Jacquie D’Alessandro - Touch Me

Her warm flesh instantly pebbled in the cool air and she reached for her robe, one corner of her mouth lifting at the sight of Beauty curled up next to her clothing. After knotting the sash around her waist, she donned her long cape, her gloves and her boots, and tucked her pistol into her pocket. Feeling far less vulnerable now that her hands were covered, she turned to face him. He’d emerged from the spring as well, and was tugging his jacket into place, watching her through hooded eyes. For several seconds they simply looked at each other and Genevieve experienced a pull of attraction, and something else…something she’d never before experienced. Something that made her want to run to him and bury her face against his broad chest. Breathe him in. Feel his strength. She wanted to hold him, and be held by him. And never let go. She frowned and shook her head to dispel it of the ridiculous notion.

“Are you cold?” he asked, walking toward her.

If only she were. She should be. Instead, heat rippled through her, increasing with every step closer he took. “No.”

He stopped, looking at her as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Then his gaze flicked to her mouth. Fire kindled in his eyes, and her heart lurched in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, he bent down and scooped up Beauty. The puppy opened one sleepy eye, gave a huge yawn, then snuggled into the curve of Simon’s arm to dream doggie dreams.

Lightly petting the dog’s golden head, Simon said softly, “Earlier, while dashing through the woods after this imp I was tempted to change her name to Evil Lead Chewer. Or Runs Impossibly Fast. Or Pain in the Arse. Now I’m tempted to change her name to Genius. Certainly I owe her the largest beef bone in the kingdom for leading me here.”

“And here you thought she’d be nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, she’s trouble. But it appears I harbor a weakness for trouble.” His gaze skimmed over her. “Among other things. Which means we should leave now. Lest we end up here all night.” He extended his free arm. “Shall we?”

Genevieve tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they made their way along the path. For several minutes the only sound was that of their footfalls crunching against the fallen leaves. Then for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she found herself admitting, “It’s been a long time since I’ve walked through the woods with a man.”

He turned his head to look at her. “I can only conclude that it’s been your choice to walk alone because you’d have only to snap your fingers to find a dozen suitors knocking on your door.”

Even though he was completely mistaken, warmth flooded Genevieve at the compliment. “Thank you, but you are far overestimating my charms, Simon.”

“I’m not. You are far under estimating them. Have you no mirrors in your home?”

“Yes. And they don’t lie.” They showed her exactly what she was-an aging former mistress with ruined hands. A shell of the woman she once was.

“Then you must require spectacles.”

She was about to assure him she didn’t when he abruptly halted. They’d rounded a corner and her cottage was just ahead.

“Your front door is open,” he said in an undertone, pulling her off the path and behind the trunk of an elm. As Genevieve peered through the darkness, he reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. The silver blade glinted in the moonlight. “Give me your pistol.”

A chill ran through her at his terse whisper and she reached into her pocket. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not just a decoration-I’m very proficient.”

“You’re prepared to shoot someone?”

“If necessary.”

He gave her a quick, appraising glance, then nodded. “Good. Let’s hope you don’t need to. Stay behind me, be prepared to run, and for God’s sake don’t shoot me. ”

He set the sleeping dog beneath the tree then crouching low, moved cautiously forward, his gaze scanning. Genevieve kept behind him, heart pounding with a combination of fear and dread. Was it possible Richard had come for the puzzle box? If so, she certainly didn’t want Simon to hurt him, thinking him to be an intruder.

They reached the flagstone steps and approached the door, then stepped into the foyer. And were greeted by the sight of Baxter lying on the parquet floor, a dark trail of what could only be blood marring the side of his face.

WITH HIS GAZE scanning their surroundings, Simon knelt beside Baxter. Just as he touched his fingers to the side of the giant man’s neck and felt his steady pulse, Baxter stirred and moaned.

“He’s coming around,” Simon said in a terse undertone. “I need to see if anyone’s still in the house.” Taking Genevieve by the shoulders, he backed her up several paces until her spine touched the paneling. “Stay here against the wall with your pistol at the ready until I return.”

“But Baxter-”

“Will be fine until I return.”

“I can’t leave him like that on the floor.”

“You won’t be of any use to anyone if the intruder catches you unaware because you’re tending to him. I won’t be long.”

After a brief hesitation, she nodded. With his knife at the ready, Simon quickly made his way through the house. His instincts told him the intruder was gone, and his search ascertained that was the case. The last room he checked before returning to the foyer was Genevieve’s bedchamber. On a hunch he opened her dresser drawer and felt beneath the stacks of undergarments. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what else might have been taken from the house, but one thing was missing-the puzzle box was no longer hidden beneath her lingerie.

Had she moved it herself-or had the intruder taken it? He didn’t believe for an instant that this was some random break-in. Someone else wanted that letter. But who? He didn’t know, but he sure as hell was going to find out.

With his mouth flattened into a grim line, he hurried back to the foyer.

“The house is empty,” Simon reported.

Genevieve immediately went to Baxter and dropped to her knees beside him. “He’s groaned several times and just opened his eyes.”

“Good. See to him and I’ll be right back.” Simon hurried outside and retrieved Beauty who mercifully still slept as she was carried into the foyer and set on a rug in the corner. Simon then knelt beside Genevieve who was gently dabbing the wound on Baxter’s head with a lacy handkerchief. “How is he?”

“Conscious.” No sooner had she uttered the word than Baxter attempted to sit up. Simon immediately urged him back down.

“Bloody hell, me head feels like a battalion of demons are stabbing me skull with their pitchforks,” Baxter said in a gravelly voice. He groaned and slammed his eyes shut. “What the hell sort of rotgut did I drink?”

“You didn’t drink anything,” Genevieve said. “You were knocked unconscious.”

Baxter opened one eye and frowned. “Unconscious?”

“By someone who made a thorough and not very neat search of the house,” Simon said grimly as he leaned closer to examine the egg-sized lump on the side of Baxter’s bald head. He turned to Genevieve. “We need some light.”

She rose and returned less than a minute later bearing an oil lamp that cast the foyer in a golden glow. After looking at Baxter’s wound, Simon said, “It’s stopped bleeding. But that’s a hell of a lump you’ve got there.”

Baxter grunted. “Hell of a headache I’ve got.”

“Did you see who hit you?”

Baxter tried to shake his head, winced, then said, “No. I were tossin’ and turnin’ and heard a crashing sound, like glass breakin’. Thought it might be Sophia getting into some mischief, so I came to check.” His gaze shifted to Genevieve. “Didn’t want to think of you cuttin’ yer feet in the mornin’. Next thing I know, I’m starin’ up at you with me head feelin’ two yards thick.” His eyes widened. “Bastard wot hit me didn’t hurt you, Gen, did he?”