She caught her breath.
He rolled over swiftly and his eyes flew open.
Oh, God!
She lunged at him. Her blade sliced downward. A callused hand wrapped over her wrist in a viselike grip that stopped her short. Shadowed, furious eyes assessed her harshly. “So this is what my brother meant when he spoke of games, eh, Bliss?”
“ ’Tis not bliss you’ll see, but hell,” she hissed, struggling and kicking.
To her horror, one side of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile—a grin of the very devil himself. He smelled freshly scrubbed, but the scent of wine was thick in the air. “No doubt.”
“Free Leah!”
“Free who?”
“You black-souled bastard! Free her!” She aimed her foot at his leg, but he yanked hard and she fell atop him, her hair spilling from her cowl, her body stretched over the hard contours of his. “You bloody bastard, let me go!”
“So you can kill me?”
“Aye, if I have to.” Again his smile. Damn the man, had he no fear?
Amusement flickered in eyes the color of purest gold. He released her wrist and stared up at her. She was suddenly aware of her breasts crushed against his chest, of the air that seemed to be lost in her lungs.
“Then kill me, Bliss,” he said evenly as he curled rough fingers in her hair, “and be done with it.”
Again she raised her knife. “You’re a fool, Sir Darton.”
“Darton?” he repeated, his tongue a little thick. Was the wench crazy or had he heard wrong? He’d drunk too much wine, and his mind wasn’t as quick as usual. He told himself to be wary of Darton’s whores, but this one, this little wench, was a beauty, and try as he might, Hagan couldn’t deny a fascination with her. As he stared at her thin nose and arched eyebrows, he thought that he’d seen her somewhere, perhaps before he’d gone to war. In the half-light, dressed as a boy, she was beautiful and proud, her stubborn chin thrust forward defiantly, her blue eyes blazing as if she really could plunge the wicked blade of her dagger deep into his heart. A wild thing of beauty; no wonder Darton sang her praises so highly. She was warm and breathing hard, her legs sprawled across his in the most intimate of ways.
His traitorous body responded. Aching muscles cried for the touch of a woman. His groin tightened and he became hard with her weight spread over his.
“You think I jest?” she sputtered, setting the edge of her dagger to his throat. He didn’t flinch, though in moving, her breasts, flat, soft pillows, brushed over his chest. A want, hot and deep and murky, flowed through his blood.
“I think you are here for another reason than to kill me.”
“Aye, to free Leah. Do so and I will spare you.”
“I don’t know who she is.”
The blade was pressed tighter to his throat, and Hagan wondered just how far the wench would go before she gave up her silly game. Or was she truly half-mad, believing in the words that tumbled so easily off her sharp tongue? He felt no fear, though, only an unholy desire to turn her onto her back and mount her, to triumph over her challenge, to act on pure animal instinct and claim her in the most primal of ways.
“You are holding my sister prisoner.”
“Am I?” Both his hands moved upward to take her cheeks in his palms. Gently he shoved the hair away from her face. “You’re a strange one, Bliss. Beautiful, but odd.”
“I have no patience for this.”
“Nor I,” he replied, his arms suddenly surroundi
ng her. She tried to slice his wretched throat, but she was thrown off balance as he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. Long legs straddled her ribs, and his hands shackled her wrists to the bed. With maddening ease, he forced the knife from her hand, and as her dagger clattered to the floor and was buried in the rushes, he held her squirming beneath him. His crooked smile of satisfaction was firmly in place as he watched the way her breasts rose and fell, her miserable attempts to kick and claw and roll away from him.
This wasn’t supposed to happen! How could she have been so careless? Gulping back fear, she realized that he was completely naked, and quivering inside, she tried to keep her eyes raised to his chest, but her gaze drifted downward to the shaft of his manhood, which protruded hard and thick.
Her throat closed.
“Now, let’s have no more talk about killing,” he said, sliding down her.
“What’re you doing?”