With a start, Jacq found her body responding to the command like an automaton. She took two steps in his direction before her brain engaged, and she thought about what she was about to do.
No way!
She grabbed a dry square of material she assumed was the towel and tossed it at his face.
The towel landed against his chest then fell to the floor. He crossed both arms over his upper body.
Jacq recognized his “this can take all night, if you want it to” expression. Heart hammering against her ribcage, she tried to brazen it out. “Let’s get this straight, I am not one of your camp followers to be ordered about. You’re a big boy, do it yourself!”
Silence followed as Lord Rathburn’s face hardened into granite. He bent to reach for the towel, and then rose from his seat to stand towering over her six feet of self-righteous female flesh.
Jacq had to tip back her head to follow his ascent and maintain eye contact. She refused to back down, despite all that shiny wet skin standing so close she could count the freckles dotting the tops of his shoulders.
“You will do as I bid, or I will withdraw my protection. My soldiers have been long without a woman.”
His low, dangerous voice was a glistening dagger, beautiful but deadly, slicing the air with each word. He was magnificent, naked with shimmering drops of water sliding down his body and fire blazing from his dark eyes.
The proximity to his powerful muscles had an alarming effect on Jacq’s mental capacity and natural body functions. Breathing—which she had always taken for granted—was something she had to remind herself to do. Her lack of control in this situation was frightening. Before she completely lost her mind, she placed the tip of one finger against his solid chest and pushed. “Back off!”
When her words came out, they were little more than a wheeze. Too late, she remembered it took air in the lungs to blast out a command. With the required deep breath, her finger still on the unmoving chest, she opened her mouth to repeat her demand.
An iron grip clenched around her raised hand, yanking it down to her side. As her other hand reached up to block against the attack, it too was pulled down to her side. Her attempt to put distance between them had backfired. Now standing toe to toe, she could feel the heat of his body burning through the velvet of her dress and the long ridge of his cock pressing against her belly.
With a gulp, she dared to look up into his face. As her head tipped back, she saw his descend. Her jaw dropped in surprise. What the hell?
His lips claimed hers, sliding, nibbling at her lips. Jacq gasped.
Rufus stabbed inside her mouth.
Her hands pinned to her sides and her mouth likewise occupied, Jacq’s body warred with her mind.
Fire licked at her skin, her blood heated, searing a path throughout her body in a way she’d never experienced. His impact on her senses alternated between energizing her like an adrenaline rush and sapping all of her strength, leaving her as limp as an overcooked noodle.
At this latter point, he set her away and smiled, a quirked eyebrow signaling his triumph.
Jacq dragged air into her lungs, her knees going weak. Why did this man have such an effect on her? She willed iron into her spine and straightened, anger building quickly at the humiliating way he’d treated her, and more so at herself for responding.
Without a thought to repercussions, she darted out her hand and slapped the smirk off that cold, hard face. The resounding smack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the harsh silence that followed. Her hand stung like the dickens. Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. Uh-oh.
The white palm print stood out against the dark tan on Lord Rathburn’s cheek. A mottled flush spread up his neck into his face, and his eyelids lowered dangerously. A twitch began near his left eye, and Jacq knew the time to retreat had come.
Pulse racing, she dove through the door flap and, without looking back, dashed past the row of tents and men milling about the camp. She didn’t have to turn to know he was close on her heels. The ground fairly thundered with the pounding of his bare feet against the hard dirt.
As she reached the edge of the camp, a soldier stepped into her path to block her way. With the desperation of a trapped animal, she kneed the man, sending him to the ground groaning. She leapt over his inert body and took two more strides before a heavy hand clapped upon her shoulder.
Putting her father’s self-defense training into action, she stopped suddenly and crouched low, using his forward momentum to roll another soldier over her shoulder.
He landed on his back, eyes wide, the air forced from his lungs in a loud “oomph.”
Jacq sprang past his sprawled form and made a break for the dense forest beyond. Just as she reached the tree line, a hurtling form clipped the back of her knees, bringing her down hard, face first in the dirt. When her senses cleared, she tried to scramble to her feet, but her legs were trapped beneath a huge weight. No amount of wiggling or squirming could dislodge it. A glance behind her confirmed her worse suspicions, and she groaned. “Damn.” Lying naked in the dirt, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, was the pigheaded warrior, Lord Rathburn. And he looked mad.
When he rose to his feet, he lifted her from the ground in one fluid motion, flinging her over his shoulder before she could utter a word of protest.
Survival instincts took over. Jacq kicked and pounded her fists against the muscles of his back.
In response, he wrapped the fabric of her skirt tightly around her legs to still the wild motion.
He could do nothing about her hands, so she continued to pummel his back with all her might.