Drake held her gaze, Drake held her gaze, keeping his features carefully blank so she would see none of what stirred beneath the surface. This trembling little plot of land, this woman with her flowers and ridiculous purple-colored bonnet that quarreled with her flaming red hair—none of it seemed to belong in his world. And yet danger often wore the face of innocence.
He motioned to his horse. Better not to drag this out. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” she muttered, motioning for him to go first. “Let us.”
Drake turned and strode to his horse, acutely aware of the soft footfalls reluctantly following him. “Cheer up, Miss Sharpe. This is hardly an abduction.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Fury.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He reached for the reins of his horse. “Back or front?”
She glanced between him and the animal. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you want to sit at my back or my front?” He flashed her a quick grin. “Your choice. I don’t mind either position.”
“How very generous of you,” she returned dryly. “To offer options that are equally objectionable.”
“I aim to be efficient.”
Efficient her behind. Her nose wrinkled in frank distaste of her options. “There’s no saddle.”
“We don’t need one,” Drake asked, patting the horse’s back where a blanket had been strapped.
“This is . . .” her words trailed off.
Ridiculous, the pinch of her brow seemed to say.
“Well?” Drake prompted patiently.
“I’d rather walk.”
“That’s not an option.” A thought occurred to him. “Are you perhaps scared of horses?”
“I amnotscared!”
“Then what is the difficulty?”
“The difficulty,” she said crisply, “is not the horse. It is the company.”
Drake chuckled. “Very well. My apologies. Then what shall it be? Will I be holding you or will you be holding me?”
“Must you put it like that?” she ground out through a clenched jaw.
No, but it was deuced entertaining to watch the various degrees of indignation cross her pretty face. Drake waited patiently for her decision.
She debated a full minute before biting out, “I shall sit at the front.”
Drake bit back a laugh, nodding. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Abductorscannot expect their victims to hold onto them.”
“I prefer the term gentleman of encouragement.”
She snorted his way. “What gentleman? Brute of unreasonable insistence.”
Might as well live up to her assessment of him. “Since I am a brute...” He dropped the reins, and in one smooth, inexorable motion, he reached for her waist. The fiery woman gasped—an honest, startled little sound that sent a shiver of delight through him—and her hands flew to his shoulders. “I won’t be polite.”
He lifted her and deposited her onto the back of his horse, her skirts spilling over the horse’s flank. Effortless. Light as breath. He caught the horse’s mane and vaulted up behind her, his thigh brushing hers as he settled. He reached around her, his arms forming a cage as he gathered the reins. The movement drew her snugly between his legs, and the same sweetness from last night invaded his lungs, her body familiar against his. “Don’t worry, Miss Sharpe. I won’t let you fall.”
