Page 69 of The Countess Caper

She should have hated it.

“I thought we talked about this,” he continued.

Every nerve in her body rioted. Fire kindled; barricades burned. Not at what he was doing, but at the fear that he might stop. Her skin prickled with desire, anticipation.

“Answer me, Tessa.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she could form words at all. She had been running away. Not because she did not want him—quite the opposite. She would have run right into his arms if she’d allowed herself. If the thought had occurred to her.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give you a choice. If you run back into the house, I’ll let you be. But if you run into the maze, I’ll know you want me to chase you.” A forbidden thrill went through her. “I’ll know you want me to catch you.”

She swayed slightly against him. His teeth grazed her earlobe.

“Right or left, Tessa?” he demanded softly. “Maze or mansion?”

She knew she was already caught.

When he released her, she stumbled.

Then she ran.

Chapter Twenty

She chose the maze.

And, in so choosing, discovered you could run away from something and run toward something at the very same time. It was a heady discovery. One worth thinking about.

Later.

She wasn’t convinced she was capable of coherent thought right now, and Roarke was not even touching her. He was merely behind her, a suggestion in the shadows, the sound of footsteps. Even, unhurried.

Coming for her.

The air burned in her lungs and her legs quivered as she ran. It was freeing, exhilarating. It released the anxiety and allowed something else to replace it.

It was like jumping into a fire to put out a flame.

But she was already burning. She was always burning with need and want and impossible hope when he was near. Why not let it burn away her loneliness, her doubt? There were so many different ways of caring for one another. Running. Being caught.

Knowing that she was wanted, if only for that moment.

That he was utterly focused on her and did not find her wanting. If only for that moment.

She darted into the maze, half laughing, half catching her breath. The yew hedges rose high on either side of her, blocking out the house, the ball, everything.

Everything but Roarke.

Torches extended above the highest branches, casting just enough light to make it feel as though she was running through honey, through a painting. The ground was hard under her feet, and she turned right because there was no room left for strategy. She turned left and kept going. Roarke was behind her. She did not feel hunted. She felt protected.

Wanted.

Clouds drifted across the moon and the breeze shifted, scented with flowers and the promise of a storm. She turned left.

And abruptly, there was nowhere else to go.

The maze had swallowed her. There were only green needles and thick grass and her own heart pounding in her chest. A decorative bench with a pergola dripping with roses.

And Roarke.