From the fantasy novel. My heroine is just rescued from the baddies by our sexy hero and sheâ€™s a bit pissed at him because the baddies have something of hers she wants back. Whacha think?
The first man leapt on behind her and his hood fell back revealing his face.
And suddenly she recognized him. His warm green eyes were unmistakable. Reaching around her â€“ and crushing her in his powerful embrace â€“ he grabbed the reins and kicked the horse into a full gallop riding deeper into the forest. Away from Balthar. Away from her pendant.
â€œWhat do you think youâ€™re doing?â€ Eirhan demanded, breathless. She could smell his musky scent, feel his warmth pressing into her. Warmth that cascaded through her, sending every nerve-ending tingling.
â€œRescuing you. What does it look like?â€ His deep voice rumbled in her ear, sending chills down her spine. A contrast to the strange warmth pressing into her. From him.
â€œI donâ€™t want to be rescued,â€ she wailed. Blast the man, he had ruined her plan. And her pendant was now out of her grasp.
He pulled the horse to a halt between two trees. â€œWhat do ye mean ye donâ€™t want to be rescued? I saw ye in the village.â€
â€œYes, well I had everything under control. I had a plan,â€ she snapped. He didnâ€™t have to know her plight. She tried glaring at him over her shoulder, but had to tilt her head back and lift her gaze.
â€œIt dinnae seem so to me.â€ One dark eyebrow quirked.
â€œHagan, come on!â€
The shout cut off any retort she had. Up ahead, the blonde man who had grabbed her reins and led her horse away waved his urgency. Hagan dug his heels into the horse, following him at a full gallop. They joined a large group of fifteen men, including Hagan and the other who had rescued her from the clutches of Fyren and Balthar. Unlike the soldiers with Fyren, these men did not leer at her. They didnâ€™t even give her a wayward glance.
Consumed with so much male brawn pressing into her, she stared down at his arms circling her waist. Muscular arms with a dusting of dark hair, most of which was hidden underneath the three-quarter sleeve of his beige tunic. Strong powerful hands gripped the reins.
â€œWas I to leave ye at the mercy of Fyren, then?â€ he asked.
She could feel his delicious voice with the hint of a lilting brogue rumble against her back through his truly magnificent chest. His thighs pressed into the backs of hers, giving her an unfamiliar heady sensation. Surprised he knew her kidnapper, and hearing the disdain in his voice, she relaxed.
â€œI would have been all right.â€ She sounded shaky. She didnâ€™t believe she would be fine, not after witnessing her motherâ€™s murder but she had to keep up the false front. Otherwise, she would crumble.
â€œI find that unlikely, my lady.â€
She had no reply as they joined the others and rode for what seemed an eternity as night bloomed in the forest. Shapeless trees surrounded them and the occasional rustle of a night creature could be heard nearby. Slivers of moonlight broke through the heavy overhead canopy, making the forest seem surreal.
Â© Michelle Miles, 2005