Relentless

Chapter 7 #2

“Don’t you, Shea Randall?” His eyes were cold.

Calculating. Deliberately baiting her. Distancing.

She suddenly realized that he didn’t like that odd attraction any more than she had.

He was trying to provoke her again, to turn the sparks of awareness between man and woman into anger between captor and captive.

It was working.

“No,” she said curtly.

He approached her. She noticed his right hand, the one holding the trout, was gloved again. He saw the direction of her gaze, and a grim, bitter expression appeared on his face.

“You’re a liar,” he said. “Are you denying you feel something other than the fear that you should feel?” The hoarseness seemed to be disappearing from his voice, replaced by a kind of low, taunting assurance.

Shea was struck speechless that he had put into words something she had been trying to deny.

She didn’t know how to defend herself. She had wordlessly denied those moments of awareness.

She refused to think of it as attraction, as sensual.

She chose to attack instead. “That’s the second time you’ve accused me of lying. Judging me by your standards?”

His eyes seemed to bore into her. “Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of experience with Randalls who lie.”

Everything went back to the man she believed to be her father. She stiffened her back. “Do you always blame others for what you’ve done to yourself?”

“You’re changing the subject. You’re denying that moment of, shall we say, interest.” He was relentless in forcing her to expose herself, in making her humiliate herself.

“The same interest I’d have in a rattler,” she retorted.

“Rattlers have some fascinating qualities, Miss Randall.”

“All repulsive.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And dangerous. Remember that.”

He turned around, as if weary of the conversation. “I’m going to clean the fish,” he said. “You can go out if you wish.” Without waiting for an answer, he left the cabin.

Shea wasn’t sure which she disliked more. His attention, or indifference, as if she weren’t worth a moment of thought. But she craved the outside now, the feel of sunlight, and she also had to take care of personal needs.

She quickly braided her hair and tied the end with the blue ribbon in her valise. She hoped he wouldn’t think she was adorning herself for his benefit. Her hair was very fine, and without being bound, it would fly in a million different directions.

Shea looked longingly at a clean dress but decided against it. She felt safer in the shirt and britches. And if there were a chance to escape …

After the exchange today, she felt the need more than ever.

Rafe sat on the stump, took his knife from the sheath on his belt, and gutted the fish, trying to keep unwanted thoughts at bay.

He’d made a mistake, and he knew it. He shouldn’t get into conversations with his prisoner, and he especially shouldn’t acknowledge that odd electricity between them. He didn’t understand why he bothered to duel with her. He should just ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist.

But for a few moments after he’d entered the cabin and watched her brush her hair, he hadn’t felt quite so alone, quite so empty.

Her hair, caught in the joint light of candle and sun, had rippled with gold and fell in silky waves across her shoulders and down her back.

She had looked very fetching. And he’d found himself aching in places he thought immune to tender feelings.

And so he had baited her.

Dammit.

He reminded himself that his quarrel was with Jack Randall, not a woman who accidentally wandered into the middle of his private war. He would have to make some allowances. If she would cooperate. He just didn’t know how far he could trust her.

Rafe finished cleaning the fish and was threading them through the spit he’d taken from the stable when she came out.

He stood. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Miss Randall.”

She looked at him with suspicion.

“I’ll give you five minutes of privacy, no more, and hope you have enough sense to know these mountains are far more dangerous than I am.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a bargain that she could see. Not until she knew what was expected in return.

“You said a bargain?”

“Your word you won’t be foolish enough to try to escape.”

“You said you wouldn’t believe me if my oath was wrapped in angels’ wings,” she reminded him, not knowing exactly why. She should accept. She should give her promise and then ignore it. A promise to a criminal was no promise at all.

But it was. To her. How did he know that?

“It’s really quite simple,” he said. “If you are that foolish, I won’t have to worry about you at all. You will never survive these mountains.” His words quickly dispelled any notions that he had softened in some way.

“Then why worry about me escaping at all?”

“It would inconvenience me, Miss Randall. I would feel duty-bound to save you from your own foolishness. I might, or might not, succeed, and I don’t like failure.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you foolish, Miss Randall?”

He’d spoken so chillingly, it was clear he didn’t care about her, only failure. There were several warnings there, she knew.

Why was she even arguing with him? Why didn’t she take his offer and escape?

“I don’t think so,” she said finally, “but why did you change your mind?”

“Why would I trust you for five minutes?” He shrugged. “It’s not very long, and I suspect you might be hungry,” he said. “Call it a little test. If you pass, I might give you more freedom.” He was holding out two prizes: food and a better chance later to escape.

Five minutes. Long enough to get a head start.

Long enough to get lost. Long enough perhaps to get away from this disturbing man who sent so many conflicting emotions slithering through her, who even now made her breathless, who made her want to reach out and touch.

She ached to do that, to see what she would find under that harsh exterior.

She stepped back in reaction to that last ungodly urge.

He tipped his head slightly, those sea-colored eyes regarding her steadily, as if trying to steal her thoughts. She’d thought his eyes empty when she first saw him, but now she knew that wasn’t true. They weren’t empty at all but ruthlessly controlled.

“Well?”

She nodded reluctantly, hating her own surrender, but necessity was now upon her.

“Your word? Say it.” He was insistent, demanding even more surrender. She knew then how well he was controlling her. If she did try to escape, he would never accept her word again; if she didn’t, he would take it as total compliance.

“Go to hell,” she said suddenly, surprising even herself.

She hadn’t thought she would ever say that to anyone.

But she was furious. Furious because a part of her had started to expect more of him.

Furious because of the way he made her feel, and the way her body betrayed her.

Furious because he used and twisted every private feeling to his own advantage.

“Such language,” he drawled. “I thought young ladies from Boston were raised to be more demure.”

“They never met you,” she retorted bitterly.

His lips crooked in a half-smile, then he shrugged. “Five minutes,” he said in a bored voice. “No promises required. But be assured, if you try anything, you will spend every successive moment in the cabin. If you live that long.”

Just then a mouse popped its head out of Rafferty Tyler’s pocket, looked around curiously, and then ran up to perch on his shoulder.

It was her mouse.

Shea recognized it by size, by its inquisitive and unafraid nature. She watched in astonishment as her captor, her heartless, ruthless captor, very gently took it in his right hand and stroked its back with the bare fingers of his left hand.

Tyler looked up at her. “Abner,” he explained.

She stepped closer to him, watching as the mouse snuggled into his glove. She swallowed. “We’ve met.”

It was his turn to look surprised. “He doesn’t mean to frighten anyone.”

“He didn’t frighten me.”

“Does anything really frighten you, Miss Randall?”

“You do.”

“Do I?”

Before she could answer, he spoke again. “I should frighten you, Miss Randall. Don’t let Abner mislead you. I found him in prison. In prison you take anything you can find. Even a mouse.”

That didn’t explain the gentleness of his hands, the tameness of the mouse. That took a great deal of patience, a special ability. Animals, she’d always observed, were rather selective in whom they liked. They simply didn’t take to just anyone, particularly timid creatures like mice.

But Rafferty Tyler? And a mouse?

“I give animals more leeway than … troublesome women.”

Shea couldn’t stop herself from challenging him. “Me in particular, or all women?”

“Women are all the same, Miss Randall.”

“In what way?”

A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Do you really want to know?”

She didn’t, but she heard herself saying, “Yes.”

He tucked the mouse in the wool shirt that lay on the ground and moved toward her, a scowl on his face. When he reached her, he leaned down, and Shea suddenly realized his intention and her mistake.

She tried to move, but his hand captured her arm and held her. “You know what they say about curiosity?” he asked.

His head lowered, and his lips captured hers, hard and demanding. Shea tried to twist away, but she couldn’t and, worse, she found herself responding. The part of her that had responded to him since the first time she saw him was betraying her, humiliating her as he meant to humiliate her.

She found her lips meeting his, found her body moving toward his. She felt the heat that always came from him, and it penetrated her, binding them in ways entirely new to her.

Shea had been kissed before, light, fanciful kisses but nothing like this, nothing that burned, dominated yet pleasured. Her lips softened for his, and she felt his gentle for a second and then harden again, as if he regretted the momentary lapse.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the feelings fomenting in her body, as if she was finally experiencing the true essence of being a woman. It was wonderful, and it was terrible.

His arms went around her, and she felt his arousal, and that ignited more explosions.

His kiss deepened, his tongue invading her mouth.

She should protest, should struggle, but she no longer had a will of her own.

Her legs were weak, her stomach in turmoil, her heart pounding.

It was as if something, or someone, else had taken over her body.

Dear God, what was she doing? He was trying to punish her, and she, she …

Shea wrenched away and turned from him, not wanting to see him, not wanting to watch victory spread over his face.

She felt him behind her, felt the whisper of his breath on the back of her neck. She heard his low, hoarse words. “I’m … sorry. I said I wouldn’t … hurt you if you behaved. That … shouldn’t have happened. It won’t again.”

Shea sensed pain in his voice and turned to face him. “Give up your vendetta against my … father.”

“No.” Harshness was back in his voice, as were the grim lines in his face. “Don’t take my apology for anything more than it is, an apology for one moment that shouldn’t have happened. It changes nothing.”

“Why?”

“That’s something else you don’t want to know,” he said. “Remember the response to your last question.”

“But you said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Perhaps not that, but I wouldn’t mind locking those questions away in the cabin.” His voice was hard now. “Don’t test me any further, Miss Randall.”

She swallowed, needing to get away from the intensity of his presence, of her own reactions. “Five minutes?” she asked, referring to his offer from what seemed hours ago.

He looked at her thoughtfully, and for a moment she wondered whether he had changed his mind.

He had. “I think I want your promise, after all,” he said. Her feelings must have been obvious again. All she wanted to do now was run and run and run. Because of that kiss. Because of the confusion he stirred in her.

And she would do anything, promise anything at the moment, to do that. “Just this one time?”

His mouth quirked again, and she knew he found her battle between expediency and honor amusing.

“All right,” she said ungraciously. “And when I get back?”

“You will stay with me, or locked in the cabin.”

She wanted to say she would prefer the cabin, but she didn’t. Who could prefer darkness to light? Candles to the sun?

Except she wasn’t sure whether the darkness inside wasn’t preferable to the Devil in the sunlight.