Ride The Wild Wind (Time Travel Historical Romance) (13 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Halle knew she was
in trouble the moment his gaze met hers. Had he watched her stamp the muddy
foot prints on his clothes? That must be it. Or maybe he’d watched her hide the
knife. Heart pounding with the fear she’d been caught, she stopped a few feet
out of his reach in case she needed to run.

He gestured to her
feet. “Remove the wrappings.”

Relief swept her.
Oh, good! This wasn’t about the knife.

She lifted her
chin a notch, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked, failing
miserably in that respect. Her body warmed as his sultry eyes raked over her.
Why was he looking at her that way? And why did she feel fuzzy-brained all of a
sudden?

“The rocks
are…h-hot,” she managed with much difficulty. Who knew it could be so difficult
to address a naked man? She focused on his face—well, mostly his face. She
wouldn’t feel guilt for enjoying what she glimpsed peripherally.

For a moment, she
considered removing the cloths from her feet as he’d asked. But if she bent
down to take them off, she would see
it
up close and extremely personal.
Actually, she would be at eye level.

“Remove the
wrappings,” he repeated.

She swallowed hard
and tried to concentrate on his face, but her gaze slipped to his broad, tanned
shoulders before descending lower. His chest and arms were as sleekly bronzed
and muscular as the rest of him.

Then, she did the
unthinkable. Yep, she looked. And a good, long while, too.

Well, Hell’s
bells. Someone was sure hallucinating when they insisted all men were created
equal. Those male centerfolds in PlayThing Magazine had reason to worry for
their jobs.

He cleared his
throat, jerking her back into the moment. Her gaze shot up to me meet his, in
time to catch the corners of his mouth curl into a lazy, sensual half smile.
She could have sworn she even saw a twinkle in his once cold eyes.

“Are you
finished?”

Halle choked as
though the breath had been knocked from her. He thought she’d been ogling him?
Well, she hadn’t! She’d simply been looking
.
Besides,
he
was the
one parading around butt-ass naked as if it were no big deal.

“Am I f-finished?”
she stammered as the sting of humiliation rose within. “Look mister, I don’t
know what you are implying but—“

“With the laundry.
Did you finish my clothes?”

He wasn’t talking
about the laundry and she damned well knew it! Her face warmed as a slow tingle
crept over her throat and breasts. She felt woozy. It became difficult to
breathe. She gulped a huge breath of air. His nearness was having a dizzying
effect on her.

“Are you ill?”

“Nope,” she
squeaked.

“Then remove the
wrappings on your feet or I will.”

She flung his
clothes at him and turned to run but caught her jagged toenail in the hem of
her skirt. Her chest rammed the hot rocks. Her teeth clacked together. She
tasted dirt and grit. A small piece of jerked meat from last night’s dinner
fell out from between two molars. Finally! The damned thing had annoyed her all
night. She rolled it across her tongue and then spat it in the red dirt. She
struggled to get to her feet but went down again.

“Damn it all to
hell!” She tried in vain disentangle a hangnail from the skirt’s hem.  Max
yapped at her.

She flipped onto
her back, her eyes avoiding the proud, saluting part of his anatomy. “The dress
is too long!” she cried. It was the truth. Even without the two inch lace hem,
it had been made for Elena, a taller woman.

“Are you always so
awkward?”

Awkward?
Now there was an odd term, considering a naked man with a gargantuan erection
was standing over her in the middle of the desert. No
, this
situation
was awkward
.

“This isn’t the
first time the dress has caused you to stumble.” He knelt at her feet. “The hem
is too long.” To her horror he slashed away most of the lower half with his knife.
Oh my God! The money pouch!

“Now, your clothes
should no longer present a tripping hazard.” He tossed a generous scrap of
creamy silk and lace aside. But instead of soft fabric billowing to the ground,
it landed a few feet away on the hard packed earth with a light, suspicious
thud. Halle swallowed hard, her heart pounding so violently in her chest she
was certain he could hear it.

He glanced at the
puddle of fabric, then back at her.

“What was that
sound?” His gaze pinned hers.

She batted her eyes
innocently. “What was
what
sound?” A nerve twitched in her eye. Her
bowel clenched as a fart bubble repositioned itself. Great. Not the time to get
a case of nervous gas.  She had to distract him, and fast.

His eyes searched
her face. “You heard it. I saw you flinch.”

She hoped he
didn’t detect the lie in her eyes. She needed to make a quick recovery.
Think,
damn it
. “Why did you ruin the dress? It wasn’t even mine. Elena loaned it
to me. Now look what you’ve done. It can never be fixed. At least not where it
will look normal again. Elena’s going to be pissed. I can’t believe you did
this to—”

“Quiet! You jabber
like a crow!”

Gathering what was
left of her skirt, along with her wounded pride, she got to her feet. Max took
his place beside her.

She watched as he
visually inspected the scrap of fabric. He paused before casting a glance back
at her. She stood stone still. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Then, he bent to
lift it.

And in that
moment, she knew it was over.

“Interesting,” He
tore through the muslin pouch, then dug inside and fingered the rolled bills
before pulling out a few, counting. He dumped two coins on the ground. The
arrogant jerk smiled at her like a dog who’d found his long-lost ham bone.

“You must be quite
talented to earn so much at Elena’s.” He gave her an impressed look as he
sauntered back to her. “There must be over two hundred dollars in here. How is
it you came into this much cash? Did Elena give you this?”

“No one
gave
me
anything
.
I earned it.” Of course half that statement was a lie. She had
blackmailed most from Frank Cole.

His gaze perused
her, his eyes so hot she actually felt naked beneath his intense scrutiny.

“Did you earn it
in Elena’s bed?”

She would have clawed
the lewd grin right off his face if she thought she had a chance. He was the
rudest, most insulting jerk she’d ever met. And dangerous or not—
no, naked
or not
—she’d had enough of his shit.

“You know
something? I’ve had all I intend to take from you.” She poked a fingertip to
his bare, sweaty, but oh-so delicious-looking chest. “It’s over, mister. You
hear me? The insults. The abuse. Over. O.V.E.R.” she spelled out.

His gaze dropped
to her hand and lingered, but she refused to back down. After all, she’d gotten
this far. “First, you grab me in the alley and take my shoes away. Then…” She
poked him again, hard. “You drag me off to this God forsaken wasteland, force
me to bathe in the same water your smelly horse drinks from, steal my
hard-earned cash, and then accuse me of being a—well, I’m not sure what you’re
accusing me of being—but
I’m hot.” She poked him. “I’m exhausted.” She
poked him again. “And I reek like the backside of your horse!”

He shot her a
fierce look that warned her not to prod him again and she shoved her hands deep
into her pockets. “So, if you’re going to keep giving me shit,” she continued
,
“kill me now and get it over with. Okay? Go ahead and do it.  I dare
you. Stake me to an anthill.”

His eyes glittered
as a hint of a smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “That would be cruel
to the ants.”

“Then cut my
tongue out and tie me to a cactus.”

“Do not give me
any ideas.”

“Ohhh!” She raged,
doing an angry, near-psychotic jig in place. “Then do whatever it is you have
to do to end my misery!”

He chuckled and
that pissed her off more than anything. He found this amusing? “You know, I
fail to see anything humorous about this situation.”

With a sigh, he
shook his head. “I am beginning to realize why no posse has come after you,
Miss Brannigan. You are insane.”

She opened her
mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his remark, but snapped it shut
when he pulled his knife and squatted at her feet. Cold flat steel slid across
warm skin, as the blade sliced through the lace wrappings. She flinched at the
contact, silently praying he’d not nick her. Afterward, he stood and bound her
wrists in front of her with a piece of rope, then lashed her ankles together.

Max let out a
whine. “Don’t worry, boy. We’re going to be okay. The jerk is just being a
bully. He probably does this to all the women who stand up to him.” As a final
jab she added, “But what do you expect from a man who sells women.”

That remark
produced a response. He stared at her long and hard, his jaw firmly set, his
nostrils flaring slightly. He looked totally pissed. And dangerous.

 A chill
skittered up her spine and she swallowed hard. Pehaps she’d pushed too far.

He pulled on his
pants and headed to the creek. The movement of his buttocks worked her dried
muddy footprints up and down on the seat of his pants. Despite her predicament,
she smiled.
Serves him  right
.

At the water’s
edge, he filled the canteen. That could only mean...

“Hey, are we
leaving?” He didn’t acknowledge her question.  “You know, I can’t exactly
ride a horse with my wrists and ankles tied.” Still, he did not answer.

Why had he left
her bound and unable to move? Was this some sort of torture tactic? Punishment
for defying him? “Oooh, you must feel like a tough guy, picking on a
defenseless woman and her little dog,” she taunted. Still, he didn’t answer.
She jerked her wrists against the restraints, feeling the rough hemp abraide
her skin. Dumb move.

After he finished
refilling his canteen, he donned on a shirt.

“Apparently you
didn’t hear me. I asked if you felt like a big tough man? Huh? Do you,
asshole?”

His eyes narrowed
on her but he said not a word. Frustrated, she strained against the ropes
again. “I asked how you expect me to ride like this, you dickhead?”

He flinched.
Ah,
ha!
That last one got his attention. “Yeah that’s right. I called you a
dickhead. So what are you gonna do about it?”

He flashed a
warning look, then brushed past, lifting Max to tuck him into a side flap in
the saddlebag. Then, he turned picked her up and slung her over his shoulder as
if she were no heavier than a sack of flour.

When he deposited
her face down across the stallion’s bare back, her question was answered. No!
He couldn’t! Surely he wouldn’t make her ride in this position? Then again
maybe, he would. So it
was
her punishment for defying him.

“You know, you’re
worse than a dickhead. You are a barbaric son of a bitch!” She cried out,
thrashing and bucking. As she slid forward, he caught her by the hips and held
her firm. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t force me to ride this way. I
think there are laws against this in at least fifty states and two U.S.
Territories. So if I were you, buddy, I’d watch my step ‘cause I’m not beyond
bringing charges against you!”

“Bring all the
charges you like, Miss Brannigan. There is no judge present to hear your case.
Be silent.”

“No! I won’t be
silent! You untie me this instant, you savage bastard, or I’ll yell so loud
every creature in this canyon has to cover its ears!”

He delivered a stinging
slap to her bottom that took her breath away. When the blood returned to her
brain, her breath came in choking gasps. Well, that certainly stifled any
thoughts she had of screaming.
Oh. My. God.
That was one tough lick!

“Any further
comments for the savage bastard?”

She had plenty
more where that came from, but seeing how she was at a definite disadvantage,
this wasn’t the time.

He lifted her
down. Tears of humiliation burned her eyes and she looked away, watching out of
the corner of his eye as he saddled the horse. She didn’t know what felt more
bruised at that moment, her butt or her ego. Squatting at her feet, he sliced
the rope that bound her ankles. Then, he turned her around, looped a muscular
arm around her midsection and swung up onto the horse’s back, taking her with
him.

A dry, warm breeze
ruffled her hair, offering little comfort from the heat. The nearness of his
hard, sun-warmed body did nothing to help. She waited, silent, hoping he might
show a tiny amount of mercy and untie the rope on her wrists so she might fan
herself. She’d just turned her face, prepared to ask in her sweetest voice if
he’d do just that when his stubbly cheek brushed hers. He didn’t pull away but
leaned into her.

Halle sucked in a
breath, her nerves a jangle of mixed emotions. His body was steel against hers.
 She couldn’t shake the memory of how he looked in the river—beautiful and
virile. Wild. She licked her dry lips as desire flared within, heard his sharp
intake of breath. Was he, too, aware of the electricity passing between them?

His hand lifted
hers and with one flick of the knife, he sliced through the bonds on her wrists
and sat back.

Still not moving,
she listened to his heavy breathing.  Uncomfortable silence stretched
between them. His hand came up to softly stroke the side of her neck, trailing
downward over her shoulder. Halle shivered at his touch, then relaxed a bit,
finding it oddly comforting. Was this is way of apologizing? Or was he getting
frisky? It was hard to tell.

He leaned forward
again and pressed his cheek to hers. Her skin goose fleshed at his nearness,
her body warming in response to the gesture.