Page 23 of Law

What would those Sabre brothers of his —the ones who’d helped Law rescue her and Zane— say if, after all they’d done for her, she sat at home while Law rode into danger? They would hate her. She would hate herself even more.

A gunshot shattered the quiet of the late afternoon. Screaming, Lovie fell to the floor. Oh God! Were people shooting? Had they shot Law?

She couldn’t just sit there while people were firing guns at him. She had to help him. At the very least, she had to try.

Racing to the kitchen, she grabbed a long sharp knife from a drawer and headed out the front door. Rather than running down the lane, she ducked into the trees and ran toward the front gate. She’d only made it fifty yards or so when the rumble of a vehicle froze her in her tracks.

Dropping to the ground, she held her breath until it passed by her, heading toward the house. Law skidded to a halt in front,barely stopping before he jumped from his truck and ran toward the front door.

She sprinted back toward the house as fast as she could. He had just gone inside seconds before her name echoed through the trees. “Lovelyn!”

Uh oh. How could a voice sound both panicked and furious at the same time?

Her steps faltered as he called her name again. “Lovelyn! Where the hell are you?”

She cleared the tree line and crossed the open area in front of the house, while he burst back out the front door and headed for his truck.

He skidded to a halt when he spotted her. His body stiffened, and, if possible, seemed to grow even larger. The outrage on his face as he glared at her made her stumble. She would have fallen, but he caught her before she hit the ground.

He looked furious. No, more than furious. He looked irate. “I told you to stay inside the house.”

With his hands under her arms, he lifted her off the ground and held her dangling in the air before him. She shivered, and not from the cold this time. The man’s strength was unlike anything she’d ever known.

If her feet could touch the ground, she would have darted back into the trees. Round two of hide and seek sounded good to her.

She’d dropped the knife somewhere along the way, so she had no way to defend herself. And by the look in his eyes, it might come in handy.

Through gritted teeth, he demanded, “Did you or did you not understand Rule One?”

Her vocal cords froze just like the rest of her. Apparently, it was more of a rhetorical question anyway, as he didn’t wait for her answer.

“I suppose I’ll need to find another way to explain it.” The earthtilted as he tossed her over his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the house, reaching the front steps more quickly than she’d hoped. If he continued moving at this speed, he wouldn’t have much time to calm down.

“I was inside,” she tried to explain. “But then I heard the gunshot, and I knew you needed me.”

He cleared the steps two at a time. “There wasn't any gunshot, Lovelyn. One of the cars backfired as they drove away.”

“Oh.” Well now, in addition to his anger sending her nerves into overdrive, she felt stupid. So much for being needed.

He set her on her feet in the main room. She didn’t know him well, but the glint in his eye as he glowered at her wasn’t a good sign. Trying once more to explain, she opened her mouth, but only a yelp escaped when he planted one foot on the coffee table and hauled her over his knee.

All those books that claimed jeans dulled the sting of a hand swatting a girl's backside were dead wrong. Whether due to the size of his giant hand or the strength of his muscular arm, her jeans didn’t dull anything at all.

He delivered a long round of firm swats to her derriere that robbed the breath from her lungs. He didn’t lecture. Instead, he let his hand do all the talking. It was a very effective communicator.

At first, she didn’t say much either. All she could manage was to squawk, yelp, and squeal.

He was not fooling around, conveying a message he didn’t intend for her to miss. He hadn’t told her how many swats to expect, but he must be shooting for a million. Her bottom was on fire.

It seemed his only thought was she understood the lesson he was determined to teach. It only added insult to injury that she recognized she’d earned every swat. After all, he had given her only one rule, and she hadn’t been able to follow that for more than a few hours.

But did his hand have to be so broad and hard? It was like he was smacking her with an oak paddle.

Soon, all thoughts of explaining or making excuses vanished beneath his unforgiving hand. The pain from his deliberate swats eclipsed everything else in her world.

Her yelps turned into shouts, which eventually evolved into pleas of “sorry,” and “stop,” and “please,” mixed with tears and wails.

When words didn’t appease him, she kicked and thrashed, doing everything she could think of to dislodge herself from her position over his knee, but nothing worked. He kept her securely pinned over his thigh, not missing a single smack.

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