Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,70

little hope of making it out of Cannock Chase alive, would most likely die wearing these damned shackles... and here they were splashing around in the river like a pair of mad otters.

Hearty, genuine laughter welled up from somewhere inside him, from some deep, closed-off place that hadn’t been opened in a very long time. The sound blended with the silvery music of her laughter.

And the hostilities ended almost as abruptly as they’d begun.

He wasn’t sure who stopped first, but they went still, standing there with the choppy water swirling around them, both laughing, drenched, gasping for breath.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, she couldn’t stop giggling. “Yes,” she managed at last. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. And you?”

To his surprise, he discovered that the tension and frustration that had bothered him all night had abated. “Aye.” He wiped his wet hair back from his eyes. “May I beg quarter, or are you taking no prisoners?”

She considered it with a thoroughly serious air for one second. Then she smiled. “Quarter granted.”

That smile lit her features so beautifully that it robbed him of both breath and voice. The pool calmed around them, the glade returning to peace, the quiet sounds of summer reclaiming the night.

But neither of them moved.

Dripping wet, chilled by the breeze, Nicholas stared at the woman before him and found that he did not want to move.

Her hair and gown a mess, face aglow from her latest impetuous adventure, she stood with hands on hips, up to her waist in now-muddy river water, looking like a cross between a glorious sea goddess and an impish hoyden.

Solitude, he decided, was highly overrated.

“You,” he said with another warm laugh, “are not to be believed, Miss Delafield.”

“Samantha.”

“What?”

“Samantha,” she repeated softly. “My name is Samantha. Or Sam.... And you?”

Her eyes searched his, seeking. Wanting so badly for him to give her this one simple thing.

“James,” he whispered. “Nick James.”

Even as the words tumbled from his lips, he couldn’t believe he had said them. He had just told her his name. Not his real name, but the one he had lived by for six years. The one that kept him safe. The name of a peaceable South Carolina planter, a man who did not belong in England, who could not explain what he was doing in Cannock Chase, shot at, shackled, and on the run.

He had just committed an unforgivable breach of his own rigid code of security.

And he didn’t care half a damn.

He knew it was a gesture of trust. Knew he should be alarmed at the fact that he was standing there sharing secrets in low, intimate tones.

But he wasn’t.

The happiness that spread across her delicate features, the light in her eyes at the insignificant gift of his name, was worth whatever price he paid. In that moment, he couldn’t think, knew only that they were so close together that if he merely took a single step...

He took it. One step and the distance between them vanished. He raised his hand to touch her cheek, barely caressing her skin with his fingertips. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Samantha.”

Her lips parted. She didn’t reply for a moment, her eyes huge and dark beneath the shadow of her lashes. She looked up at him as if she had truly never seen him before.

And then she smiled, the most tender, lovely smile he had ever seen turned his way. “And I’m pleased to meet you, Nick.”

He felt astonished by the sound of his name on her lips, by the way it flowed over him and through him, like the water all around, gentle, sparkling, warm. Life-giving.

More stunning still was the fact that she did not pull away from his touch. Did not utter a word of protest or denial.

Even when he moved his fingers lower, tracing the fine line of her jaw, her chin. She felt as delicate as the wing of an angel, soft as rare Canton silk. Touching her with only the lightest contact of his fingertips, he tilted her head up, held her gaze for a single heartbeat of time.

And then as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he lowered his head and kissed her.

He covered her lips with his, sampling the velvet warmth of her mouth as he had been longing to do.

She shivered, perhaps because his beard tickled her. But she didn’t stiffen or pull away, didn’t resist at all.

Instead she responded, tentatively at first, allowing the light pressure...