Free Rapture's Betrayal by Candace McCarthy Page B

up from beside the fire, his stance defensive as he grabbed for a log.
    â€œRichard?”
    â€œKirsten!” He relaxed and dropped the chunk of wood. “You shouldn’t sneak upon a body that way! You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”
    Angered by his tone, Kirsten came into the firelight, her blue eyes blazing. He was in a wide clearing by the stream, a prime target for anyone. “You’re the foolish one, Richard Maddox, having a fire. And here in this clearing! I’m surprised, mynheer, that you could be so ignorant! What if I’d been a British soldier? Do you think so highly of your skills that you can afford to leave your back unprotected!”
    She was right, Richard knew, but it galled him to admit it. Twice now—no, three times counting the last when he’d been bathing openly—he’d been careless enough to lower his guard. A soldier—a spy—couldn’t afford to lose track of the risks he was taking. To do so was placing oneself at death’s door. It was a mistake, he silently vowed, that he wouldn’t repeat.
    He averted his glance. “You shouldn’t have come.”
    â€œI know,” she admitted.
    At the husky resonance of her voice, Richard closed his eyes. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye . . . her shining platinum tresses that were silky to his touch . . . her luminous eyes that were the color of the sky on a sunny day.
    The tension between them thickened as Richard threw a piece of kindling onto the fire, watching in fascination as the flames leapt and popped and crackled. His gaze met hers where she stood unmoving. He frowned. “Then, why did you come?” he asked.
    Detecting no warmth or welcome, Kirsten swallowed against a painful lump. He was a beautiful man both in face and form. His light hair glowed golden in the firelight. He wore only his breeches, and her gaze riveted on his bare chest. His muscles rippled and moved with each breath. She blinked, and tore her gaze away as her heart began hammering within her breast. Her lungs felt tight with the need to draw air.
    â€œWhy?” she echoed. Kirsten looked up at him through long, thick lashes. “Because I had to . . . because I wanted to.”
    His mouth firmed. “Well, you can turn around and head home. I don’t need to see you right now.”
    Richard took several steps toward her, his movements a testament of how disturbed he was by her presence. He seemed to stalk her as an animal would its prey. “Go, Kirsten. Leave!” A muscle pulsed near his temple. “Can’t you understand that I don’t want you here!”
    â€œFine!” she cried, stung. “So you don’t want me! Well, I’m not finished with you, Mynheer Maddox, and I don’t intend to leave until I’m ready, so you can just go to the devil!” She spun from him, lest he should see her tears.
    And after all she’d risked for him! She sensed his approach, and she whirled, her arms swinging. “Stay back, you blather schuyten! Leave me alone!”
    â€œKirsten, hold up.” Richard grabbed her flailing wrists, but she broke free, clipped his jaw with her fist, and heard him mutter beneath his breath.
    â€œSonofabitch!” he growled when she struck him again. “Damn it, woman, stop hitting me!” Kirsten socked him in the arm and he bellowed in anger. “I said stop!”
    As his cry echoed in the stillness, Kirsten sprang back, horrified at what she’d done. She raised a hand to cover her gasp of horror, her fingers trembling against parted lips.
    His face taut, Richard clutched his arm, then rubbed his cheek.
    â€œOh, Richard! I’m so sorry!” She made a move toward him, but then stopped, afraid.
    He shook his head and stared at her in astonishment. “Are you finished?” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
    She nodded vehemently. “Yes.” It was a whisper of apology.
    His right