Page 75 of Pride: The Rogue
Latimer whipped the article at her and she caught it adroitly against her chest.
“I’m not always going to be around to play nursemaid for you, darlin’,” he jeered. “That’ll be your husband’s job.”
Only, that intended jibe sent a savage fury roaring to life within Latimer.
Her eyes flashed fire. “How dare you?”
“Easily,” he said, with a tight smile.
Livian gasped. “You are incorrigible.”
Why the hell should he care either way about this vexatious beauty belonging to another.Because you want to fuck her. That’s all there is to it…and the idea of some other man laying claim to her body first, set off a primitive response within.
“Need I remind you, I’m a grown woman.”
Aye, she was pure, desirable, scorching hot beauty begging to become a woman in every sense of the word.
Oh, he didn’t need a reminder on that. His body’s hungering for her kept him all too aware.
Hunger sent his nostrils into a full flare.
Dismissing him outright, Livian headed to the log blocking the road, as pure as they came.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that while he stood lusting after her, she remained wholly—and infuriatingly—immune.
Make no doubt, if Livian were aware of the churlish thoughts churning in his head, and all the debauched things he’d like to do to her here and now, she’d have never turned her back.
No, instead, the lady found herself wrestling with the end of a thin, but unrelentingly strong, branch from the fallen tree limb.
Latimer swiped a hand over his face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Bertha used to say, trees are sanctuaries,” she explained, without ever pausing in her efforts. “The yew is the oldest of them all, a sacred part of the winter solstice. If you know how to speak to them, you must also listen and learn the truth from them, too.”
Latimer waited for her to finish.
It soon became apparent she’d found that response a suitable explanation for whatever latest madness this was. “And?”
She took a break to briefly explain. “It’s branches burrow into the ground. Over there, it sprouted new trees. See.”
He found himself looking to the area she was motioning to.
“The old tree, the original tree lives inside.” Livian went back to work. “It is revered by the Celtic because the yew represents death and rebirth and it falling, Lachlan,” she said, breathless from both her efforts and the passion with which she spoke. “It bringing me to stop here, at this point in my journey, happened for a reason.”
“And what reason is that?” he couldn’t keep himself from asking.
She shrugged. “I’m not yet certain. That’s one of the reasons I’m taking it with me.” She paused. “Or part of it. This tree is more than a thousand years old; this fallen branch, at least hundreds and hundreds, and it fell at this moment, and in this time, in my path, means something,” she said wistfully. “Soon the villagers will likely come and chop it up, burn it for firewood, and it will be lost forever.”
Livian finally managed to wrest free the branch. She gave a triumphant little shout and spun, holding that piece, aloft. “At least, I have this.” Humming softly to herself, she bent the piece neatly and tucked it inside her jacket.
Women craved riches. They wanted to be draped in the most luxuriant silks and satins and velvets and dripping in diamonds and jewels.
Except this woman.
This woman? She sought to preserve…kindling? Furthermore, she thought nothing of putting herself in harm’s way to do so.
“A grown woman,” he muttered under his breath. “You don’t have the sense God gave a child, Livian Lovelace.”
“Why are you being so rude?”
