Page 27 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Do not be silly. You are a grown woman. Most likely, you will see naught but shadows.

Blythe swallowed. Fine. She’d look. But, she’d feel better doing so with her dagger in hand.

Facing the bed, she moved backward toward the table to pick up the knife. One step. Two—

A scuffling noise.

A cloaked figure scrambled out from under the furnishing: The stranger from the stone circle!

A squeak lodged in her throat.

Scream, Blythe!

With a swiftness that didn’t seem possible for such a large man, he lunged at her.

Scream!

A cry filled her throat, as her fingers grazed the sheathed dagger.

“Do not scream!” he snarled.

As her lips parted, he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. Their bodies collided, shocking the air from her lungs. She gasped.

Hurry! Scream.

He spun her around, pinned her against him, and clamped his hand over her mouth.

Pitt shook his head to shift the hair tickling his face. Her hair. Her tresses, the amber hue of fine liquor, smelled faintly of the almond oil he’d detected earlier.

Breathing fast through her nose, the back of her skull pressed to his shoulder, she wrenched her head from side to side, trying to free her mouth. With muffled thuds, her fists slammed back into the folds of his cloak. While he admired her spirit, her struggles didn’t hurt him at all.

She had to realize how much bigger and stronger he was; that she had no hope of escaping him. She wasn’t going free until he chose to let her go.

“Stop,” he growled against her ear.

She made a strangled sound and continued to fight.

He inwardly sighed. If she kept struggling, she might hurt herself. Also, her squirming was kindling heat in places he didn’t care to acknowledge right now.

“Cease,” he commanded in hushed tones. “I do not intend to hurt you.”

With a dull thump, her heel rammed into his boot. He grunted, more from surprise that she’d bothered rather than pain.

“I said—”

Her right hand scooted between their bodies. She tried to find his weapons belt; his dagger, since he’d stopped her from getting her own.

“Nay.” He grabbed her arm and squeezed, halting her.

She cried out, the sound of frustration muffled by his palm.

As his fingers tightened a fraction on her face, he felt tremors racing through her. His conscience twisted.

“Listen to me,” he muttered against her ear. “I only want to talk.”

She huffed a breath; a sound of disbelief.

“Talk,” he said again. “’Tis all. I swear.”