Free Out of the Fire (Perilous Connections) by Delka Beazer Page B

had escaped my bun during this morning spent scrubbing those filthy tubs.
    The coldness leaves his eyes but now I can see a soul deep weariness, or is it resignation? But it is gone before I can try to use it.
    He eyes me with dismissal . “You don’t really think you can harm me with those tiny paws, do you?”
    I remain mute, whether from fear or stubbornness I don’t know.
    He shakes me halfheartedly to underscore his point, his strength. My head snaps softly to the side and suddenly out of nowhere and to my insurmountable horror tears start to fill my eyes, remorselessly they burn a path up my throat, clotting then sneaking under all the walls I’d built for months. They are tears of rage and shame but mostly I sense deep down in my bones that they have been borne from facts that have nothing to do with a crazy grey eyed guest holding me prisoner inside a supposedly vacated room, they have finally risen to the forefront because once again I am going to be made to comply with the wants and needs of another.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
    Nate
     
    “Oh, come on!” The words are hissed cruelly from between my teeth which clench together with a snap.
    I feel her jerk.
    Bright amber eyes frantically search mine.
    There is some fear there, but the fight is stronger.
    I barely suppress a groan of dismay.
    This one is going to be a handful, that much is obvious from the attempted head butt and eye gouging, and they I suspect are but samples of what she would do if I release her. She is definitely not one of those tongue-tied silly maids I had been depending on twisting to my will.
    The sweep of her lashes brush the sides of my fingers still clasped over her mouth as she decides to shield her pending intentions from me. I try not to react but my blood, latent for these several months, sizzles, I can literally feel the first wave of steam lifting off the surface.
    Another mute groan.
    Why now?
    Stacy was gone. T hank the Lord. She had long since ceased to arouse even a speck of desire within me.
    Her gaze lifts to mine again and I forget Stacy and the need to breathe.
    A fat tear has the nerve to trickle down her cheek ! I viciously suppress the utterly stupid urge to wipe it away, nonetheless it breaks apart against my fingers still clamped over her mouth and I wince at the minute, exquisite sensation.
    T hose startling eyes jump to mine, they are like unfiltered honey and they are awash with crushed vulnerability, unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in these parts or anywhere else for that matter.
    I am mesmerized as I watch them fill, I can literally track the water level up her eyeballs, see them redden instantly from the burn of her emotions.
    I feel like an ass, an evil, manipulative ass. Which I guess I am. After all why else would I be holding her hostage, my hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her cries, her flight. But I can’t think of her delicate emotions right now.
    She does not matter.
    I steel myself, shake my head curtly to dissuade a further emotional outburst.
    She hiccups adorably into my palm, I growl, she stiffens and becomes quiet except for those eyes still fixed on me.
    I summon al l of the pent-up energy which has been driving me remorselessly, which had made me stuff my six four frame into a freakin four feet cart. I shudder. In retrospect I should have taken my chances with the tiger sharks, it would have saved me from the tears and bruises.
    I comfort myself with the thought that my options had been few, the cart or a hairy swim of thirty or so miles to the nearest harbor. I’d endured much worse in Brazil.
    But more importantly I need her now. There are several things that only an islander can give me.
    Still a care worn hag would have perfectly suited my needs, not an amber eyed temptress who looks as innocent as the first wave of an approaching hurricane. I make my face hard; a gift a very former friend had told me was scary as hell and