When Lightning Strikes

Then she saw him. Killian sat on his horse, his hat drawn low on his forehead, his reins looped around his saddle horn. He was staring at the moon, his face dispassionate. Suddenly she remembered the moment on the cliff today, and the understanding she'd seen in his eyes.

"Killian." She screamed his name again and again until he looked at her.

Slowly he turned, and in the half-darkness, their gazes locked. She clenched her jaw and held back tears by sheer force of will. She wanted to speak, to shame him into stopping this.

Instead she just looked at him. Don't let them do this to me, she thought. Think of Emily.. . .

He blanched suddenly, as if she'd spoken. She thought he was going to reach for his gun, but he didn't. His eyes narrowed, his gloved hands curled into tense, dangerous fists. He looked away, stared for a long time

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at the cliffs in the distance, then, slowly, reluctantly, he turned back to her.

When their gazes met, she felt an electrical jolt that struck her at the core of her being. Something passed between them in that look, something dark and dangerous .. . and familiar. In that instant, that heartbeat of time, she saw something in him that couldn't possibly exist, something she hadn't written.

He slid down from the black and dropped to the ground. He strode toward her, his footsteps silent, his eyes fixed on hers.

The crowd parted. Hands peeled away from Lainie's body, leaving warm, sweaty imprints on her flesh. She staggered to a stand and hugged herself, battling the sudden chill of the night.

Killian stopped beside her. He touched the tender flesh beneath her chin and forced her gaze upward. The frayed, roughened leather of his glove was damp and unforgiving. Reluctantly she looked at him.

He was so close, she could smell the masculine leather and woodsmoke and dust scent of his clothing, feel his breathing against the damp flesh of her forehead.

She felt his gaze, narrow and probing, on her face, stabbing deep beneath the veneer of calm. In the darkness of his eyes, she saw a hint of her own reflection, and knew somehow that he saw more than she wanted to reveal.

"Ask me for help," he said softly, running a finger up her throat.

Lainie swallowed hard, hating him in that instant more than she'd ever hated another human being. "Please ..." A sickening sense of shame curdled in her stomach. She couldn't believe she was letting him do this to her. "Please don't let them hurt me."

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"Who's boss in this place?"

Hating him, loathing him. "You are."

He looked away from her, staring out at the crowd. The moment seemed to stretch into forever, a pregnant, poignant silence. The bastard knew that every breath, every second, was interminable for her.

"Okay, boys," he said at last, his rumbling, tobacco-graveled voice serrating the quiet. "Nobody fucks her but me."

"Nobody whatT Lainie said. The fear vanished as quickly as it had come, swept aside by a rising tide of fury so raw and elemental, she staggered at the force of it.

Killian looked down at her, frowning. "Nobody fu?"

She slapped him across the face, hard. "Don't you dare repeat it." She realized a half second too late what she'd done. The crowd drew in a collective gasp. Utter silence crashed into the clearing.

Killian grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. She blinked up, trying to force her trembling lips to form a smile. "I didn't mean it. .. ."

Killian raised

a hand to her. Instinct told her to flinch, to shrink back, but years of experience kept her motionless. If anything, the familiarity of his movement gave her strength, returned her equilibrium. She'd faced this moment a hundred times in her life, maybe more.

She straightened, met his gaze head-on.

His hand froze in midair. A heavy frown folded across his forehead. Slowly his hand lowered.

"Goddamn it," he hissed, grabbing her arm.

Wordlessly he yanked her toward him and pushed through the crowd, dragging her along beside him. There was a mumble of dissension as she left, a grumbling of malcontent.