Page 6 of Stealing Sophie
Connor huffed in plain astonishment. She bargained kindness for freedom. He had not expected that. He had planned to subdue a struggling woman and haul her off to be married, but he did not know how to respond to this. The notorious Katie Hell was not known for virtue and mercy, but perhaps Katherine MacCarran had a saintly side like her sister. Or perhaps she was just very clever about twisting men around her finger.
The damnable thing was that she was right. He was a decent man, he followed an inner code of honor, and he broke laws to do it. But he would not be turned about by charm and coaxing.
Nor did he have time to chat, let alone apologize. This marriage must be made quickly. If force accomplished that, so be it.
“We are in a hurry, Miss MacCarran.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I did not abduct you on a whim.”
“So you planned it!”
“Quick-witted as well as bonny,” he drawled.
“But I do not know you. How—why would—are you that Ghost?”
He turned. “We must go.”
“Did you betray my brother, who is now in prison? Did you have a hand in his arrest? Please, I must know.”
“We have no time for conversation. Come ahead.” He pulled.
She resisted. “Then answer me this. Why did you take me from my escort? Were you waiting for me as we crossed the moor?”
“I was,” he whispered, bending lower. His breath swept her cheek. Her breath, small, frosted clouds, touched his lips. “I think I would have waited for you forever.”
Why the devil had he said that? He sounded like a besotted fool or a damned poet. She had a strange effect on him, this one. She had an allure he struggled to resist. Not just her lovely, magical voice, even when she was talking rapidly from sheer distress—her beautiful eyes, her lush form, all of it had taken hold of his senses.
He scowled down at her, wishing he had not spoken.
Her gaze searched his. “You must let me go,” she whispered.
He could not. Would not. He leaned closer, nose brushing the delicate tip of her own, hair falling forward to mingle with hers. As he held her shoulders, he felt her slump a bit, sensed an instant of surrender and softening, as if the same power that rushed through him affected her also. He felt a sudden urge to kiss her, take her into his arms, bury himself and his senses in her, fill her as the demand filled him.
No. Stop.Bending toward her, heart thudding, he forgot for a moment that urgent promise to her brother. He craved to touch her in response to her intense, sensual, unexpected influence over him. He was not generally an impulsive man. But as his mouth hovered near hers, he fought to resist.
Her head tilted, her eyelids lowered. He leaned, drawn.
She pulled back. “Do not give my kinsmen more cause for revenge. They will find me, and you. And you will pay for this night’s work.”
He touched a finger to the tip of her nose, and it helped drain the passion. “Your kin will not find us. But we cannot linger. There are things we must do. Come on.”
Once more he pulled the plaid over her head, lifted her, shouldered her to carry. Her protests were muffled as he strode ahead.
Soon he saw movement through the fog and stepped behind a cluster of gorse and boulders. He crouched, setting the girl down. She fell to her knees, facing him, and he circled his arms tightly around her to keep her still and quiet.
“Hush,” he whispered. ”There are lawless rogues in these hills.” Ironic, he knew. But she stilled without comment.
Likely it was just Neill and Andrew crashing about in the heather, he thought, looking for him to continue the plan. But by now, the girl’s escort party could have extracted themselves from the water and gone in search of her. They had a good chance of finding them even in the fog.
She rested her head on his shoulder, probably having no better spot for it, and he realized she must be very tired. She felt warm and good against him, and his body stirred. Closing his eyes, he savored the closeness. It had been so long...not so long since he had eased his desires with a woman, but long since he had felt true comfort there.
Why did he feel that with her, now, like this? He was letting this strange night get the best of him. Lifting his head, he watched as two men appeared through the mist.
Ah. Neill Murray and Andrew MacPherson. Connor gave a soft hoot.
Andrew approached, found the boulder, looked at the plaid-draped shape of the girl. “Is this the one?”
