Perfect Strangers (The Scots) - Page 80

"Goddamn. That's what I thought you said." He sucked in a sigh and released it in a slow hiss. Then he shook his head—regretfully? she doubted it—and plucked off the hat. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it hurling to the grass. "Guess I'm going have to fetch you out of there after all."

There was something in his tone—too calm, too leashed—that sent a shiver down her spine. Amanda couldn't pinpoint the underlying emotion he'd stressed, and, as she watched him again tug off the deerskin moccasins, she stopped trying. Before she knew it, he was trudging through the water toward her. Forcing herself not to shiver in dread took all her concentration.

Wondering what had made him change his mind, she glanced up.

He glanced down.

Silver and green warred, and in that instant Amanda knew exactly why he'd decided to free her. His eyes were narrowed to steely slits. His jaw was bunched hard, and a muscle ticked beneath the high copper plane of his cheekbone. As she watched, his lips thinned into a tight, uncompromising line.

Calling him a bastard had hit a sore spot with him. The man was quietly furious. Worse—much, much worse—all that tightly leashed anger was directed at her. The knowledge seemed a good enough reason for Amanda to flinch when he stopped so close his chest threatened to graze the very tips of her breasts.

"I-I'll tell you my name," she offered, and winced when her voice squeaked.

"Don't bother. Where are you stuck?"

Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze on one of the flat metal buttons trailing down his shirt. As for the tight bands of muscle rippling beneath the dark blue cloth... well, she refused to notice them at all. "Amanda Lennox. That's my name."

"That's dandy. I repeat: Where are you stuck?" His hand came out of nowhere. His index finger hooked under her chin, dragging her gaze up. His warm, sweet breath blasted over her face when he said, "Better give some thought to answering me this time, princess. You've got exactly ten seconds to tell me what's going on under this water. After that, my hands start doing some exploring of their own."

Tags: Rebecca Sinclair Historical
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