Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton

wasn’t good.

      Jake cleared his throat.

      “Addison. I’m not here to hurt you.”

      “I’m going to start counting, Captain. By the time I get to five, you’d better be on your feet with your hands in the air.”

      “Did you hear me? You don’t want to have an accident with that thing—”

      “Shooting you won’t be an accident.”

      “Goddammit, woman—”

      The light swept past him.

      “One,” she said. “Two.”

      It came to a stop, inches from his head.

      “Wait. Listen to me. All I want is—”

      “I know exactly what you want.”

      He blinked.

      There was no mistaking what she meant. The only response he could think of was “uh-oh,” but he had the feeling that wasn’t going to do it.

      “You’re wrong,” he said quickly. “I don’t—”

      “Three,” she said, no hesitancy in her voice at all.

      Jake took a breath, shot to his feet, focused his sight to the left of the light in hopes it wouldn’t blind him and ran to where he figured she was standing.

      He hit her, hard, just as he’d planned, his shoulder driving into her with enough force to take them both to the ground.

      The flashlight flew from her hand.

      Then she was under him, legs spread, arms raised, fingers clawing for his face. He grunted, grabbed for her wrists and struggled to immobilize her.

      Her knee came up. She didn’t have a lot of leverage but she jammed it into his groin anyway, hard enough to make him gasp.

      He flung himself against her, pinned her with his body, his hands clasping hers, holding them out to the sides.

      “Listen to me,” he said roughly. “I’m not here to hurt—”

      She struck like a snake, head coming up, teeth sharp as tiny knives sinking into his throat.

      He jerked back.

      “For God’s sake, woman, will you listen?”

      “I’ll kill you,” she gasped. “So help me, I’ll—”

      “I came to apologize.”

      “You do this to me, I swear—”

      “I came here to apologize, dammit!”

      She grunted. Wriggled. It was like wrestling with a wildcat….

      Except, this was a woman.

      Warm.

      Lithe.

      Silken.

      They were two people in deadly combat—and yet, despite that, despite everything, Jake felt his duplicitous body coming alive.

      Her hair smelled of flowers. Lily of the valley. Lilacs. He didn’t know enough about flowers to be able to identify the scent, he only knew that its fragrance was delicate and surprisingly old-fashioned.

      Her breath was warm. Wine-scented. Her mouth would taste rich and sweet.

      Her breasts were soft. God, she was soft. Sweet and soft. He thought what it would be like to sink into her, sink deep, have her wrap her legs around him.

      In a heartbeat, he was aroused and erect and hard as a rock against her.

      “Crap,” he growled, and he rolled away, shot to his feet, turned his back, stood with his head bent, his hands on his hips, his breathing rough and rapid.

      The names she’d called him didn’t half cover the territory.

      If Addison McDowell really did have a gun, she might as well shoot him because he was worthless. A man who’d get turned while a woman fought him in terror…

      He took a long breath, expelled it and swung toward her.

      She’d risen to her feet. She was holding the flashlight, the beam wavering unsteadily over him, over the ground, over everything. There was no gun.

      He wanted to say something, but what? Finally, he cleared his throat.

      “Are you—are you okay?”

      She didn’t answer.

      “Addison. Please. Are you—”

      “Are you done?”

      He winced. “I swear, I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

      She made a little sound. He hoped it was a snort of disbelief but it might have been the sound of her swallowing her tears.

      “Addison …”

      “Go away,” she said wearily. “Just—just climb into your truck and—”

      “I came to apologize. To tell you all the stuff I said back at El Sueño was—was just—”

      “I don’t want your apology. I don’t want anything but the sight of you and that truck going away from here.”

      Okay. She was pushing? Only a saint wouldn’t push back.

      “Pretending you had a gun was pretty stupid.”

      “Under the circumstances,” she said, “I think it was pretty smart.”

      She was standing straighter. Her voice had taken on strength.

      The lady had balls.

      “Only if you don’t assume I might have had one, too.”

      “Why would I think such a thing?”

      Jake shrugged. “Hey, this is Texas.”

      And, by God, she laughed. He breathed a little easier.

      “You sure I didn’t hurt you?”

      “Only my pride. I took a course in tae kwon do years ago, when I first moved to New York. The instructor said I’d be able to fight off a mugger. Now it turns out I can’t fight off a cowboy.”

      She was back. He had to admire her. She was one tough, resilient female.

      “Nobody’s called me a cowboy in years.”

      “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t fight you off.”

      He laughed. And he paused, struggling to find the words that had to be said next. No way could she have missed what had happened when he was on top of her.

      “Ah, about what happened. When I, ah, when I had you down …”

      He paused again. She didn’t say anything. Heat flooded his face.

      “I just want you to know that—that what happened wasn’t, uh, it wasn’t deliberate …”

      “Did something happen?” she said coldly. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice.”

      Wow. He hadn’t expected that. Okay. She figured it was payback time. He could deal with that.

      “Well,” he said briskly, “if you’re sure you’re all right—”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Would you like me to stay with you until you get to the house?”

      She gave a snort of laughter.

      He felt his face heat again, but not with embarrassment.

      “You know,” he said carefully, “I don’t know what it’s like back East but around here, people accept apologies.”

      “They accept them back East, too,