you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying. Now, get up.”
She stayed where she was. Probing the back of her head, she winced and dropped her gaze. “I will. It’s just—I’m a little dizzy.”
He took a threatening step forward. “Now.”
She flinched and threw up her hands. “Okay, okay!” Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she gave a defeated sigh and reached up for assistance getting to her feet.
Normally he’d have taken a step back and left her to deal on her own. But not only were her lips trembling again, but her outstretched hand was suddenly shaking, too.
With a faint, exasperated sigh of his own, he reached down. Her delicate palm slid across his calloused, much larger one. Yet the instant he tightened his grip, damned if her other hand didn’t swing up and clamp around his wrist. With surprising strength for such a little bit of a thing, she threw her weight backward, yanking him forward at the same time she drew up her legs and lashed out.
She was quick, he’d give her that. Luckily, however, he was quicker. He threw himself sideways, and instead of her boot heels catching him in the groin as she’d obviously intended, they thudded heavily into his right thigh.
The blow caught him squarely in the femoris muscle and hurt like hell. Off balance, he stumbled, his leg twanging as if comprised of overstretched guitar strings.
It was all the advantage his adversary needed. Giving him one final kick, this time in the knee, she rolled away, sprang to her feet and bolted toward the trees.
“Son of a bitch.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lost his temper, having learned early on to regard intense emotion of any kind as the enemy.
Yet suddenly he was on the verge of being genuinely pissed.
He tore after her. Catching up with her handily, he snagged the neck of her parka in his fist, then set his feet and yanked, jerking her off her feet.
“Let go of me! I’m warning you—” Twisting, she struck out at him, and damned if one of her flailing hands didn’t connect with a glancing blow to his mouth.
If he’d been Gabe, he probably could’ve soothed her with a few reasonable words. If he’d been Dominic or Cooper, he most likely could’ve charmed her into submission. But he had neither a gift for reassurance nor a way with women and he was sick and tired of being used as a punching bag.
“That’s it!” Ducking his head, he caught her by the thighs and tossed her over his shoulder.
This can’t be happening, Genevieve thought, kicking and squirming as her captor strode effortlessly through the snow. It wasn’t right. This big, scary-looking stranger with his hard body and shuttered eyes couldn’t just appear in her life, overpower her and drag her back to Silver.
Somebody obviously forgot to tell him that, though, because that seems to be exactly what he’s doing. And you can pummel and threaten him all you want, but he’s still going to be able to overpower you.
It was clearly time to change tactics. She was no match for him physically, which meant if she was going to have a chance at escape, she was going to have to out-wit him—easier said than done when she was hanging upside down, the blood rushing to her head, her stomach jouncing painfully against his hard shoulder with every step.
She thought hard for a moment, then blew out a breath, forced herself to quit struggling and went limp.
Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity. Finally, however, she felt the faintest hesitation in her adversary’s long, effortless stride. “You all right, Bowen?” he asked.
“No.” Sounding weak and pathetic didn’t require any effort. “If you don’t put me down, I’m going to lose my breakfast.”
Darned if he didn’t shrug, lifting and lowering her with a hitch of his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. “Tough.”
“But—”
“No.” He paused for a beat. “And if you get sick on me, you’re gonna regret it.”
His low voice held just enough menace that she believed him totally. Even so, he couldn’t really expect her to control something like that—could he?
Deciding she’d prefer not to find out, she swallowed. Hard. “What—what’s your name?”
He was silent so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “Taggart.”
“Is that your first name or your last?”
“Just Taggart’s all you need to know.”
Nobody was ever going to accuse him of being a chatterbox. She gulped as he hefted her a little higher. “Okay, Just—” She started to call him Just Taggart, then thought better of it. Antagonizing him more than she already had couldn’t be wise. “Listen, please? I’m not rich, but whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it if you’ll let me go.”
“No.”
“Then how about if you just put off taking me back for say…a week?” Surely she could find a way to escape in that space of time. “We can stay here. You’ll still be doing your job, but I’ll pay you, too, and I’ve got lots of supplies and—”
“No.”
“Then what about a day? Just one day. Surely twenty-four hours can’t matter—”
“Not gonna happen, Genevieve.” Without warning, he dumped her on her feet next to the truck. Towering over her, he gave her a quick once over, his ice-green eyes impossible to read. Then he caught her by the shoulder and spun her around. “Now shut up, keep your hands where I can see them and spread your legs.” Planting a palm between her shoulder blades, he gave her a nudge.
She had barely enough time to throw up her hands and brace herself against the fender before his big, hard hands were on her. They skimmed impersonally down her arms and skated over her back, breasts and sides, then slipped downward to explore her legs and thighs.
Humiliation painted her cheeks with fire as he patted her hips, then gave a huff of satisfaction as he encountered the car keys she’d zipped into her coat pocket. Before she could voice a protest, he took possession of them, then resumed his exploration. By the time he finished, she was shaking all over from the indignity of his touch.
“Okay,” he murmured, reaching around her to open the truck door. “Get in.”
“But my things—”
“Are in back where you left them.”
“But I can’t just leave!” She twisted around to face him. “What about the cabin? The fire’s going and I’ve got groceries sitting out and—”
“I’ll arrange for somebody to come and close things up.”
“Okay, but—but we really shouldn’t take the truck. The heater’s shot and the brakes aren’t reliable and the lights don’t always work and it’ll be dark soon—”
“No sweat. My
