Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,51

couldn’t see much, this section of the cave felt airy and cool. The light, steady breeze must be coming from somewhere. There had to be a way out.

“It’s fairly comfortable in here.” She spoke around a mouthful of nuts. “A little drier, at least, than some of the other parts we’ve been in. Why don’t we stay here for a while? Get some rest?” She hurried to bolster her argument with logic. “The dogs will be busy downstream for hours, so we’ve got a little time—”

“And we’re not going to waste it.” His lashes lifted just a fraction. “Hurry up and finish your luncheon, your ladyship. We have to keep moving.”

Sam frowned. Words were clearly useless where this obstinate male was concerned. Action was the only thing he understood.

So, ignoring his suggestion, she took the remains of the ripped sheet out of the creel. Bunching it up to serve as a pillow, she placed it on the cave floor near him.

Then she reached out, put her hand in the middle of his chest, and tried to push him down toward it.

But he was like a rock, unmovable.

He lifted one brow. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Miss Delafield?”

“Keeping you alive.”

“I can keep myself alive.” He pushed her hand away.

“You’ve got to get some rest,” she said in exasperation. “You need—”

“What I need is to find a bloody way out of this cave. Preferably before that bloody army of marshalmen comes back with their damned dogs.”

She flinched away from him.

“What I do not need,” he continued, glaring at her, “is anyone fussing over me.”

She held her tongue, biting back her own angry retort, hearing a clue to his surly mood in the word fussing. For some reason, the man found it difficult, perhaps impossible, to let someone care for him in even the smallest way.

And he seemed confident that the matter was closed. Slowly, he got to his feet, though the effort obviously pained him. He was having difficulty breathing, was visibly unsteady on his feet.

She remained seated, kept her voice mild. “I think you’d better sit back down before you fall down.”

“You’re forgetting who’s in charge here.”

“No, I’m not.” She met his gaze squarely. “You’re looking at her.”

His expression hardened. “The mutiny’s over.” He bent and grabbed the fishing creel. “Now let’s go.”

“Your stubbornness is going to kill you,” she retorted. “And if it kills you, it’ll kill me.”

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m being rational.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“Move your derriere, Miss Delafield.”

She stared straight into his furious eyes. And didn’t budge. “No.”

“It’s not a request.”

“I don’t care. You can take your orders and stuff them. I’m not moving. And the chain is too short for you to pick me up and haul me off, so unless you intend to drag me out of here by the hair”—she flipped the tangled blonde mass over her shoulders, out of reach, just in case the idea appealed to him—“we’re staying put.”

His emerald gaze glittered with outrage at her defiance. His jaw clenched.

Though her heart was pounding, she stared up at him without flinching.

A long moment passed before she found enough breath to speak. “I don’t understand,” she said softly, shaking her head, unable to make sense of his attitude. “You’re only human. Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

He grated out a clipped, vivid oath. “On your feet, your ladyship. Now.”

She didn’t comply. Silent, she looked up at him, her question lingering in the cool, dark air between them.

And she realized something in that moment: he wasn’t going to hurt her. Despite his threats and menacing glares and repeated insistence that he didn’t give a damn about anyone except himself... he wouldn’t cause her any harm.

Something in him wouldn’t allow it. Beneath scars that bespoke a lifetime of violence beat the heart of a decent man.

Their silent battle of wills lasted one minute. Another. She could practically feel the seconds ticking by.

Then, slowly, she held out her hand. “Let me help you.”

The hard line of his mouth curved downward into an expression that was cynical, mocking. He flicked a glance heavenward. “Just what I need,” he muttered under his breath. “A guardian angel.”

He ignored her offered hand, but sat down again.

Then, stretching out on his stomach, he pillowed his head on his crossed arms and the bunched-up sheet, and closed his eyes.

“No more than an hour,” he growled. “Don’t let me sleep for more than an hour.”

“All right,” she agreed quietly.

Without a watch, she thought with a smile, how could she be expected