Free The Devil Wears Plaid by Teresa Medeiros

backside, snuggling even closer to the source of that seductive warmth.
    She heard a pained grunt, dangerously close to her ear. Something hard and obstinately unyielding pressed against the softness of her rump, nudging her out of her drowsy stupor.
    Her eyes flew open. Her heart stuttered into an uneven rhythm. It wasn’t a pillow shielding her head from the hard ground, but a man’s arm—well muscled and lightly bronzed from the kiss of the sun.Trying not to move or breathe, she slowly shifted her gaze downward. A matching arm was curled possessively around her waist.
    As her dream turned into a nightmare, Emma lunged forward and gathered her breath to scream. A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound before it could escape. The arm around her waist cinched tight, forcing her back against her attacker’s unyielding body.
    He must have been awake all along, just waiting for this moment.
    A helpless shudder raked her as Jamie Sinclair’s husky whisper poured into her ear like a shot of warm whisky. “Hush, lass. I’m not going to hurt you.”
    She remained as rigid as a board.
    “Or rape you,” he added, his voice deepening to an impossible octave.
    Emma squeezed her eyes shut, heat rushing to her cheeks. She’d never heard such a shocking word on any man’s lips. Where she came from, women weren’t raped. They were compromised. Or ruined. Or were foolish enough to allow a gentleman too many liberties, or careless enough to take a wrong turn down a shadowy alley. Whatever grim fate befell them, it was always somehow implied that they’d had a hand in their own destruction.
    When she remained frozen in his arms, Jamie must have realized his promise sounded less thancredible with his rock-hard arousal still nudging her bottom.
    His beleaguered sigh tickled the tiny hairs behind her ear. “I know you don’t know much of men and their ways, but this is a state they often find themselves in when they first awaken. It has naught to do with you.”
    Even he didn’t sound completely convinced. Oddly enough, it was the strained note in his voice that gave her the confidence to trust him. As she slowly relaxed into the warm cup of his body, he slid his hand away from her mouth.
    He was right. She’d grown up with a mother, three sisters, and a father who had been absent more often than not in the past few years. She knew very little of men and their ways, and what she did know was becoming increasingly perplexing.
    After an awkward moment of silence, her curiosity overcame her fear and she whispered, “Is it painful?”
    He pondered her question before quietly saying, “At the moment, I believe I’d prefer a pistol ball between the eyes.”
    “If you’ll hand me your pistol, that could be arranged.”
    She would have almost sworn she heard a rueful chuckle. As she wiggled cautiously around to face him, his hand drifted down from her waist, coming to rest lightly against her hip as if it belonged there.She gazed up at him in the murky half-light of dawn. The beard-shadow on his jaw had darkened during the night, giving him the lean, hard look of a pirate.
    He really was an uncommonly beautiful man. For a common ruffian. Before she could stop the wayward turn of her thoughts, she caught herself wondering what it might be like to wake up in the arms of such a man every morning.
    And to sleep in his arms every night.
    His next words jerked her back to the reality of the cold, damp dawn. “You were half-froze and damn near to falling down from exhaustion last night. I had no choice but to build a fire and make camp for the night.”
    “How very considerate of you,” she said stiffly, her tone implying the opposite. “I suppose you had no choice but to cuddle me as well.”
    His eyes darkened. “I thought I made it clear last night that you have naught to fear from me on that account as long as you don’t try to run away again.”
    If that was true, then why did his touch leave her feeling as if she had