by M. A. Grant
Her face blanched, but she stood firm. “I have seven thousand,” she said calmly, “and I’ll pay off the rest.” She reached down and began to lift the hem of her voluminous skirt. Douglass and Kai immediately began protesting and Peirce stepped forward to stop her. She glared daggers at them all and put her hands on her hips. “You thought that was how I was going to pay you off? Not in this lifetime!”
Her hands were trembling, but she reached back down and lifted the hem. Peirce was treated to quite a show of the lace of her white linen drawers and the delicate, scalloped edges of her petticoats as she worked at the seam of the blue fabric. Finally she let out a sound of success and motioned him closer. A quick flash of the light showed what she was so proud of.
The lady had sewn jewellery into the hem of her skirt. Admiration tugged at him, even as he tried to keep his voice even. No need to make her ego get any bigger. “Clever.”
“Suggested by one of the servants loyal to me,” she responded, dropping the skirt and raising back up. “Once I pawn them, you’ll get the rest of your money.”
Peirce looked past her at Douglass and Kai. Douglass nodded instantly. Damn bleeding heart.
Kai shrugged. “I don’t care as long as we get paid,” he said with his trademark devil-may-care grin. Peirce rolled his eyes.
“Fine,” he told Emmaline. “You have a deal. For now.”
And that solved the matter of whether to still hand her over to the man who attempted to kill him and his men.
He turned back to the rafts, motioning Douglass and Kai to join him.
Emmaline still stood there. “So what do we do now?”
Peirce pulled one of the rafts to the opposite end of the cavern and pulled the cord. It inflated with a whoosh, echoing the sound made by the other raft when Douglass followed suit. “We’re getting the hell out of here,” Peirce explained, dragging the raft toward the water.
“On a boat?”
Peirce looked at the cold, dark water. It was moving slowly here, perfect for putting in. “On a raft.” He gave her a smirk and gestured at the river. “Unless you’d prefer to swim.”
She swallowed but moved closer to the raft. Douglass and Kai were already sliding into the current. Peirce helped Emmaline up over the edge, trying to ignore the way his gut clenched when he again saw the flash of pale undergarments beneath her dark blue skirt. Once she was safely inside, he pushed the raft toward the water, grimacing as his shoulder argued with the movement. Two more steps and he hoisted himself aboard, letting the river’s strong flow whisk them away after Kai and Douglass.
Too bad his shoulder gave out mid-hoist, leaving him in a sprawled heap on top of Emmaline.
She couldn’t breathe. And not just because there was six feet and a couple hundred pounds of hot-blooded male on top of her. His body armour had knocked the air from her lungs and she couldn’t even gasp out the curse that was sitting on the tip of her tongue.
“Ah, hell,” Taggart growled, hauling himself off of her.
Air rushed back, leaving her coughing in relief. But as Taggart tried to settle into the makeshift stern of the raft, she noticed him wincing. “Are you okay?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “Fine.”
She sat up, trying to smooth the fabric of her dress. Her fingers brushed through wetness. She tentatively brought her fingers to her nose and drew back at the copper scent of blood. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.
“No.”
She was already moving toward him, keeping low to avoid rocking the raft. “Where?”
He shrugged off her hand as she reached out to touch his shoulder. “Sit down,” he said, but she ignored him.
“Why is your shoulder bleeding?”
Again, he shrugged and she stood in frustration. “Dammit, Mr. Taggart, how badly are you injured?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but a yell from the raft ahead only left him with enough time for a quick glance over his shoulder before he was shoving her down to the bottom of the raft.
She tried to argue but a moment later, the sound of the raft scraping against rock cut off her protests. They had made their way into some kind of tunnel, one where the rocks were crushing down on all sides. The water had picked up speed, so the raft kept moving, but Emmaline couldn’t prevent panic from rising up as she lay there pinned beneath Taggart.
The walls closing in. The darkness. The sensation that her chest was too small for her lungs.
“It’s like Plymouth all over,” she moaned, trying to focus on anything but the claustrophobia.
“Wait...Plymouth? That was you?” Taggart shifted slightly on top of her and heat pooled in her belly as she realised his hips were flush with hers. And either that was a gun, or he hadn’t been lying when he claimed she was a distraction.
If his question had had any pity in it, she knew the shame would have come. Instead, for some reason, pressed against him like this, his voice devoid of anything except clinical curiosity, she was actually able to respond, “Yes. That was me.”
Well, that was interesting. Who knew that Little Miss Prim and Proper had a backbone of steel?
Peirce tried to move a little off of her, but the harsh sound of the stone ceiling scraping against the assault rifle strapped to his back made him grimace and return to his original position. The one that left her sprawled out underneath him, her face tucked against his neck where the armour stopped. He could feel her gentle breath against his skin and was obscenely grateful his uniform was hiding his rising interest.
But if she was part of the Plymouth incident...
“Not to shit on this parade, but are you—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted sharply.
She shifted, her hips rolling under his and he clenched his jaw to keep from groaning in pleasure. His body’s overreaction wasn’t because it was Emmaline Gregson; it was simply because there was a soft, sweetly-scented woman underneath him and that hadn’t happened in a long time.
He tried to focus. “Cuz you know, if you had a problem with tight, enclosed spaces...”
“Drop it, Mr. Taggart!”
He tried, swear to the gods, he tried. But his mind was whirling and he couldn’t seem to help himself. “How long were you trapped in there?”
She went perfectly still beneath him. For a time, the only sound was the raft rubbing against the stone ceiling. Finally she sighed and murmured, “Three days.”
Well, talk about walking through hell and back. He quickly searched his memory for anything else he could remember on the incident. The iron mine in Plymouth being visited by the aristocracy, an explosion from a pocket of methane, part of the aristocracy cut off from help. It was the fastest emergency crews had ever responded. But days later, only four survivors walked out of the mine.
And Emmaline was one of them.
He wasn’t sure why he said it, but the gruff “I’m sorry” that came from his mouth surprised them both.
“Thank you,” she said against his skin.
The sound of the water lapping against the raft echoed through the narrow stone passage. Gods only knew how much longer they’d be trapped like this. When Douglass had checked out the last surveys of the area, he was sure there’d be enough room to squeeze the rafts through. He’d told Peirce it’d be a “tight fit” but Peirce hadn’t expected this.
And if he was getting antsy, Emmaline had to be going nuts.
He was opening his mouth to ask her another question, hopefully to distract her from the thoughts that must have been running riot in her head, but she beat him to the punch. “Why’d you kiss me?” she asked quietly.
“Fuck if I know.”
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. “Oh, thank you.” Her tone was positively frigid.
“Look, you asked. I answered.”
As she tried to move out from under him, one of her breasts brushed against his bare bicep. It may have been dark, but he could see in his mind’s eye the soft, thin, white cotton chemise with that silve
r and blue corset pushing her breasts up, her dark navy jacket doing nothing but framing them. Now he did groan out loud.
Her concern was immediate and altogether too comfortable. “Are you okay? Did I hurt your shoulder?”
“No, you didn’t hurt me.” The silence wasn’t totally uncomfortable, but she continued to stiffen under him and he knew that she was fighting down whatever she’d faced in Plymouth. So he did the only thing he could think of: piss her off.
“The only reason I kissed you was because I needed to distract you.”
Well-bred young ladies weren’t sarcastic. But something about Taggart brought out the worst in her. “You thought it would be a good idea to distract me in the middle of a fire fight?” she asked drily. “Wouldn’t it be easier to kill me by simply asking me to stand up?”
She could hear the irritation in his voice. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have left you back there in the tunnel.”
She shuddered. Trapped with those mercenaries, the men who would take her to Richard Stone—her father’s ill-advised business partner and internationally-known sex trader.
Taggart continued as if he hadn’t felt her full body reaction. “And, for your information honey, you’re so damn stubborn that unless I distract you, you’ll never follow a single order.”
“I’m not stubborn!” she argued, only to accept his point with chagrin a moment later as it sank in that she was still trying to argue with him.
“You’re a walking disaster and because I distracted you, you didn’t die.”
She mulled it over. Maybe he was right. Just because it was the best kiss—the only kiss—she’d ever had in her entire life didn’t mean it was anything important to him. He’d probably kissed tons of other women and she knew her lack of experience likely wasn’t an advantage with a man like him.
A change in the sound of the water caught her attention. “What’s happening with the river?”
A soft blue light emanated from the cuff around his wrist, highlighting his sardonic face. He would actually be handsome if he ever managed to smile. But doing that would probably break his face. “We’re coming out of the tunnel,” he told her, shutting down the map.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Better than being trapped on this fucking raft.”
“Do you always swear this much?”
She could feel his hand on her waist, felt him preparing to roll off her so he could pop up when the ceiling’s clearance allowed. “Babe, I usually swear a hell of a lot more than this.”
“Oh. Then thank you for being such a gentleman.”
“Do you ever get tired of being such a snob?”
That shut her up for a while. When the ceiling finally rose, Taggart was off of her, already looking ahead toward the other men’s raft. Satisfied that they were safe, he turned back to Emmaline and gave her a hand up. “We’re almost above ground,” he warned. “I don’t know if anyone will be waiting for us.”
“Did you plan for this?”
“We’re currently on plan B.”
“How are we going to get away? Stay on these rafts the entire time?”
“Fuck no. There’s a big ass waterfall coming up. As soon as we’re out in the open, we’re making shore and booking it to the Stallion.”
At least she recognised the declassified Lawman assault vehicle. Made for rough terrain and armoured within an inch of its life, it would provide the protection they might need to get out of the area. He really had planned for everything. “Then what?”
“Well, the plan’s changed and if we don’t deliver you to your father, he’s going to be pretty pissed.”
“I know.” She lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. “I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”
“It’s a job. It happens more than you think,” he threw back casually. “Just don’t count on your father making it out of this alive.”
At least that managed to get a grim smile from her. “You’d better not be teasing me, Mr. Taggart.”
Chapter 3
Gods, she was almost sexy when she was after blood. Peirce shook his head again and looked away from the rear-view mirror, convinced that some wires had gotten crossed in his brain. They’d made it off the river and to the Stallion without a problem; the thugs-for-hire hadn’t set up any kind of perimeter, so it was easy enough to slip away from the area and head back toward Monterrey. If he could just get her to the city, he’d be able to make her disappear until everything else was figured out.
“How are you going to fix this?” Douglass asked, eyes firmly on the road.
“Who cares?” Kai joked. “Money is money.”
Peirce couldn’t help his grin. Kai had a ton to learn if he intended to survive in the business. “We need to talk to Arthur Gregson.”
“And say what?” Now Emmaline was leaning forward, listening intently.
She didn’t need to know all the details.
“That I don’t appreciate having information withheld,” Peirce told her good-naturedly. “If we’d known that many men were coming to collect you, I’d have tripled my price.” He stretched lazily.
Douglass chuckled. “You smart SOB.”
“Why’s he smart?”
Since getting to the safety of the Stallion, Kai had been meticulously drying and checking his explosives’ charges, but now he grinned at Emmaline’s unintentional slight of Peirce. “Your old man hasn’t got any credits. Even if he still wants you back, he can’t afford to retain us.”
“And how is that a positive?”
“I just saved your ass and I’m already having every decision questioned?” Peirce asked, amused by her panicked tone.
Douglass shot him a look that screamed stop-being-such-an-asshole and said to Emmaline, “He’ll have to hire someone else to find you.”
“So they’ll still be looking for me.” Her withering glare was directed at Peirce. “I’m failing to see how that’s a good thing.”
“It’s not that complicated, sweets,” Peirce drawled. “We’re the best. As long as you’re paying us, news’ll get out that trying to find you isn’t the smartest plan.”
“At least, not for anyone who likes to live,” Kai added with a snicker.
She was quiet. Peirce thought that maybe she’d finally seen reason. But when she spoke again, her voice was surprisingly soft. “But doesn’t that mean my father will come after you three?”
Peirce almost believed that she was genuinely concerned. It was a shocking enough revelation that he didn’t respond. Douglass covered for him. The comforting smile he gave her through the rear-view mirror seemed to give her the strength she needed.
“Miss Gregson, please believe me when I say—and I’m speaking for all of us here—that after some of the shit we’ve seen, your father doesn’t even make it within throwing distance of our scary list.”
“Here, here,” Kai crowed.
Peirce grunted his agreement and went back to ignoring her and the strange things she did to his head.
They made it to Monterrey without incident. It was simple to slip the Stallion through the checkpoint once tattoos were shown, stories shared and credits slipped to the Lawmen on patrol; Peirce understood that part of any good business was keeping the right hands greased. A quick trip to the med-centre meant some staples but at least his shoulder was back together. It was going to take some time for the local anaesthetic to wear off, so Douglass and Kai stopped at the open-air market to pick up the essentials while Peirce and Emmaline stayed in the Stallion.
“Play nice,” Douglass teased as he closed his door.
Peirce was glad the man was finally finding his sense of humour again. The wars had been so bad that when he’d first met Douglass, he hadn’t uttered a single word. It had taken years, but Douglass was finally starting to interact like a real person again.
“Can you help me?”
Peirce rolled his eyes and turned back to Emmaline, mouth drying when he found himself looking at
the stays on the back of her corset. She was holding up her hair, exposing the gentle, creamy curve of her neck. A strange, strangled noise escaped his throat.
She looked at him over her shoulder, unaware of just how sexy she looked. Fortunately, her sharp tone ruined any effect. “It won’t kill you to help!”
“And what am I supposed to do, your bossiness?”
“Can you help me loosen my corset?” She may have been flushed, but she hadn’t stuttered over the words.
Peirce eyed the complicated ties. “Umm...”
“It’s not that hard. Just undo the bottom and loosen it a little bit.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “Because I lined my corset with your seven thousand credits and figured you might want them.”
“Oh.” He tentatively reached out and undid the bottom bow. A few delicate tugs, and he’d begun to loosen it.
“For the love of the gods, Mr. Taggart, I’m not a porcelain doll. I won’t break if you yank on them,” she said.
Peirce obeyed, pulling at the laces, realising that the slow process was actually loosening the contraption. “I’ve defused bombs that were less complicated than this,” he muttered.
“I heard that.”
“Of course you did. You never fail to hear any of my flattering compliments.”
“Perhaps if you stopped saying them, I wouldn’t have to remind you that I can hear them.”
It was petty, but he made sure his last tug was a bit vicious. She ignored it and focused on reaching her hand down the corset to pull out handfuls of credits, depositing them carefully on the seat next to her.
“How should I divide it?”
Peirce tried not to watch that hand sneaking down between her breasts over and over. He looked outside, praying Douglass and Kai would return quickly. “Three thousand each. Pay Douglass and Kai first.”
She stilled. “That’s only nine thousand.” Her eyes narrowed. “Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you take the larger share for yourself.”
Her derisive tone rankled him. “Three thousand each. We use the other thousand to cover costs. It’s not easy to sneak a wanted woman into Monterrey.”