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“Well, okay, not exactly a path, but I found my way through the trees?—,”
He made a snorting sound.
“I don’t have a death wish,” she sobered. “I really was just trying to catch my scarf.”
Georgia was strong. She’d had to be, raising the boys from when they were thirteen years old and the alternative had been sending them to a foster home. She had dealt with all sorts of things, and had learned to keep her temper even when it was sparking inside her belly, and she tried to do exactly that now. But the truth was, there was something about this man that was unsettling and infuriating and Georgia struggled not to react.
“Your scarf is gone. Unless you plan to—,” he swore under his breath. “That’s what you were about to do, isn’t it?”
“What?” Her voice was mutinous.
“Climb the damned tree? For a scarf?”
“It’s my favourite,” she said, not telling him that it had also been her late mother’s. There was nothing about this arrogant man that made her want to confide in him. “So if you wouldn’t mind unhanding me, I’ll get it back and be on my way.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you said this isn’t funny?”
“Why do I think you are deliberately goading me?”
“Perhaps you’re someone who thinks the world revolves around you?” She asked with mock innocence, as though truly trying to help him figure out his question. “And I told you, let me go.”
He dropped his hands immediately, as though he’d been burned, staring at her shoulder with a look of consternation that stupidly made her want to reassure him that he hadn’t actually hurt her, but she didn’t.
“You are not to climb that tree.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s going to stop me?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You really need to ask?”
“I want my scarf back,” she said, not moving.
“You can buy another scarf.”
“No, I can’t.”
He frowned. “It’s a piece of fabric.”
“So?” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m not asking you to climb the tree, though a gentleman would have offered, instead of shouting at me.”
“I was not shouting.” He gestured to the sky beyond the trees. It was growing thicker and darker by the minute. “A storm is coming, and it’s predicted to be bad. I would suggest that instead of worrying about a damned scarf, you get the hell off my land and back to wherever you’re staying. It’s not safe to be out in this.”
“It’s just a storm,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”
He ground his teeth. “And here we are, back at the question of your death wish.”
“For a guy who looks like he’s part-Gladiator, you really are a bit of a wuss.”
At that, the man laughed, and the sound was so unexpected, so ridiculously warm, that Georgia’s eyes flew wide open and she stared at him as though she’d never heard laughter before. It was over as quickly as it had begun.
“You are conflating common sense with cowardice. What a silly thing to do.” He leaned closer then, his face only inches from hers, so she saw that she’d been wrong. His eyes were not pitch black; there were flecks of amber around the pupil, and a woody brown that made them fox-like.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. I’m not leaving without the scarf so if you want me off your property, give me a leg up.”
“I’m not going to be a party to this.”
“Fine, have it your way,” she muttered. But as she took a step backwards and turned away from him, his hand came out, snaking around her wrist.
