to the hilt in his gut. “I fear that I was guilty of gross understatement. If the truth be told, Mr. Stone, you are the most sanctimonious, high-handed, hypocritical bast—”
“Shut up, Anna.” He jerked his arms tight, crushing her against him so abruptly that the breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her throat made incoherent little grunts of anger as she wriggled and squirmed against his vise-like grasp. Malachi felt the sudden gush of heat in the depths of his own body, and for the space of a breath he wrestled with the idea of silencing her full, plum-ripe mouth with his own. A sharp kick against his shinbone jarred him back to reality. This woman had every reason to hate him. Married or not, he had no business kissing her.
Steeling himself, he kept his hold on her. “I’m well aware of who and what I am,” he said, spitting out the words syllable by syllable, “and right now all I’m trying to do is keep you from freezing.”
For an instant longer he felt her straining in his arms. Then she muttered something under her breath and sagged wearily against his chest. It was a victory of sorts, but as he held her Malachi realized he had no idea what he’d won.
The dark hollow beneath the rock had grown disturbingly quiet. He could hear the steady drizzle of rain pouring off the edge of the outcrop and the low gurgle of the mule’s gut as the animal shifted in the shadows. He could hear the wind soughing down the canyon and feel, where his hand cradled Anna’s ribs, the low, rapid beating of her heart, like the tick of a tiny watch against his palm.
She had ceased all effort to move or speak. Her stillness only heightened Malachi’s awareness of his aching groin. He had told her, none too gently, that she had nothing to fear from him. Too late, he realized how wrong he had been. Anna had as much to fear from him as from any man, and the fact that she was his legal wife only made matters worse.
Had she told him the truth about her reason for coming here, he wondered, or was she lying to him just as she’d admitted lying to Stuart? Only a fool would trust such a creature, and life had long since kicked all the foolishness out of him. So why was he suddenly overcome by the urge to keep her safe, to protect her and fight off her fears? His emotions were making no sense, least of all to himself.
He leaned back against the rock, her wet hair drizzling down the front of his shirt. She smelled of rain and lilacs and sweet, clean woman. The subtle aroma swam in Malachi’s senses, fueling the blaze that her voluptuous little body had ignited in his vitals. He bit back a groan as she stirred against him. Lord, didn’t she know she was tormenting his body and soul? Hellfire, of course she did. Anna was the kind of woman who would know exactly how to trigger a man’s desire. She was probably playing with him, laughing inside as she drove him to a slow frenzy.
And, heaven help him, he didn’t want her to stop.
“Who are you really, Anna?” His voice came out thick and muzzy, as if he had just been roused from sleep. “Where did you come from and what the blazes are you doing here?”
“Does it matter?” Her voice carried an edge of weariness. “Would you believe me even if I told you?”
Malachi sighed, knowing he needed the distraction of talk. “Maybe not. But I could use a good story.”
She hesitated, then laughed huskily, low in her throat. “In that case, I’m the missing heir to the throne of Montenegro. My father the king—a good sort, but desperate for aid against the Turks—was forced to pledge my hand to the evil and repulsive Prince of Transylvania. On the eve of the wedding, I stole the crown jewels and fled westward with a band of roving gypsies. The prince’s agents are everywhere, and if they catch me, I’ll be forced to wed their warty master. The next day, after a hellish wedding night, my bleeding head will be impaled on a pole outside the palace gates.” Anna had spoken so rapidly that when she paused for breath, the sharp inhalation pressed her ripe, lovely bosom into Malachi’s chest. “There, are you satisfied?” she asked.
Malachi groaned.
“You told me you wanted a story.”
“I’d have preferred the truth.”
“I told you the truth earlier. See where it got me.” Her voice rasped with exhaustion. She sagged in his arms for the space of a heartbeat, then seemed to rally. “What about you? What black secrets lie behind that great, stony face of yours?”
Malachi shifted his back against the lumpy rock. “What did my cousin tell you?”
“That you were a widower…and an upright, God-fearing man. Are you?”
Malachi laughed roughly. “A widower? Yes. The rest is a matter of opinion.”
“Could you shed some light on that?” Her small, square-jawed face tilted upward in the dim light and, once more, Malachi was seized by the insane urge to kiss her—kiss her brutally, as she deserved for the lies that had brought her to his world. He imagined arching her against him, his free hand ravishing every luscious curve and hollow of her body, then cupping her buttocks to grind her softness against his burning arousal until she whimpered with need. He imagined flinging her to the ground and taking her right here, in the cold, muddy darkness, under the legs of the mule. What the hell, in her line of work, she’d likely done that and more. He could even offer to pay—
“Malachi?”
Her voice, and the sudden tension in her body, shocked him back to reality and brought a rush of heat to his face. He remembered that she had asked him a question. But he could not remember for the life of him what that question was.
“Try that again,” he said thickly.
“Never mind. I think I’m quite warm enough now.” She pulled away from him and this time Malachi let her go. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned to stare out at the dwindling rain. “Maybe we should try to go,” she said in a cold voice that left little doubt she’d guessed what he was thinking.
“Rain’s letting up. Let’s give it a few minutes.” He moved forward to stand beside her under the lip of the outcrop. Moonlight shone through a break in the clouds, brushing the rain-slicked rocks with a patina of silver. Malachi bit back a curse as self-disgust washed away his desire. He had to get this woman out of here before she brought back all the things he had once been—things that could destroy the peaceful life he had built for himself and his children.
He was staring into the canyon, wondering how big the slide was and how many days of backbreaking labor it would take to build a road over the slippage when he heard it—the faint but unmistakable crunch of heavy footsteps moving across the scree. Something was out there. Something big. And it was coming toward them.
Anna had heard it, too. “What is it?” she whispered.
“Don’t know,” Malachi muttered, peering into the night. “It’s too noisy for a cougar or an Indian.” But not for a white man, he added silently, remembering too late that he had left his rifle under the wagon seat. There was little to fear from the animals that roamed the canyon. But rumors of gold or the promise of a safe hiding place from the law could, and did, lure vermin of the two-legged sort. This was not a good time to be caught unarmed, with a helpless and beautiful woman to protect.
He saw that Anna had bent to pick up a sharp-edged rock. “Keep back,” he cautioned as she edged forward. “Stay behind me, and whatever happens, do exactly what I—”
He never finished the sentence because, at that instant, all hell broke loose. Pandemonium exploded in the small space
