Page 73 of Pride: The Rogue
The winsome radiance that rang in her musical voice proved as sexually potent as the lady’s virginal state.
She didn’t have a bit of necessary fear or mistrust in her bones.
Latimer opened his eyes and found her flitting about like a butterfly; a bright spot of bright upon an otherwise dreary landscape.
“There it is!” she cried out.
Heedless of the mud, grime, and sludge, Livian bolted back in his direction, and then veered sideways, where she—
He strangled on a swallow. “What the hell are you doing?” he barked, already bolting over to head her off.
“Never tell me you haven’t climbed a tree,” she rejoined in her always sunny tones.
Even with skirts and all, she’d already managed to make it several branches up before he reached her.
Actually, he hadn’t. That fact, however, would certainly only lead to an exchange, not on livestock this time, but tree-climbing.
“Why in hell are you climbing a tree now!”
He may as well have saved his breath. The way Livian furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose up in deep concentration, she’d ceased to see—or engage—him.
He gritted his teeth.She’s going to make me climb after her…
Bloody hell.
Latimer caught a branch a few feet above him. Using his upper arms, he hauled himself up, passing Livian as he went, and seated himself on an enormous perch.
He folded his arms.
Her eyes widened. “Brava,” she lauded, continuing her slower, more careful ascent. “Youhaveclimbed trees, Lachlan.”
“This was my first.”
Adorably breathless, she frowned up at him. “Braggart,” she muttered. Several curls fell across her brow.
She flattened her lips and blew. The loose tendrils fluttered and then fell promptly back into place.
Not giving her the satisfaction of a quarrel, he reached down, caught Livian under her shoulder, and hauled her onto the makeshift bench next to him.
She gasped. “Why—”
“I don’t need you breaking your neck, darlin’,” he said drolly.
“Why?”
He stared at her.
“It’s just…given we’re strangers,” she noted, pumping her legs gently like she sat atop a swing and not an ancient limb some ten feet from the ground. “I don’t suppose it should matter to you either way.”
Latimer frowned. No. It actually shouldn’t, and it…it…
His brain, however, wouldn’t, nay, couldn’t finish the rest of the lie.
“I’ve got enough blood on my hands,” he said roughly, “whereas I don’t need yours on them, too, sweetheart.”
The jaunty movement of her graceful limbs drew to a slow stop. “I’m sorry.”
Latimer curled his fingers sharply into the gnarled wood.
