Gail Barrett - To Protect a Princess

The wind rose, keening through the stark stone canyon, spiking the air with the threat of rain. He narrowed his gaze on the woods, remembered the plume of dust he’d seen on the trail.

And a deep sense of foreboding rippled through him. He wasn’t a fanciful man. He’d bet his gelding there was someone else on that ridge. Which meant he had to keep his wits about him—and end this madness with Dara now.

He turned his attention to the woman beside him. The breeze whipped her silky hair loose, and she tucked the stray strands behind her ears.

“Look, Dara.” Her eyes swiveled to his, and he gentled his voice. “I’m sorry about that—” that moment of mind-blasting pleasure “—for what happened back there.”

A blush flared on her cheeks, turning her skin a dusty rose, and she folded her arms under her breasts. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Sure it was.” He could have—should have—stepped away. He rubbed the back of his neck, appalled by how badly he’d lost control. “It won’t happen again.”

“I understand.”

She sounded hurt, not relieved, and he frowned. “Do you?”

“Sure.” Her gaze skidded away. “You thought I was reckless.”

He bit off a laugh. “Darlin’, that was the entire problem. I wasn’t thinking at all. You made me burn.”

Her blush deepened, but her eyes locked on his. “I did, too,” she whispered. “I thought it was…amazing.”

Heat rushed to his loins. A hot surge of hunger clawed at his gut. And the desire to go to her, to stroke those soft, ripe curves, to ravage her lips, her mouth, slammed through him so hard that his hands shook.

He hauled in a breath to cool his blood, but he couldn’t disguise the need in his eyes, the ache that was pounding his veins. Everything male in him reacted to the promise in her voice, that kiss.

Against his better judgment, he stepped close, too close, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. He inhaled her scent, felt heat rising from her velvet skin, hungered to bury himself in her warmth. “You’re playing with fire, darlin’.” His voice scraped the quiet air.

He reached out, stroked his palm up that silky throat, traced the delicate line of her jaw. Her breath hitched, her pulse stumbled under his thumb, sending a rush of lust through his blood. And her dark, wild eyes stayed locked on his—mesmerizing, aroused.

Fire blazed inside him, a deep, carnal pull that incinerated his nerves. “But be damned careful what you offer,” he warned her, and his voice turned huskier still. “Because I’ll take it. Don’t think I’m better than any other man.”

Especially when they were out here alone.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, flicked back up. Desire burned in those witchy eyes, along with a hint of doubt. And that stopped him. He despised losing control, liked being manipulated even less.

He dropped his hand, stepped back, putting some badly needed air between them. He knew all about guilt. He dreamed it, breathed it, shouldered the crushing weight of it day after relentless day. And he’d be damned if he’d add more regrets to the list.

No matter how tempting this woman was.

His temper rising again, he turned on his heel, tried to pull his mind away from the need. She’d been warned. Now he had more important things to worry about, like how to keep her safe.

The trail wound along the bluff above the plunging gorge, through tall, parched clumps of grass. He picked up the pace, anxious to find his horse, feeling too exposed on the open cliff.

But then another flash of light caught his eye.

He stopped, scanned the opposite cliff. He hadn’t imagined that flash this time. That had been sunlight glinting off glass.

He watched, his lungs still now, his pulse drumming a slow, steady beat. The wind teased the hairs on the nape of his neck, ruffled the tufts of dried grass. There was no movement, no sign of life on the opposite ridge.

“What’s wrong?” Dara asked, stopping beside him. “Are those men still there?”

“I doubt it.” He didn’t move his gaze from the trees. “They’re probably heading to the nearest bar by now.” They’d lie in wait, drink up their courage, plan to ambush them when they came off the hills.

Someone was out there, though. He knew it, as surely as he knew how to breathe. He scanned the cliffs again, the sunbaked earth sloping to the blown-up bridge. Nothing moved. But he’d learned the hard way not to ignore his instincts. And his nerves screamed that someone was on their trail.

Someone more deadly than the local thugs.

“Is it…there isn’t someone else out there?”

He caught the anxiety in her voice, and his heart rolled. He shifted his gaze to her. “You have reason to think there’d be?”

“No.” Her dark eyes slid from his.

Was she lying? He studied the nervous pull of her lips, the worry creasing her delicate brow. And his suspicion rose. If she’d led him into a trap…

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked, her voice pitched higher now. “I mean, nobody can get across since you blew up the bridge.”

“There’s another place,” he said, still not taking his eyes off her. “Another bridge about an hour ahead.”

She nibbled her lip, met his gaze, the worry clear in her eyes. “And someone could cross there?”

“Maybe. It’s on an old trail. Most people don’t know it exists.” And the bridge hadn’t been maintained in decades, not since a landslide blocked it off. It would take a desperate man to try to cross.

But he knew all about desperation, the lengths it could drive a man. And if someone was out there, he needed to know. Only a fool headed into these mountains unaware.

He wasn’t a fool. And he wouldn’t let any woman, no matter how appealing, turn him into one.

But he was a man without a horse, without supplies.

Without much time.

“Come on.” He turned abruptly, stalked up the slope, shot a frown at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were moving into position over the mountains now, their lead-lined bottoms edging out the vibrant sky. And rain could be deadly out here, bringing on flash floods and mudslides. But they needed to find out who they were up against before they headed to higher ground.

Dara caught up with his long strides a second later. They walked in silence up the slope, their boots thudding on the hard dirt. “So how do you know about the bridge?” she asked.

He reined in the suspicion building inside, slid her a glance. If she was lying, he’d find out soon enough. “I use the old trails when I’m hauling silver or gold.”

“You’re a miner?”

“No. I’m not that desperate.” Not anymore.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, whistled for the gelding, then caught up to her again. “You’ve never seen a mining town? They’re slums,” he told her when she shook her head. “Worse than slums. There’s no running water, no sanitation, no laws. Just violence and disease. Mercury poisons the water, the air. Human waste runs in open pits down the roads.”

His mind flashed to the squalor and suffering, the dull hopelessness in the children’s eyes. The same blank look he would have had in his eyes if he’d stayed.

He thinned his lips. “The mines are worse. They’re not fit for animals. The operations up here aren’t modern, and there aren’t safety regulations or laws—at least none they enforce. Tunnels collapse. Men die. The miners chew coca leaves all day so they’ll be numb enough to dig.”

“But…that’s awful,” she said, and stopped. And he saw the horror in her eyes, the shock. “Why would anyone live like that?”

“Desperation.” A feeling he knew well. “They either dig or die. There’s nothing else they can do.”