Jackie Summers - Embrace The Dawn

“Tell me you want me as much as I want you,” he whispered hoarsely in her hair. Then his mouth trailed a searing line of kisses along the smooth column of her throat, the sensitive hollow at her neck, down to the soft swells to seek the rosy nipples with his tongue.

As his hands possessively explored her, she felt his hardened desire press against her. A jolt of reality slammed through her mind. This man wasn’t the sensitive, handsome lieutenant who had gently kissed her in the rose arbor. Her eyelids fluttered open. A rush of despair invaded her. Nay, he was the Black Fox, the hunted outlaw who took women’s virtue as easily as he took their gold. Hadn’t he admitted as much? The lieutenant who had befriended her was an illusion, a lie. In fact, all of his words had been false.

“Let go of me!” She struggled from his grip. He jerked back, his dark eyes smoldering down at her with what she recognized as wild, insatiable desire; for those eyes mirrored what she had felt in her heart, as well.

Nat glared at her. His gaze, like burning embers, raked over her naked breasts and she felt herself flush crimson as she hastily covered herself with the crumpled clothing.

“You burn away my every thought of duty, my lovely nymph.” Without another word he got to his feet, picked up his hat and stormed out of the cottage, leaving the door ajar.

Breathless, Anne stared after him, her heart beating wildly. Remorse charged through her as she straightened her rumpled garments. She shivered as a breeze, damp with early dawn, brushed her flaming cheeks, still warm with his kisses. She wrapped her arms tightly about her knees and stared at the open door.

Never had she felt so abandoned in all of her life.

He should have tied her up last night, as he had planned, Nat scolded himself, as he scraped the dark stubble from his chin with a knife blade. His mouth curved in a humorless smile. A little late to think of that, he thought wryly, feeling his body tighten at the idea of that tempting morsel who had turned his life topsy-turvy. Bloody hell, it had been half an hour since he had charged from the cottage and he wasn’t able to control himself any more now than he had then.

He nicked his chin. “Damn!” From an overhead limb, a wren twittered an angry retort and flew away. Nat scowled after the bird, then swiped at the spot of blood on his chin. Swearing again, he dipped his knife into the river, this time determined to concentrate on his shaving.

When he had finished, he splashed water on his face, shook his wet hair and finished dressing, noting that since she had unmasked him, his lust hadn’t abated one bloody inch.

Last night, when he covered her with the blanket, she had stirred, and in sleep turned her face to him. His heart melted. She appeared so helpless, despite her brave show. The firelight bathed her face, the long coppery hair fanning against the pillows, her thick lashes shadowing her high cheekbones. How he had wanted to cradle her in his arms and protect her...more than protect her, if he was honest.

Aye, she was too innocent to know the weapon she held. Those feminine charms would get her anything she had a wish for, when she learned how to use them. A rush of longing gripped him.

He should have taken her then, but it would be exactly what Twining would expect of the Black Fox. Nat kicked a stone with his boot, sending the rock into the air. He swore again while he filled both buckets from the river and lugged them back to the cottage, vowing with each step not to touch her again.

Nat kicked the door open. She knelt by the fire, quietly brushing her hair. He gave her a fleeting glance before he strode into the room. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she had changed into one of the frocks from the trunk—a high-necked, pink-striped long-sleeved gown that emphasized her full breasts and tiny waist.

A bowl of apples had been placed on the table. He shot her a suspicious glance as he set the water buckets beside it.

“I found an apple tree behind the cottage and I—I picked some fruit for breakfast.” Her eyes met his briefly.

Searching for a way to escape was more like it. “While you were outside, I hope you noticed there are no paths to follow, if you’re planning an escape.” He tried not to smile at her feigned look of indignation. “I’m sure you found the river. Aye, boats and skiffs go by regularly, but if you’re thinking of catching a ride with some kindly soul who’ll promise to help you find your father, be forewarned.” His eyes flashed with wariness. “Twining will have your description hammered to every oak in the shire. Show yourself at the river and that kindly soul will trade you for a few shiny coins without thinking twice.”

Nat pulled the chair around and straddled the seat. “Listen carefully, Anne, because I’ll only tell you once. I must leave you while I escort the king to the next safe house.” He ignored the flash of worry that darkened the blue-green shards in her eyes. “I could tie you up, but you’re a smart lass. You know, if Twining’s men find you, they’ll send you back to your uncle.”

“What will you do with me?” she demanded. Her anger forced a bravery he knew she didn’t feel.

“I’ve decided to keep you here until the king is safely out of the country. I’ll send someone from the inn every few days to bring you supplies. You’ll only be delayed a few weeks.”

“Why should I believe you?

Nat flinched inwardly at her accusation, but he knew he could never explain why he felt deceit could be justified if for political gain. But how could Anne understand? That lesson occurred from witnessing war, or in his case, who his father was: Nigel Adams, the man who zealously carried out Cromwell’s carnage against Ireland in order to satisfy his own vengeance against the bastard son he disowned. And until Nat could make up for what his father had done, he would lie or do anything else necessary to accomplish the task.

“Think what you will,” he said offhandedly. “I promise I won’t abandon you.” He could only pray he could keep his word.

“Ha!”

“Whether you trust me or not, you know the chances of finding your father are greater with me than by yourself.” He saw her lips part slightly and he knew his words hit their mark. Relieved, he added, “Help yourself to anything in the cottage you may need. During the day, don’t burn a fire. If a search party smells smoke, they’ll come to inquire. If I don’t return tonight, I’ll send a woman to stay with you.”

“A woman? One of your harlots, I suppose?”

He tried not to smile. “You’ll like Emma.”

Anne arched her eyebrows and gave a disdainful sniff. “You’re just saying that so I’ll cooperate with you!”

“Cooperate?” He tried to keep a straight face. “Is that what you think you’ve been doing?”

Anne felt her temper ignite. “How else would you expect me to act? You insult me, threaten me, and...” A flush of heat rose to her cheeks when she remembered his intimate kisses. She shot him a sidelong look and, by the hint of a smile playing about his mouth, she knew he guessed what she was thinking. “Oh, you!” Her feelings burst forth like a bonfire. “You’re a heartless, unscrupulous, mulish...bastard!”

“Unscrupulous, mulish, and certainly a bastard,” he said, indulgently, “but not heartless, surely.” He laughed in the same teasing way he had when he found her hiding in the bushes. “If I was heartless, I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here, indulging you in—”

“Indulging me!” Anne’s fingers squeezed into her palms. “You’re the most impossible man!” She drew in a deep breath. “Well, if you’re going to leave, leave!”