Джулиана Маклейн: In My Wildest Fantasies

The stranger urged his horse forward along the side of the road, approaching even closer until he was directly in front of them.

They backed up, and her father spoke harshly. "Get in the coach, Rebecca."

"But…"

"Do as I say, gel."

She supposed he was wise to be cautious. They knew nothing about this man or his intentions, so she dutifully stepped back into the coach, boldly meeting the stranger's gaze as she climbed inside.

She perched herself on the edge of the seat, leaning forward where she could at least peer out the open door and witness the conversation. But because the man's horse was adjacent to the door, she could see him only from the chest down. The top of the door was blocking his head and shoulders.

Consequently, knowing that he couldn't see her either, she let her gaze wander down the length of his muscular leg. She felt a strange, quivering curiosity in her belly as her eyes traveled over his thick thigh and strong knee, then down to the toe of his expensive black riding boot, polished to a flawless sheen. Even the stirrups were gleaming.

"Do you require assistance?" he asked her father.

Assistance…That at least sounded promising.

Her father leaned upon his cane. "No, we are quite all right, thank you."

"But father…" she protested, inching forward on the seat.

He gave her a stern look, which told her to keep quiet.

The stranger bent forward over the horse's well-groomed mane to peer inside at her. Her heart began to race again as she noted for the second time the striking color of his blue eyes, which seemed to see straight through her. She felt naked and exposed, and her blood seemed to burn with a dark, almost frightening excitement.

Heaven help her, she had never in her life encountered such a striking man. He took her breath away. She could not move.

Then suddenly, a crazed black raven swooped down from the trees, screeching and flapping its wings in front of the horses. The coach jerked under her, and she was thrown back against the seat, smacking her head against the leather upholstery. The horses took off like a shot, and before she knew what was afoot, the trees outside were whizzing by the open door in a dizzying blur.

Sheer fright blazed through her, and she clutched at the side of the coach, which continued to gain speed and bounced out of control over the bumps in the road.

"Stop!" she shouted, knowing it would do no good.

The coach swerved around a sharp bend in the road, and she was tossed to the side. She hit her head again, winced and shut her eyes at the pain, and when she opened them, she found herself gazing out the door at another blur of movement.

Something passed her by-a flash of black. It was the man on the horse, galloping even faster than the out-of-control coach. The heavy hooves thundered over the ground as he disappeared in front, and she heard the sound of his deep voice shouting, "Hold up! Steady now!"

The horses whinnied, the coach rocked and swayed, then the noise and commotion died away as they pulled to a gradual halt.

Overcome with panic, she scrambled across the seat to the open door, looked out at the gentleman who was still on his horse up front holding onto the harness, and said, "Thank you, sir!"

She threw a foot out to climb down.

"But, miss," he quickly replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Please don't-"

She didn't even have a chance to comprehend the warning before-kersplash! — she was hip-deep in a cold bog, her breath coming short from the shock of the chill.

"Oh, bollocks!" she cried, as the cold water seeped into her drawers and numbed her skin. "This is freezing!" She flapped her hands through the air, flicking glistening droplets of water in all directions.

The man quickly brought his horse around. "Give me your hand."

The plain words and firm voice of command moved her to action, and she reached out. Without delay he pulled her up out of the water, which was no easy task with her skirts dripping and heavy as a dead elephant. He set her sideways in front of him, then smoothly walked his horse out of the bog.

As soon as they were on dry ground, he dismounted, and she found herself looking down at those mesmerizing blue eyes again while he reached his arms up to her.

"Down you come, darling," he said. "Just slide yourself into my arms."

Darling.

Dear Lord…A runaway coach and a darkly handsome man who wanted her to slide into his arms. This was more than any socially sheltered seventeen-year-old could take. It was the stuff of fantasies and fairy tales.

Flustered and befuddled, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders and felt the soft fur of his wide lapels through her wet gloves as she slid down from the saddle into his solid male frame. She had never touched a man like this before, had never been so close.

He began to lower her down, and the whole front of her body pressed tightly against his firm chest. Her heart was pounding so fast it was making her lightheaded, and she wasn't sure if it was the lingering terror from being whisked away inside a runaway coach, or if it was the fact that she was being held by this man-this dangerous, exciting stranger with shoulders as broad and solid as an oak, and eyes that made her shiver inwardly with a strange curiosity she couldn't even begin to understand. She had never experienced anything as exciting as this. It felt wild and wicked and shamefully titillating.

When her toes finally touched the ground, neither she, nor he, made a move to step apart. He continued to hold her steady, his huge hands gripping her corseted waist while he looked down at her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think so."

"Well, that's a relief," he replied, the corner of his mouth turning up in a sweltering grin that turned her brain to clotted cream. "For a minute there, I thought you were done for."

Despite the overwhelming shock of what had just occurred, and the fact that she was freezing cold from the waist down and still being held in his arms, she found herself letting out a nervous little chuckle.

His blue eyes warmed at her response, and he stepped back, appearing comfortable with the fact that she was indeed all right and would be able to stand on her own two feet without swooning.

But it was only early yet, she supposed. There was still plenty of time for swooning.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

This time, she actually thought about it, and felt a pain at the back of her head. She reached up to touch the sore spot. "I was knocked around a bit, I'm afraid."

"Let me see." He was a full twelve inches taller than she, so it was nothing for him to lean over her and examine the back of her head. His fingers slid into the loose knots of her thick, red hair and gently massaged her scalp, searching…touching…Then he stroked downward to the back of her neck and massaged the sensitive tendons there.

Every nerve in her body quivered and pulsed with a thrilling awareness and a hot jolt of pleasure. She drew in a slow, languid breath and held onto it.

"I believe you'll live," he said, lowering his hands to his sides and stepping back again. "But you'll have a bump or two."

"A bump," she replied, before she let out that long held breath and marveled at the indulgent wish to be pressed up against his hard body again and feel that strange, amorous pleasure inside her.

"Yes, a bump," he said. "Any other injuries?"

Still recovering from the exquisite heat of his touch, she considered it. "My elbow, I think."

He grinned wickedly at her, as if he were catching her at some kind of game. But she really had whacked it against the side of the coach when they'd taken off, and wanted only for him to touch it and rub it and stroke it with those magical hands of his. Oh, and of course make sure it was sound.