The path dipped. Her foot slid on a loose stone. She clutched wildly at the rock wall, but her fingers slid uselessly across the cold, smooth surface.
“Gideon!” she screamed.
Dear God, she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live and make Gideon love her.
The thought, bright and burning like lightning, seared her mind as she tumbled helplessly toward the edge.
Seven
Sarah!” Gideon whirled and lashed out to grab her before she plummeted to her death.
His hands closed like manacles around her slender wrists. There wasn’t time to think or feel. There wasn’t time to recoil from the shock of physical contact. He pivoted and slammed her back hard into the wall.
She screamed again, with pain this time, as her head banged against the rock. Then she closed her eyes and sagged, trembling and gasping from his hold.
He slumped over her, silently protecting her with his body from the drop behind him. His gut churned, and terror tasted rusty on his tongue. His chest heaved as he fought for breath, and his shoulders ached with the strain of snatching her to safety. He didn’t relax his punishing grip although he shifted to press her hands flat into the rock on either side of her.
Hell, he’d come so close to losing her.
He leaned his forehead on the rock above her head, waiting for the wildly careening world to slow and stop. Dizzying relief thundered through him. Cold sweat chilled his skin as his mind replayed over and over the few seconds when Sarah slid uncontrollably.
They remained unmoving, her facing him, his hands clutching hers, mere inches separating their bodies.
Gradually, Gideon’s suffocating fear ebbed. Reality returned, his mind started to function. He heard the crash of the waves on the rocks below. He felt the cool breeze on his damp skin. He felt the path’s unevenness under his booted feet.
Sarah lifted her chin with a curiously jerky movement and stared unblinking at him as if he provided her one sure compass point. Her pupils were dilated, and her face was haggard with shock and pain. Her lips parted as she drew a ragged breath.
With a spurt of guilt, he realized his unyielding grip must hurt her sprained wrist. Logic indicated she was safe. Even so, it was only with the utmost difficulty that he forced himself to release her left hand.
Biting her lip to smother a sob, she gingerly bent her arm against her chest. The fingers of her other hand twisted to twine convulsively around his.
“Sarah, dear God…” His choked whisper ruffled the soft hair on the top of her head. “Are you all right?”
She gave an unsteady nod. “Yes.”
His heart still raced, and he shook like a dog in a thunderstorm. “What about your wrist?”
“I jolted it, but I don’t think there’s any damage.” Wincing, she stretched her arm and carefully moved it. Her earlier bruises had faded to yellow, so the impression of Gideon’s fingers was red and stark on her pale skin.
He cursed himself for a blundering brute. He hadn’t had time to be gentle. All that mattered was keeping her alive. He sucked in a shuddering breath.
Suddenly he was aware how close they stood. He only needed to shift a fraction, and her body would brush his.
What the devil was wrong with him, standing over her like this? He knew better. He had to stop touching Sarah now. Now.
Familiar, unstoppable nausea rose. Blackness filled his head. With a roughness he couldn’t help, he wrenched his gloved hand away from her. Blindly, he turned to press his back to the rock wall beside her. His gloved hands splayed against the stone as he struggled to mask his reaction. She was too close, but he couldn’t bear to have her out of reach just yet.
For a long, taut moment, the only sounds were the mournful cries of the gulls, the pounding waves, and his hoarse panting.
Eventually, she shifted toward him. He didn’t look at her, but he felt her study him. He was guiltily aware that he must frighten and confuse her. Explanations, apologies gushed up, but he furiously bit them back. His pride revolted at putting his humiliating state into words.
When she didn’t immediately speak, he steeled himself to look into her ashen face. In a gesture that poignantly reminded him of the lost waif in Winchester, she cradled her wrist upon her breast.
Her voice emerged almost normally. “You saved my life again. How can I ever repay you?”
Oh, damnation. This was the last thing he needed. She stared at him as if he was St. George, and he’d just rescued her from the dragon. The unfettered admiration and gratitude in her hazel eyes sliced at his conscience. If he’d planned to discourage her interest, what had just happened beggared good intentions.