Free Rexanne Becnel by Dove at Midnight

her.
    A steely arm came around her waist. In one terrifying moment she was lifted from her feet and pulled against a hard chest. Though she fought him and kicked in a wild panic, twisting desperately to be free, he would not relent in his hold.
    “No!” she cried, arching back in his clasp. Her head cracked hard against him and she saw stars, but his grip did loosen slightly, and she instinctively slid down his tall frame. She was almost away but as he grabbed wildly for her, she lost her balance. With a shrill scream she tumbled to the earth, and before she could collect her senses to scramble away, he flung himself on top of her.
    Joanna’s breath left her with a long whoosh. The man pressed her heavily into the hard earth and despite her overwhelming fear, she could not catch her breath either to scream or struggle. Her hair fell across her face and tangled in the grasses as her cheek pressed into the ground.
    I am going to die, she thought as useless tears stung her eyes. I am going to die here, all alone at the hands of this vile monster.
    When he shifted his weight her chest filled at once with blessed air, but she was no less caught in his remorseless grasp.
    “Christ and bedamned!” he swore viciously. Then he twisted her beneath him so that they lay face to face.
    Joanna felt every granite-hard muscle in the man’s body, for he lay directly upon her in the most intimate manner imaginable. Despite her wish not to display her fear, two huge tears leaked out from between her tightly clenched lashes, and her body shuddered in dread of what was surely to come. Then a rough palm pushed her hopelessly tangled hair back from her face. Though she flinched from his touch, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to face him.
    “Open your eyes, Joanna. Open your eyes.”
    Overcome as she was by paralyzing fear, Joanna neither recognized his voice nor responded to his command. Then he brushed her tears away, first from one eye and then the other with the gentlest of motions, and despite her horror, she opened her eyes.
    The face that met hers was not that of a monster, yet it struck just as much terror into her heart.
    “You!” she cried, though her voice was choked with tears.
    “Yes, me,” he replied grimly. “Though it could just as easily be some fiend with murder in his heart—or worse.”
    “Get off me,” she muttered, twisting against the heated weight of him.
    But her restless movement seemed perversely to fit them more closely together. One of his legs slid between her own, and even though he propped himself up on one elbow, she was more securely than ever pinned beneath him. With a renewed sting of tears in her eyes, she glared up at him.
    “Get off me, you disgusting oaf! You vile beast! You … You …”
    “My, my, but our little nun has a considerable temper. And such a vocabulary. Surely such is not condoned in the hallowed halls of St. Theresa’s.”
    “You may not excuse your wretched behavior by pretending my anger is not warranted!” She shoved at his chest, then glowered at him when it proved to no avail. “Is it your way to skulk around attacking women, Sir Rylan?”
    Up until then his expression had been an odd mixture of triumph mingled with surprise, as if he were pleased to have trapped her, yet somehow still taken aback by it all. But her scathing accusation immediately drew his face into a frown.
    “Is it your way to stroll the fields with your dress raised indecently high, displaying your legs for anyone to see?” His hand moved down to grasp her leg, gripping the bare flesh of her knee to prove his point.
    “I was trying to reach the trees. Before the rains came!” She stared up at him with wide green eyes. “Let me up. And take your hand off my leg,” she added in a shakier tone.
    Rylan’s hand was slow to leave her leg and even when it did, it was to finger the impossible tangles of her hair. Above them the wind still whipped the tall grasses