Danelle Harmon

by Taken By Storm

“If you were serious about your masquerade, you wouldn’t be lying here with your head in my lap.”

  “I want to lie here with my head in your lap, and look up at your face, silhouetted against the blue sky and clouds, and watch the sunlight dry your hair and slant down through your eyes, watch it throw the shadow of your lashes over your cheeks and the shadow of your head over mine.”

  “I suppose you get everything you want.”

  Ariadne looked up at him, her handsome hero and savior of animals, this man she had gazed upon long into the night, this man who filled her head with wicked thoughts of kissing and touching and, well, other things a lady should not be thinking about, this man who could make her skin tingle and her heart race with just one glance from his oddly beautiful eyes.

  Wicked, wicked, Ariadne. She—oh, admit it!—wanted him to touch her. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted . . .

  She sighed in despair. “No,” she said, softly. “I don’t always get everything I want.”

  He kept his gaze straight ahead. “Do you want this marriage to Maxwell?”

  She didn’t answer, merely gazing up at the underside of his chin with sad, suddenly wistful eyes, noting the tiny gold bristles picking up the glare of the sun.

  “Do you?” he repeated, his voice tight.

  “I . . . well . . . well, yes, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

  She saw his lashes fall as his eyes closed, briefly. “I don’t know. It’s just that as your friend, I thought it my duty to warn you that marriage is not a commitment to be entered into lightly.”

  “No. Indeed, it is not. But I am an heiress, and my father promised me to Maxwell. I have to marry him. It’s what he wanted.”

  “Yes, but is it what you want?”

  He bent his head and turned his clear gaze on her, and the look of raw longing and desire she saw there went straight to her heart. The color faded from her face, and she suddenly felt confused, afraid, trapped. Of course she wanted to marry Maxwell! Didn’t she?

  Yet why, suddenly, did the thought fill her with panic and doubt? Why did it make her feel helpless, unhappy, and trapped?

  “All brides get cold feet,” she snapped, unable to look him in the eye. “I suspect it’s quite normal.”

  He looked back up, a shadow darkening his eyes and his jaw tight with what could only be anger. She sensed him mentally withdrawing from her, pulling within himself, and as it had last night, the feeling left her scared and lonely. Rejected.

  “Colin?”

  “What?”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “You’re being short with me. I don’t like when you become aloof and distant.”

  He stared straight ahead and did not respond.

  “Your eyes are just as beautiful when you’re angry, you know.”

  “Stop it, Ariadne.”

  “No, I won’t stop it. Unless you give me just a tiny smile.”

  “I said, stop it.”

  “A teeny, tiny smile. . . . Come now, Colin! Show me that crooked grin.”

  But he didn’t respond, only looking away with eyes full of pain, and Ariadne was reminded again, as she had been so many times in the past, how her outrageous remarks and slightly risqué behavior had never gotten her the attention she craved, but had only landed her in trouble, again and again and again.

  Including this marriage that she did not want. This marriage that was supposed to put firm reins on her increasingly wild behavior, according to Father after Maxwell, himself, had proposed it.

  Bad behavior. No, it had never worked in the past.

  So why, then, do I keep doing it?

  “Colin,” she ventured after some moments had passed. “What are we going to do about our arrangements tonight?”

  “I don’t think we should be sleeping near each other. Last night proved that.”

  “Well, we can’t very well sleep apart. You’re supposed to be protecting us. So therefore we have to sleep near each other, don’t you think?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “I wish we would come to it now, because I very much enjoyed sleeping together last night. I felt so . . . so safe, Colin. As though nothing could ever happen to me as long as you were near.”

  “We weren’t sleeping together.”

  “Well, we were sleeping next to each other.”

  “And don’t let appearances deceive you,” he added. “I’ll do my best to protect you and Shareb, but I am not infallible.”

  “Oh, Colin, stop being so self-deprecating. I saw the way you laid that farrier out cold. You were magnificent, wonderful! And you fight remarkably well for a healing man. Did you learn how to do that in the War, too?”

  “You might say that.”

  “Did you get in fights very often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Fistfights?”

  “No.”

  “What kind, then?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ariadne, please.”

  “Well, I cannot imagine what the big secret is. . . .”

  “Yes, and it’s better that you don’t. I find it painful to discuss. Talk about the weather if you like, ask me questions about my career as a veterinarian, but do not query me about my past.”

  His hard tone forbade further prying. What was the big mystery? What had happened to him that was so upsetting that he refused to discuss it? Ariadne finally sat up and gazed thoughtfully over at him. His eyes were distant, dark with remembered anguish, and she had a sudden, unexplainable urge to take him in her arms and comfort him.

  That, of course, would be very bad behavior. Very bad behavior, indeed, and she knew he wouldn’t welcome it. Instead, maybe she could cajole a smile back onto his face. Or at least a little grin. Anything was better than the sad, wistful look in his eye.

  “Colin?”

  “What?”

  “Can I tell you a secret, then?”

  Her conspiratorial tone raised a reluctant smile from him. “I suppose you will whether I wish you to or not.”

  Her eyes were dancing. “I kissed you good night last night, you know.”

  He sighed and kept his gaze between Thunder’s ears, but his grin was spreading.

  “Did you know that?” she asked, playfully. “That I kissed you?”

  “I was not aware of it.”

  “Are you ready to hear my real secret?”

  He dropped his brow to his hand and shook his head.

  “Last night,” she said, watching his face, “I kissed you. That is not my secret, because I already told you. But Colin, I—I have a confession to make. Maybe it started when I first saw you, down on your knees on the cobblestones and saving that poor dog. Certainly, it has grown stronger, this fondness I have for you, with every kind thing that you do, with every witty thing that you say, with . . . well, with just being around you. And I know I’m not supposed to want this when I’m engaged to be married to Maxwell, but since I have yet to speak my vows I see no harm in it—”

  “Ariadne, what is your point?”

  She smiled, suddenly nervous, but knowing it was too late to back down. “I still want you to kiss me.”

  “You want me to kiss you.”

  “Yes, that is what I said.”

  She could sense the tension flowing into his body, could see his knuckles growing white, his jaw hardening with vexation.

  God help her, she’d just committed more bad behavior, and this time, it hadn’t even been intentional. She was just being honest, just trying to cajole him out of his sadness, and oh, dear God, instead she’d made him angry.

  “Colin?”

  He was breathing hard, his eyes bleak, angry and helpless. His tension communicated itself right down the reins and Thunder picked up his pace. Behind them, Shareb-er-rehh broke into a trot to keep up.

  “Colin?”

  She lifted her hand and grabbed the reins, pulling
back on them. The old horse faltered and came to a halt.

  “Plague take it,” the veterinarian said, and bent his forehead to his hand. “Must you do this to me? Must you torment and tease me and put me in a state of —”

  “All I want is a kiss. A simple, harmless, ki—”

  He looked at her then, turning such a look of pure fury and desire on her that she wanted to melt right down into the floorboards. She had pushed him too far.

  And now, he was going to teach her a lesson.

  “A simple, harmless, kiss,” he murmured with dangerous softness, and she felt her flirtatious grin freezing in place, her heart beginning to beat a panicked tattoo within her breast as he reached out and grasped her wrist.

  “I’m sorry, Colin, I was just t-teasing—”

  “I’ve had it with your teasing, Ariadne. One of these days you’re going to push somebody too far. It’s about time you learned that kissing can be about as harmless as setting a spark to gunpowder!”

  He pulled her close, and then, before she could protest, cry out, or even raise her hand to slap him, his mouth came down hard upon hers. She knew him as a gentle man, one of quiet patience and strength, but there was nothing gentle about him, nothing patient as his tongue thrust between her lips and plunged into her mouth, one hand sliding up behind the back of her head to anchor her tight, the other moving toward her breast. Whimpering in shock, she tried to pull away, backwards, sideways, anywhere, but there was nowhere to escape. His tongue invaded deeper. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She opened her eyes, saw only his cheekbone, his hair, the too-close crescents of his lashes, and then his hand had found her breast, his fingers stroking the nipple through her light coat, rubbing and kneading the sensitive bud until her shock gave way to need and desire, until dampness began to flood the hot junction of her legs, until she began to push upwards, into the sweet force of his mouth, his tongue, him—

  And then, with no warning, he released her and left her reeling.

  Shaken, Ariadne fell back, her eyes wide, her pulse beating in her ears as she stared dazedly up at him. She put a trembling hand to her breast, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  “C-colin?”

  He impaled her with a glare that was hot, dark, and full of warning. “That is just a taste of what happens when you push a man too far,” he said hoarsely, snatching up the reins. “You wish to taunt and tease me? Well, keep at it, then, but I’ll not answer to the consequences. Do you understand me, Ariadne?” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, staring fixedly at his mouth and swallowing hard. “I . . . understand.”

  He looked at her for a long, hard moment. She gazed back, wide-eyed and contrite. Unconsciously, she licked her lips, savoring the taste of him, and with a sudden curse, he leapt from the chaise and hauled Shareb’s tack out from beneath the seat, bridling the stallion and all but flinging the saddle onto his back before tightening the girth with such quick, sharp, movements that the horse swung fiercely around and struck him, hard, with his teeth.

  He gasped, and grimacing, clasped a hand to the shoulder, shutting his eyes in pain.

  “Colin!” she cried, leaping out of the chaise.

  “Stay in the chaise,” he said hoarsely, breathing hard and leaning his brow into the curve of his arm. “Just stay in the bloody chaise, don’t move, and for the love of God, don’t ever ask me to kiss you again.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Ariadne came to her senses just as he swung stiffly aboard Shareb-er-rehh.

  “Colin, don’t!”

  Too late.

  With a shrill cry, the stallion exploded up and outward, his body twisting, writhing, and coming five feet off the ground before his back heels kicked out in a savage, jarring thrust that sent the animal doctor halfway over his neck.

  “Shareb!” she screamed, racing forward.

  The stallion hit the earth and reared straight up on his hind legs, higher, higher—

  “Shareb!”

  —and began to go over backward.

  Horrified, Ariadne saw it all. Colin, falling from the horse, rolling out of the way a split second before Shareb’s big body crashed down into the dirt, and Shareb—landing on his back, his legs flailing, his frightened squeals piercing the air, before he lunged to his feet and stood there, shaking and trembling and blowing hard through his nose.

  Ariadne loved her horse—but it was the man on the ground that she ran to.

  “Colin! Colin, are you hurt?”

  He was lying on his back in the road, his lips parted, his eyes staring up at the stallion. His face was pure white.

  “Colin!”

  As she fell to her knees in the dirt beside him, he moved his head and looked dazedly up at her. “I . . . guess that was a bad idea.”

  She burst into tears, cradled his face in her hands, and buried her forehead in the warm curve of his neck. “For God’s sake, he nearly crushed you, you could’ve been killed, don’t you know he has never been ridden by anyone but me, will not tolerate another soul on his back, for heaven’s sake, Colin, he could’ve killed you!”

  “Kind of you to warn me beforehand,” he muttered, ignoring the hand she stretched toward him to help him up. He got painfully to his feet. Then he brushed the dust from his clothes and turning his back on her, limped toward the stallion, leaving Ariadne with her hand still outstretched and her face going crimson with shame and embarrassment.

  Shareb saw him coming and shied away, his eyes wild, angry, frightened.

  “Easy, there. Easy . . .”

  Colin put a hand out to the shuddering beast. Again, Shareb tried to shy away, but not before he managed to snare one rein. The stallion reared high once more, legs pawing the air, hooves flashing dangerously close to his head. Colin jerked down, hard, and Shareb plunged to the earth, shied, and nearly tore the bit out of his mouth.

  “Easy!” he repeated, firmly, and laid his scraped palm against the animal’s hot, lathered, neck.

  Instantly, the horse quieted. His head drooped, his sides heaved, and he stood there, trembling and shuddering and refusing to look at the man who held him.

  Colin heard his employer coming softly up behind him. She wouldn’t look at him either, but merely patted her horse, her dusty face streaked with tears and her skin a bright pink. “He’s embarrassed,” she interpreted, meekly. “He’s sorry.”

  He, or you? Colin wondered.

  Shareb lifted one front leg in agreement.

  “Yes, he looks very contrite,” Colin snapped, his voice cold and angry. He was still shaking inside, and his knees felt like pudding. Keeping his hand on the horse’s glistening hide, he passed the reins to his tiny employer. “Hold his head while I make sure he didn’t injure himself.”

  “But what about you?”

  “I said, hold him.”

  Her throat tight, Ariadne took the reins and watched quietly as he stroked the stallion’s neck a few more times to steady him. Guilt and shame filled her. The fall had hurt the animal doctor; she could see that in the tightness around his mouth and the way he was dragging his leg, but he, kind soul that he was, was too concerned about the horse to give a thought to his own injuries. She bent her head, and kicked at a stone poking out of the dirt. She should never have asked him to kiss her, should never have tried to satisfy her own curiosity and wicked longings, should never have flirted so shamelessly nor pushed him as far as she had. She glanced up, watching him, her eyes remorseful as he ran gentle hands down Shareb’s fine legs, limped painfully to the stallion’s far side, and repeated the process there.

  “Colin, are you hurt?”

  He was kneeling down, inspecting Shareb’s uplifted foot. “I’m fine. Though I daresay your saddle didn’t fare as well.”

  “I don’t care about the saddle. I care about you.”

  He didn’t look up, though she saw a muscle ticking in his jaw as he carefully examined the stallion’s foot. He was vexed with her. Not just vexed, but furious
.

  He stood, raked his hair back over his brow, and, laying a calming hand on the stallion’s throat, gazed levelly, angrily, into her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t care about me, Ariadne. You shouldn’t care a damned bit about me, because you and I are on different paths and the two of them shall never mesh.”

  “I care about you as a friend.”

  “Be that as it may, your behavior transcends friendship.”

  “But it is totally harmless—”

  “You think it’s harmless. You think it’s flirtatious and funny that you have my desire at your mercy, and my insides so twisted up I don’t know if I’m coming or going. You know I’m attracted to you, but I dislike your little game. You may think it amusing, but you are not the one having to suffer the pains of deprivation, you are not the one being teased and tempted, you are not the one who has to exert all the will in your body not to do something you’ll later regret.”

  “Colin!”

  “Now get in the chaise, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “But I was only—”

  “Get in the damned chaise!”

  Her face hot with shame, she glanced away—and at the side of the road, saw a flock of sheep lining the perimeter of a stone fence, gazing at the animal doctor with wide-eyed, ovine adoration.

  She stared in astonishment.

  The veterinarian turned his head to follow her gaze. The animals pressed themselves against the fence as though trying to get closer to him. One let out a soft bleat, then another, and then the rest of the flock followed suit, until the whole group was bleating and baaing.

  “Colin?”

  He was still gazing at the sheep, beginning to smile a little.

  “Colin!”

  He turned then, shook his head as though to clear it, and looked away. Ariadne stared at him. Again, she sensed the eerie pull that animals felt toward this gentle man, and had a sudden, strange feeling of standing on the fringe of a circle she could never be a part of. Again, she saw him falling from Shareb’s back, and the thought of him lying dead, his neck broken, his body crushed, sent a shaft of terror straight through her heart. He was becoming very dear to her, this man. If anything had happened to him . . .