Jackie Summers - Embrace The Dawn

“I bet you do!” Anne hated his arrogance. Suddenly a fearful thought crossed her mind. “You’re not sleeping with me!”

“You have nothing to fear.” His devilish chuckle deepened. “I prefer my women...clean.”

“Clean?” she repeated, aghast.

“Aye. You’re mud from head to foot. Take off that silly man’s disguise, at least. Tomorrow, I’ll heat some water for a bath. And if you balk, I’ll give it to you, myself.”

Anne pushed back the veiled threat that he would sleep with her then! Her hand rose to her throat. “I hope they catch you and you swing from a gibbet.” Anne tumbled forward and leaned toward him. “I’ll dance a jig at your hanging and help them tug on the rope.”

“My, my. Sounds like you’re going to be busy. I suggest you get some sleep to keep up your energy.” He unfastened his flowing cape and tossed it over the wood fireplace settle. “I’ll sleep here,” he said, pushing the bench nearer the hearth. “Don’t try anything foolish. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Anne tossed her head in stony response. She crept back to bed and peered at him warily. What could she do if he chose to ravish her? She was completely at his mercy. She watched him undo the ribbons at his wrist and neck. God’s bones! He was undressing in front of her!

She turned her head into the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, dismissing the disturbing image from her mind. She heard him chuckle in that insidious way, and she vowed to get even with him, somehow. Damn the rogue. She’d think of something!

* * *

Birds chirped in the distance and Anne stirred, pushing a wave of hair from her face. When her eyes fluttered open, it took her only a moment to orient herself and remember where she was. Already, pale morning light spilled in through the lace curtain above her head.

She knew without turning in his direction that the Black Fox was in the room. She could feel his presence. She threw back the blanket and sat up.

Low embers sputtered in the grate. Sprawled out like a loose doll upon the bench was the Black Fox, snoring softly before the fire. Even dozing, he appeared menacing. He had fallen asleep, fully clothed, without so much as removing his fancy wide cuffed black leather boots. His head lay on his shoulder, slumped against the hard wooden slats of the bench, the plumed wide brimmed hat on his lap.

The remaining ties of his mask were knotted behind his head. If she could only see his face, maybe he wouldn’t appear so frightening. He wasn’t some black spirit who haunted the highways at night, was he?

Suddenly she remembered the small sharp knife he had used to cut the cheese. Her glance darted to the shelf across the room. Sharp enough, she thought, to cut ribbons!

In her stocking feet, she tiptoed past the sleeping highwayman. She moved stealthily toward the shelf, unwrapped the linen and grabbed the small dagger in her palm. She pursed her lips together in concentration as she inched silently behind him.

Moving into position, she took aim. With one straight motion, she cut the ribbon and yanked off his mask.

“Wh-wh—” Startled, he jumped up. Seeing Anne standing over him, the knife in her hand, he lunged for her. He caught her by the right wrist and threw her down on the floor.

“Did you really think you could stab me, you hellcat?” He nearly took the air from her lungs while he shook the knife from her hand. Pining her to the floor, his hands squeezed her wrists so tightly she thought her bones would break.

From the flickering embers in the grate, she stared up into his dark, angry face. It was the lieutenant, her lieutenant from Wycliffe Manor! She gasped. “It’s you!” Her voice rose with astonishment. How could the compassionate friend be the same blackguard known as the Black Fox? The question caught in her throat.

“Answer me! He raked back the chestnut lock that hung over his forehead. Did you really think you could kill me?”

“K-kill you?” What was he talking about? She had only wanted to remove his mask! But of course. He had awakened to see her poised with a knife in her hand and mistakenly thought—

“Don’t think I wouldn’t have tried if I had thought of it,” Anne said, outrage adding to her shock. His face loomed inches from her lips. “But I only...”

“Go on!”

His grip tightened and she cried out in pain, but she refused to ask for pity. “I—I only wanted to see your face.”

“My—” His hand let go of her wrist and flew to his cheek. “Bloody hell!”

She took advantage of her freed hand and rolled out from his grip, but he caught her again, pulling her to him. “Don’t you know what you’ve done, you little fool?”

“Don’t call me a—!” His chest crushed on top of hers, his arms gripped hers again.

“It means I can’t send you back to your uncle, because now you can identify me as the Black Fox.”

“I—I told you, I don’t want to go back to my uncle.” Anne stopped squirming, aware of her helplessness beneath his muscular power. She felt strange sensations at his clamped grip about her wrists. “Please, take me to Jane Herrick—”

“It’s too dangerous. That fancy colonel of yours will search under every thatched roof until you’re found.”

“Twining might as well not bother. I’ll never marry that weasel.” Her breath came fast and hard. “Never!”

“He’ll never give up the chase.” His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her lips. “I know if you were promised to me, I’d never stop searching for you.”

Anne’s stomach gave a tiny flutter. His dark brown eyes smoldered with something she’d never seen before. It both excited and frightened her. She stared back, unable to hide her fascination. Dawn’s pale light filtered in from the window above, caressing the dark shadow of beard along his jaw, the powerful mouth, the sheer might of his body. She let out a small, involuntary gasp of vague understanding, and at the sound his hands tightened on her wrists.

Their eyes held and for a brief moment she wondered if he felt the same sensations as she did. The velvet heat of his eyes raked her with an intensity that left her weak. When her gaze fell to his full mouth, her lips parted expectantly as a prickly warmth spread throughout her body at the memory of their kiss in the rose arbor.

He lowered his head until his lips were barely a hair’s breadth from hers. She trembled against him, aware of her own desire to touch him, to feel him against her fingertips...

Anne closed her eyes, her thoughts drawing back into the darkness. “Na—!” His lips caught hers before she finished saying his name. A shudder of passion ripped through her as his claim on her mouth intensified, pulling her deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of sensation she could never have imagined before. Now, enraptured by her own spinning desires, her breathing became as ragged as his own.

She felt his rough palm at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her thick hair, all the while his mouth pulled at hers, drawing the heat from her very soul. She felt his strong hand slip inside the large waistband of her breeches. She gasped at the shocking realization that his other hand had parted her shirt as he caressed the sensitive skin along her rib cage.

She felt as though she were drowning in the onslaught of overwhelming intensity. Before she could cry out with longing, his tongue captured hers, his voice a guttural growl.

She thought to resist, but as their kiss grew more intense, these never-before feelings exploded with renewed passion, dissolving her struggle like a puff of smoke in a tempest.

Anne gasped when his hand cupped her breast. She began to tremble with an urgency she didn’t understand as his rough thumb and finger stroked her, the bud growing taut beneath his touch.