Free Promises Keep (The Promise Series) by Sarah McCarty

hurt you, Miss Kincaid.”
    Thrown off balance, she could only ask, “Why?”
    The fingers on the back of her head threaded through the shambles of her bun and massaged small circles on her scalp. “Because it’s not my way.”
    Two hairpins hit the floor with little pings of protest. Mara closed her eyes against the urge to melt into the first kindness she’d experienced in a long, long time. “It’s been my experience that men and women define hurt differently.”
    “I wouldn’t base the opinions of a lifetime on the last few months if I were you.”
    It was probably a trick caused by the way his chest muffled his voice, but somehow his tone sounded kinder and gentler than she’d remembered from their previous encounters. She tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t allow it and that fueled her anger more than a slap ever could. “Well, you’re not me, and until you’ve been drugged, torn apart by a man’s lust, and then ostracized because of it, you’ve no right to think anything.”
    Was that her imagination, or did the man just wince?
    “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
    So was she, but that didn’t change anything. “Let me go, Mr. McKinnely.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “Yes. You can. All you have to do is drop your hands to your sides and keep them there.”
    His response to her snapping was a laugh that rumbled up from deep within. “If I do that,” he pointed out in a reasonable voice, “you’ll fall.”
    He was right. For all her belligerence, her body was resting against his as if he was the sole support in a world gone awry. Her face flooded with heat. She pushed herself away. Mara ducked her head in the hopes that her hair would hide her embarrassment.
    It was a vain hope.
    Cougar chuckled and steadied her with a hand to her shoulder. “Doc’s back at his place,” he said. “We’re going to have to get you out there.”
    She slowly straightened and flicked at his hand with her fingers. “You may go anywhere you like,” she snapped. “I’m staying here.”
    “You are going with me.” He slid his hands around her body, lifting her up.
    The ease with which he sidestepped her wishes struck a raw nerve. The gentleness with which he accomplished it was even more galling. She didn’t understand him, nor did she want to. She just wanted him to go away. Wrapping her fingers in the chest hair peeking between the dangling buttons on his shirt, she twisted viciously, wanting to hurt him the way he was hurting her with his casual arrogance. “Let me down, you, you—”
    “Bastard?” he supplied with a lift of his brow. “Son of a bitch?”
    “Yes.” She twisted harder. She knew it had to hurt, yet he gave no sign. Unless the broadening of his smile could be considered one. Leaning forward, she bit him in the hard muscle of his chest. Let him ignore her now.
    He swore and stopped moving. Mara bit down harder, bracing her body for the blow to come.
    A thumb and finger surrounded her face and then applied force to her jaw. There came a point when she had to admit his greater strength and unlock her teeth. The body beneath hers was tense, the muscles corded. She could feel him staring at her as he tilted her face up. Finally, she couldn’t stand the tension any longer and she opened her eyes. To her surprise, his hand wasn’t raised to strike.
    She searched his dark face for anger and found none. There was only a strange sorrow and something else. Something so disgusting, she wanted to kill him.
    “Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare pity me!”
    He took the bandana from around his neck with his right hand and dabbed at the blood on her mouth.
    “Why not?” he asked, transferring the bandana to his chest where he scrubbed with a lot less gentleness. “Nothing much more pathetic than attacking someone who’s trying to help.”
    “I don’t want your help,” she growled.
    “Well, that’s neither here nor there, seeing as how I was raised that a man doesn’t desert a