Free Dark Torment by Karen Robards Page B

must be suffering from his half-healed back. Standing up, he was alarmingly
tall—a good head taller than she was, while most of the men of her
acquaintance were at best just an inch or so above her height—and
alarmingly close. She had to tilt her head back to see his expression, and she
didn’t like the sensation at all. It occurred to her that here was one
man whose strength she could come to fear. . . . “Would you prefer to
think that he meant to have his dastardly way with your person before murdering
you?”
    Sarah flushed. It was all she could do not to let her eyes drop.
Put that way, it sounded ridiculous, but yes, it did hurt a little to realize
that Gallagher thought she was so unattractive that a man could have no other
motive for attacking her than her horse.
    “Don’t be absurd,” she said shortly, turning
away. To her surprise, she felt his hand close over her arm. His callused palm
seemed to burn her bare skin. Stiffening, she looked at him over her shoulder,
her expression as off-putting as she could make it. With all that had happened,
she had forgotten for a moment that he was a convict and she his mistress. So,
apparently, had he. It would never do to allow him to think that this intimacy
could continue. He must remember his place, and so, she told herself fiercely,
must she.
    “Take your hand off me, Gallagher.” Her eyes were
steady as they met his. He frowned at her, his eyebrows meeting in a thick
black line over his incredible blue eyes.
    “And if I don’t?” he asked silkily.
    Sarah half-turned to face him, her eyes widening. Now there was a
question, she thought. What would she—could she—do if he elected
not to obey her? She was hardly in any position to enforce her commands
physically. A ghost of a smile flitted at the corners of her lips as her eyes
moved swiftly, involuntarily over him. He was so big, so tall and
broad-shouldered with steel-muscled limbs, that the very thought of
overpowering him was ridiculous.
    “I have no idea,” she admitted frankly, her smile
still flickering. “But I should think of something, I assure you.”
    He laughed, looking suddenly relaxed. “I’m sure you
would,” he said with humor, and his hand released its grip on her arm to
finger the gash in his cheek. “The prospect terrifies me.”
    Her smile vanished. “I’m really very sorry about
that,” she said, her eyes earnest. “I just lashed out without
thinking. I’ve never done such a thing before.”
    His hand fell from his cheek. “Don’t worry about
it,” he said curtly. “It’s little more than a scratch.
I’ve been hurt more, with less reason.”
    “Yes,” she agreed, remembering his back.
    He frowned suddenly, darkly. “Hadn’t we better be
getting back?” His words were brusque. “I don’t know about
you, but I have work to do. I doubt that your overseer will be pleased if he
comes by the stable and finds I’ve disappeared. I don’t fancy being
strung up and beaten again.”
    His hand was on her arm again, quite unconsciously, she thought,
while he urged her in the direction he wished her to go. Deciding that so small
and obviously unthinking a familiarity was not worth angering him with another
reprimand, she glanced up at him.
    “Don’t worry, if any question arises I will tell him
that you very likely saved my life,” she promised.
    His mouth quirked derisively. “Thank you, but I prefer not
to shelter behind your petticoats.” His response was short. It occurred
to Sarah that she was again in danger of forgetting their relative stations in
life. He was addressing and handling her as if they were equals—no,
rather as if he, as a man, was for that reason entitled to direct her actions.
He was clearly used to being very masterful with women. She sighed.
    “Gallagher, I don’t mean to offend you,” she
began carefully, meaning what she said. “But you are going to make life
difficult for yourself if you