How was it that a smile on her face could operate a lever in his body—pushing his heart to pump with more force so that he felt the blood not only flood his cheeks but race like rapids to that southernmost point of his core?
Then he reminded himself this particular woman had been more than just a thorn in his side. More like an anvil dropped on his head.
That’s what accounts for my reaction—it’s my anger fueling that fire I feel now.
Porthos frowned. “Was that an insult?”
“Don’t concern yourself, Porthos,” Athos assured him. “She did not disparage your most coveted appendage.”
Clarke leaned in and murmured. “Why not then aim lower?”
He held his breath as she stared back at him. It was those eyes.
Does she recognize my voice?
No, he thought. But she recognizes something.
He cursed his husky tone. He’d meant to keep it light. But her eyes suggested his voice had betrayed him.
“That can be arranged.” She placed the butt of the rifle up against Porthos’ chest.
Aramis shrugged. “The heart? He does not hold much regard for that either.”
“Not so!” Porthos complained, while Athos chuckled.
“Well then.” She grinned, as she let the tip of the butt slide down his torso, landing directly beneath his belt buckle.
Aramis shook his head, laughing. “My, ’tis a saucy wench!”
Porthos beamed at Athos and Aramis. “The lady has made her choice clear.”
Aramis clucked his tongue. “And once she is done with you and you are lying prostrate on the floor, Athos and I will see which of us can walk over you fastest to vie for her hand.”
“Indeed,” added Athos, “you will be at best a corpse, Porthos, and at worse, a eunuch.” Athos threw his cape in dramatic fashion over his shoulder. “But this is getting us nowhere. Seeing as none of us, including the lady, has been able to decide which of us she shall dance with first, why not let the Man in the Iron Mask settle the matter.”
Clarke hesitated but then remembered that bet.
In one swift movement, catching her unaware, he grabbed the rifle and tossed it toward the men, counting on one of them to catch it. Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her out onto the dance floor.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he heard Porthos bellow just before Clarke had swept her too far away to hear any more.
Chapter Two
Ceci
What do you think you’re doing?” Ceci demanded.
Her breath caught on the beat of her heart, making her sound like—what?
This man has left me breathless?
Swept me off my feet?
Ugh. No.
Cliché much?
“I asked you,” she said, this time her voice steadier and more forceful, “what do you think you’re doing?”
