Free Run Among Thorns by Anna Louise Lucia

with the way her heart was still racing from that overt slide down Kier’s rigid, wet body.
    So when she paused on the threshold in front of him, looking back over her shoulder with a faint smile for the view, she wasn’t prepared to be sent flying.
    He planted both hands between her shoulder blades and pushed, violently. He pushed her so hard she couldn’t get her balance and fell flat on her front with a cry, bruising her elbows and knees.
    She rolled over, frantically trying to get up, but he was already there, on his knees, straddling her hips, pinning her to the ground with one hand splayed on her breastbone.
    She lay there, wide-eyed, speechless and shocked, while his wet jeans soaked her hips and he looked down at her out of a face that was set and cold.
    Then she remembered she had arms.
    He ducked from her first punch, and she only gave him a glancing blow across the top of his head. With her other arm, she tried to hit the inside of his elbow of the arm that was pinning her, but he fended that off with his free arm.
    Struggling and breathing hard, she was still trying to hit him when the hand on her chest bunched into her jumper, and hauled her up to him by that grip.
    He held her up, nose to nose, and his eyes pinned her more effectively than his hand had. They were grim, cold. There was no flicker to suggest he’d felt the companionship she had that morning.
    His lips moved, but it was a moment before his words filtered through to her.
    “Who trained you to kill, Jenny?”
    She gave an incoherent cry of rage and slapped him. Even as she registered the sting in her palm and the redness spreading over his cheek, she was stalled in surprise that she’d got through his guard.
    Then she tried to hit him again. He was ready this time, though. He leant back, hauling her with him, breast to breast. He let go of his grip on her clothes and dragged her hands behind her back, gripping them to the point of pain in one hand.
    The other caught her jaw, forcing her head up.
    “Make it easy on yourself, sweetheart. Answer the question.”
    She swore, calling him all the names she could think of, in all the languages she’d ever had occasion to use. Including Swahili. She had the satisfaction of seeing surprise flicker on his face. It wasn’t like her, but all her usual boundaries were well over the horizon.
    “I have nothing to tell you,” she spat at him, trying to wriggle out of his hold. He tightened his grip until she gasped in pain, then loosened it, just a little.
    “Hmmm. That’s not going to get you out of here, is it?” he said. “That’s not going to get you home. That’s not going to get you away from me, is it?”
    He tipped her head from side to side, as if examining her features in detail. Jenny tried to jerk her head away, but his fingers dug into her flesh and held her.
    “Or maybe that’s the idea. Is it, Jenny? Is that why you didn’t run when you could? Because they want you to get cosy with me?” He pulled her a little closer.
    How dare you! How dare you! Her mind screamed at him, but she was all out of insults. “Oh, go and choke on your ego, you wa—”
    The hand under her jaw twisted round to cover her mouth. She glared at him over it.
    He snorted. “I’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” he said.
    He released her, giving her just enough time to catch herself before her head hit the stone flags, and rose to his feet over her. Staring down at her with a nasty little half smile on his face, he reached for his fly.
    With a choked sound she rolled to her feet and grabbed the nearest chair, pulling it out from under the table. She sat down with her back to him, shaking and sick with anger and outrage.
    The sound of a zip seemed overloud in the small room. Jenny held her breath. Beyond that first night, she hadn’t really entertained the idea that he might threaten her this way. Now the thought had her pinned like a rabbit in the headlights’ glare.
    But then she heard him move