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The man huffed. “I wouldn’t be makin’ threats if I was you.” The muzzle of the gun tapped against her skull, making her flinch.
“Valentine.” No sound came from her lips as she breathed his name. It felt like goodbye, like this was the end.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
Those eyes pierced her, saw through her, held her. Bronwyn wanted to laugh. It wasn’t as though she had much of a choice. “I—”
The discharge of the gun was deafening, cracking through the air just as the body holding hers was yanked backward by the force, nearly taking her with him. Delayed heat seared the crown of her head and her cheekbone, something warm splattering her skin before Bronwyn could gather her wits and register that she wasn’t, in fact, dead.
Or that Thornbury was gathering her shuddering, boneless body into his arms, scooping her up, and running once more for their lives. Or that he hadn’t just shot a man dead center in the middle of his forehead with cool, unerring precision.
On silent, fast feet, he left the streets for the cover of the woods near the riverbank. Her thoughts and faculties came back to her in sluggish spurts as the duke ran, her eyes taking in the thick cover of trees and her dulled ears registering the lack of any pursuit. The sound of the gunshot would have drawn other unsavory types as well as the local police.
When the skies opened up and a deluge poured down, Thornbury didn’t reduce his pace. A little rainstorm wouldn’t stop people who wanted to kill them, but it was a bit of a silver lining in itself. Rain covered tracks, deadened sound, and washed away scents. Most of all, it would wash away the blood she knew was on her face. Her assailant’s blood.
Bronwyn didn’t know how long they ran, only that the duke’s shoulder felt safe and warm, and despite the rain, the jostling of his pounding strides, or the metallic scent of blood from his cravat, she rested her head against him, face to the sky, and closed her eyes. When they finally slowed and stopped, he slid her to her feet.
“Bronwyn, look at me. Are you well?” His words came through her in a low, dim echo, her ears still ringing from the blast and her brain still fogged with shock. The patter of raindrops hit the pine tree cover above them.
With one masterful, controlled shot, he had saved her bloody life.
“Don’t think we’re even now,” she whispered. “I saved you twice.”
His chuckle warmed her. Heart pounding and blood rushing in her veins like a storm tide, Bronwyn felt her body sway. Oh, dear Lord, she wouldnotswoon. She wasn’t a swooner. She never swooned. To counter the ignominy, Bronwyn did the only thing she could as blood rushed like a river through her veins. She launched herself forward, grabbed his lapels, and yanked his head down to hers.
Seven
What could he do but succumb?
They weren’t out of danger, but no one would find them for the moment, shrouded under the cover of evergreens and darkness as they were. His sodden arms wrapped around her—this brave, wicked hellion who had turned his life upside down in a matter of days—and he pulled her close as her sweet mouth sought his. It slanted open, a brazen tongue courting his, licking inside his own mouth with frantic surges, her teeth almost grinding into his.
God, the taste of her was sublime.
The kiss itself was destructive. Chaotic. A gnashing of lips, teeth, and tongues as if they were desperate to climb inside each other. To celebrate the fact that they were alive! His hands roamed her back as hers wound and wrenched on his damp hair. Water dripped down his cheeks and warmed from the heat of his skin as passion flared, burning away any cold.
Blood, excitement, and primal desire tore through his veins on the heels of the fight, his cock surging painfully in his trousers. Valentine knew what she was feeling. After any kind of life-and-death situation, particularly in his line of work, he always felt the need to release. Tofuck. It was a post-survival emotional trigger, rising from perilous conditions leading to a frenetic kind of lust. Sex was a natural outlet, and years ago, Lisbeth had been a willing enthusiastic partner. But this wasBronwyn.
“Wait,” he said.
She nipped at his lip, her teeth dragging along his sensitive skin, hard enough to sting. Walking them backward until his back was pressed against the bark of a tree, she ground her pelvis into his body, making him groan. “No, Thornbury, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I need to erase his touch from me. I needthis.”
He understood that, too.
Fear and anxiety deepened physical attraction, and God knew, after the interlude in the bowels of the ship that the two of them had that in spades. The flames between them could set the entire copse on fire. But he had to be better. He had to think for both of them when the haze of lust was blanketing her brain. He was the trained operative in this situation and she was not.
“Don’t,” she warned. A glimmering dark gaze speared him.
He let out a breath when she went still, her body still glued along his front. “Don’t what?”
“Think for me. I’ve had enough of people who try to do that. I’m capable of making my own decisions, no matter what’s running through that deeply logical head of yours.”
“Not logic, I assure you.”
Moments—an eternity—passed between them. Her pulse hummed wildly at her nape, her heartbeat drumming at a pace as chaotic as his. Her hand slid from its hold around his neck, sliding ever so slowly down his chest. She leaned back slightly to allow it room to move, and Valentine caught his breath when she reached his waistband. Eyes holding his with complete clarity, though dilated with the same lust likely consuming his, she dropped her hand and gripped his rigid length in her palm. They both inhaled.
“Do you want me, Valentine?” she asked, her thumb stroking over the tip of his achingly sensitive crown.
“It’s obvious, no?” he hissed. “This erection isn’t for the man I left in the alley.”
