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But he did not appear to hear her words. His hands came up and seized her shoulders and shook her once again. “I hate when you look at me with those big innocent eyes, I want to believe you’re not guilty.”
Unable to stop herself, her bottom lip began to tremble. She fought harder, anger and fear fuelling her efforts. Without warning his arms came around her thrashing body, forcing her roughly against him.
“And most of all, I hate the fact you make my blood burn with hunger.”
His mouth came down hard on hers, shocking Ivy for only the merest second before she remembered to struggle. Echoes of her sister’s screams filled her ears. An image of the Earl materialized behind her closed eyelids. A cry broke from her throat and she whimpered against his mouth.
He must have mistaken the sound for longing for his kiss deepened, pushing her down to the earth. With his body now pinning her to the ground, he removed his arms to quickly unfasten the holster at his waist to reach his breeches underneath. His breathing increased as he fondled her at a feverish pitch.
Somewhere in the midst of her terror, a corresponding heat stirred in the very pit of her gut. A tear slid from her eye as she felt him pushing up her skirt. Vile filled her mouth. Not for the man attacking her, but for herself. How could she allow his touch to evoke a warmth buried for so long?
He dragged his mouth from hers to trail a series of kisses down to her breasts, and Ivy felt her last shred of dignity dissolve. “Please, I beg of ye, don’t do this.”
But he continued. If anything, his hands became more urgent. Ivy tried to resist him, wanted desperately to hate his touch, be repulsed by his hunger, but she could not. Betrayal burned to the core of her being. The cries of her sister haunted her as his lips blazed a path back up her body to reclaim her mouth. His hands gripped her head, his long sinewy fingers sliding between her red curls to draw her lips closer as he crushed them beneath his own. Her cheeks settled into the palms of his hands, while tears ran freely from Ivy’s eyes, burning a path across his fingers.
Only then did he finally stop and pull away. A feral hunger filled the depths of his eyes, as well as confusion. He stared down at her, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing. His gaze bore into her tear-stained face, while an unknown emotion racked his handsome features. Then he blinked and cursed, pushing himself away.
“Damn you, Ivy!” he growled, as if it were all her fault.
He took off through the wilderness, his form swallowed up by the woods. Ivy closed her eyes and cried even harder, disgusted with the realization she had wanted him to go further. Anger welled up inside. How could she yearn for a man who took her without consent? A man no better than the one who had raped and tortured her sister.
She lifted her distraught gaze and found herself looking upon something lying on the ground next to her. Sam’s holster.
* * *
Sam ran hard through the bush, not caring that the frozen branches sliced at his fleeing form. Disgust ate away at his insides. What the hell did he think he was doing? She was a murderer. The very creature he loathed. And yet, he yearned for her, more than any woman he ever met. He had wanted so desperately to believe she was not, but the truth was she was everything his mother had been. Her weakness cost the life of another.
He broke through a clearing and ran straight into the gurgling river without pause. The coldness swarmed around his calves and shot upwards. He came to an abrupt halt and dropped to his haunches, mindless of the freezing water. Pulling his hat off, he raked his hands through his hair and squeezed his lids tight, trying to force out the image of Ivy’s frightened face.
No matter what her crime, he had no right to force himself on her. Hell, hadn’t she already been through enough? Revulsion towards himself had him cursing every deplorable word he could conceive. She had watched her sister being raped for years. The remorse and anger towards those events could have turned the Pope’s faith. Unlike his mother, Ivy bore the cost of her dark soul.
He released a weary breath and splashed water over his hair, dragging his fingers through the long and stringy strands. Opening his eyes, he gazed across to the other side of the banks, the fast moving river drowning out all other sounds. But something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Turning slightly, he spotted Ivy standing near the edge of the river.
It was the look in her eyes, which he noticed first. Pure terror rounded their pale blue orbs. She seemed almost frozen to the spot, her gaze unblinking and transfixed on him. Then her chin trembled just so as she started to raise her arms. That was when Sam noticed his gun in her hands.
Shaking, she levelled the barrel at him, the fear in her eyes growing larger. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling closed around Sam’s chest. He had seen that look only once before. When at the age of six, his mother kissed him goodnight and told him she would always love him—right before she covered his face with a pillow and attempted to smother the life from him.
Slowly, he stood on numb legs, not from the subzero temperature of the river, but from the shock of seeing her pointing a gun at his face. “Ivy?”
Her lip shook some more. The gun wobbled in her hand. The wild current raced past him. A heaviness he never felt before, tugged on his heart. And all he could do was stand and wait.
As his eyes held hers, the realization came that she was not actually looking at him, but somewhere directly behind him. At the exact same moment he became aware of this, he heard the heavy snort of an animal behind him. Turning ever so slowly, he carefully glanced over his shoulder and saw the largest brown bear he had ever laid eyes on.
The animal was wading not more than fifty yards from him, his huge snout sniffing the air to identify the creature invading his watering hole. Sam froze. He knew better than to try and outrun a bear. His only hope was that the animal would not see him as a threat and leave. He held his breath.
Instead of turning away, however, the creature only advanced on Sam. The lapping water of the river soaking the undercoat of his belly. Tossing his huge head, he let out a few warning snorts before suddenly rearing up on his hind legs. Terror swallowed Sam’s voice. He looked up at the animal and saw only death.
“Oh God, oh God!” He heard Ivy’s shriek from the bank and, unexpectedly, fear for her life cut a wound deep within. He knew in a flash they only had one choice.
“Shoot, Ivy!”
The animal roared at the sound of their voices. Sam stumbled backwards.
“I can’t!” She was screaming and crying and Sam felt a new horror steel over him. For the first time, he felt out of control. There was no way out of this situation.
“Jesus,” he cursed and shot a look over at her. Tears were streaming down her face, the gun flapping uselessly in her hand. Terror filled her eyes and something so primal and real etched deep grooves across her stricken face. In that heartbeat, he knew, without a doubt, whatever happened that night to Philip Hendrickson, Ivy McGregor was innocent.
“Please,” he uttered, his voice trembling on his own raw emotions eating away at his insides. He did not want to leave her. Not yet. She needed him. But more importantly, he needed her. “Shoot.”
