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Exasperation took Romulus by storm. The stubborn woman began to be the proverbial thorn on his side. “It is for your protection, nothing else.” He would not have her lack of safety in his conscience. Things could become muddy very fast.
He made a move to catch the knife, but she acted smarter. She spun around like a flash, her foot colliding with his thigh. Pain exploded on his muscle, the little hellion!
Advancing on her, he aimed to catch her arm and immobilize her and the knife. She would have none of that. She skipped him and put distance between them. What did she acquire these fighting skills for, he wondered? His mind wandered, testing her ability. He made a new attempt, but used more subtle moves. He pretended to go to her right, changed direction and ran to her left. She was prepared and jumped to her right. In breeches, she could move that lithe body of hers in quick movement.
She quit the defensive technique and charged on an attack. He had to retreat and wait for her next move. How was it she got him running from her, the impudent chit?
“There is no need for me to hurt you. Give me the knife and let us go back to the castle.” He ordered.
“No chance!” Both breathless, the sound of their respiration echoing in the woods. “Leave me be.”
He would have to change tactics if he was to take her to safety. So, he ran to her as fast as his tall body permitted. She avoided him by swinging to the side, the movement making her shirt tighten on her breast, an unwelcome distraction. And then she grabbed his wrist behind him. Hell!
Stronger than her, he jerked his arm and freed himself, only to turn and see she had a good ten feet between them. Sweat coursed through his body together with something too close to arousal. The woman was danger personalized.
They rounded each other, none ceding ground. They did it for a hundred and eighty degrees. Their stance locked on each other for several seconds. They came to a stalemate again, but this time Romulus’ blood rushed in his veins and he felt more alive than ever before in his life.
A bird sang, he lifted his head to the tree above him. Big mistake! She sprinted, racing like a fox in the woods towards the graveyard. He turned to follow as she gained on him, more agile and quicker. If he did not pay attention, he would lose her. He sped as fast as possible and raced closer to her. Her hat lost, hair fell down her slim shoulders. The midnight strands billowed behind her.
She came across a huge tree with countless roots on the ground. She had to run around it and jump the roots, which cost her precious moments. Her too big coat fell from her shoulders in the act. She turned her head to check on him and tripped on the roots. With a yelp, she started to fall. He rushed to her and caught her in the air, locking his arm around her waist, her back to him. He used the momentum to snatch the knife from her hand. They were both breathless. He pressed her tighter against him, her soft body fitting to his muscled one inch by tantalizing inch.
“Well, well,” he murmured in her ear. “This proved to be a surprising skill for a countess.” He turned the knife toward her shirt, the sharp tip touching the fabric. “Now you will tell me what this is all about.” He ordered in silken tone.
To avoid the knife, she arched her body against him, and he discovered her curves to be a more lethal weapon. His arm tightened and they were glued everywhere.
“None of your business, as I have already said.” She muttered in that feminine sound of hers.
The knife served to make her think of the consequences of putting a weapon in the game. And it was not the knife he wanted in her, he thought with heat, as he understood full well what he wanted in her. He threw it at their feet and his hand rounded her under her appetizing breasts. Their ragged breaths had a whole different cause now.
She sagged surreptitiously against him and his arms loosened to become an embrace, a firm one. The chase made him hard and ready. If he knew it could be so stimulating, he would have tried it before today. With her.
The floral scent in her hair assailed his nostrils, her sweat exhaling her woman’s pheromones. All he had to do was to lean her against a tree and they would ride each other.
Her shirt askew, her neck and shoulder at his mercy. He did not have the luxury of a moral debate before his head lowered to her and his bristled lips grazed her paradisiac skin.
The sound she emitted only worsened his arousal because her head fell on his chest, her hair all over him. Her hands held his muscular forearms, the touch inflaming the hell out of him. Sensuous thin lips open, he used his teeth to caress her delicate skin. Bad move, the inferno in him roared. Her breath quickened, her body’s temperature soared. This had no way of ending in his favour since he just let his tongue taste her salty shoulder. She moaned, and he did it further. Heavenly torture!
“This have only one way ahead.” He murmured hoarse in her ear. “And I will make sure we end up there.” And then he sucked the base of her neck as if he would die if he did not. Eyes shut, he savoured every inch of her alabaster skin.
His statement must have yanked her out of a haze. In a swift move her foot stepped on the tip of the knife and the impulse made it go straight to her hand. She turned to him, making the metal brush his black shirt as he did to her. He did not move. Their eyes meshed, hers dark and dilated. Her breasts heaved with her breathing, those trousers tightened around her tiny waist and accompanied the flare of her hips. Too much temptation for a man.
In slow motion, he lifted his left hand and covered hers on the handle. His bigger, stronger one disarmed her, finger by delicate finger. He put the damned knife in his boot, never leaving her liquid brown gaze. Bending, he locked his arms around her legs and lifted like a potato sack over his hard shoulder, her hair undulating behind his knees.
“Put me down, you uncivilized scoundrel!” She muttered enraged.
“If I was uncivilized, we would both be screaming in sexual release by now!” He devolved none too gentle.
She did not thrash. There was no use and she was aware of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Next morning, Annabel woke up from a night of restless dreams. Back to the castle yesterday afternoon, Romulus put her down before they reached the walls, but held her arm in case she thought of fleeing again. They entered the fortress as if nothing passed. He escorted her to her room warning her that if she tried another of her stunts, he would lock her there. At her request, the lady’s maid brought her a tray with dinner after her bath. She did not take long to fall in bed exhausted.
Even so, the images and the sensations of the day caught up with her. She chafed. Her neck, where he caressed her, chafed. Body heated at the memory of him, the way he held her fast, the feel of his hard muscles against her or his manhood very noticeable on her back. The manner she reacted to his caresses, shameful, torrid. She did not have the ability to feel guilty, just… hungry, darn him! In her head, she begged him not to stop, to go on forever. He thawed every resistance she might have had. How could she still respond thus after eight years? No, wrong. This was a whole new set of sensations–hotter, deeper, more urgent. That summer, she had been little more than a girl. Today, the woman in her craved him with boiling awareness.
It took a titanic effort for her to clear the haze he threw her in and fight back, even if losing in the end. His promise of finishing what they started made liquid heat pool in her middle. She did not want any of this. She did not want this mission clouded with that steam.
She did not want the weakness he instilled in her.
