his fingers tightening around the base of her neck, firmly urging her face toward his.
This wasn’t happening.
On reflex she jerked her arms up between them, pushing against his chest. “Look, Jonathan—”
“I have looked,” he interrupted, “and I very much like what I see, Abigail. I like it and I want it for my very own.”
To her surprise, he dragged her forward, crushing his mouth over hers, roughly catching up her bottom lip with his teeth as his free hand covered her breast.
“No!” she grunted, and shoved against his chest with all her strength, pushing away and scrambling backward across the muddy earth.
His hand was so quick, she hardly saw the movement, but his fingers caught her wrist and tightened in a viselike grip. She pulled against his hold in quick, useless jerky movements, as he drew her inexorably closer to him, dragging her to her feet as he stood.
“I’d hoped to do this the easy way, Abigail, but you thwart me at every turn. You’re leaving me no choice, love.”
He’d flipped out. Total off-the-wall bonkers. And she hadn’t a clue what he intended or what she should do. Except get away. She knew she had to get away.
She grasped at straws. “No, no. . . you have choices. There are lots of choices, Jonathan. We always have choices,” she babbled, her voice little more than a squeak in her desperation to escape him.
“We’ll see,” he answered, tightening his grip on her wrist as he reached his other hand into his pocket, pulling out his gold knife.
That couldn’t be good. “What? What do you think you’re doing? Jonathan? You’re frightening me. Let go of me right now.”
He drew her hand to his lips for a kiss, overpowering her struggles as if she were a child. Lowering the hand, he chuckled, a wicked light in his eyes as he sliced into the tip of her index finger with his knife.
Seventeen
As if the Fates themselves had intervened in his life this day, absolutely nothing had gone as Colin had planned. He felt as though he’d been blocked at every turn, from his arrival at Swan House only to learn Abby had already gone, right down to the lorry driver sitting beside him now.
Having missed Abby, he’d gone to the pub to ask after transportation out to the dig site. Though the village had no official taxi service, one of the older gents in the pub had offered to drive him. Though the walk to the man’s home was short in distance, it was far enough for Colin to realize the elderly man had already had far too much of the fine Scots whisky to be operating a vehicle of any sort. He could barely walk without stumbling.
He left the man at his front door, thanking him profusely for his offer but refusing, and headed back to the pub only to be stopped by Mrs. MacKee.
The memory of the feisty, white-haired woman perched on the top step of a tall ladder still had him shaking his head in disbelief. After he’d left her home this morning, she’d decided to take it upon herself to repair the top of her garden gate. The woman was an accident waiting to happen. Had he not chanced upon her when he did, he had no doubt she’d be in bed with broken bones at this very moment.
He’d had no choice but to offer his assistance. How could he not? One simply did not leave an elderly woman to fend for herself. At least not where he came from.
Four hours and a lovely lunch later—she’d insisted and would not take no for an answer—he was finally free to go find Abby.
Mrs. MacKee arranged for him to catch a ride with the lorry driver who’d stopped to deliver a package to her neighbor, and as he’d waved his farewell, he’d once again felt in control of his day. Until, that is, Big Mike had told him he could take him only part of the way to where he wanted to go.
