Free Her Every Pleasure by Gaelen Foley

reminded anew of his unflattering misapprehensions. Well, it had been her idea to let him reach his own conclusions about her supposed profession.
    She dragged her hands through her hair, still muddled with passion, and cast about for a reason that he might accept. “I am not going to do—
that
with you, after you just accused me of being a thief!”
    “Ah, that reminds me,” he murmured with a wicked smile, “I have not finished searching you yet…”
    “You think this is funny?” she cried.
    “I think you’re gorgeous. Now, come over here and let me help you get rid of that dress.”
    She jumped back. “Gabriel!”
    “Sophia, angel, I know you want me. You practically said it flat-out in the barn.” His stare smoldered, traveling over her; his whisper was gruff with desire. “Come on, now. Don’t tease a starving man. You’re a naughty thing, but I know you could not be so cruel. Take those clothes off and get in my bed.”
    When he reached for her again, she panicked and whipped out her knife. “Stay back!”
    It was the wrong thing to do.
             
    Gabriel eyed the knife sardonically, but his response was automatic; he shook his head at her and in the blink of an eye, grabbed her wrist, peeling the tight curl of her fingers away from the hilt of her blade.
    She cursed as he disarmed her with ease, then he stepped back, smoothly turned away, and hurled the knife hard across the room.
    The blade plunged into the wall and stuck there, shuddering, sunk deep into the old, soft plaster.
    When he turned back to her with a look of cold fury, she was staring at her distant knife, her pretty mouth hanging open.
    “Any more tricks you want to show me?” he drawled.
    She turned to him, wide-eyed with shock.
    “Now, where were we?” His voice was still gruff with desire.
    When he reached for her, she jolted back with a gasp, whirled around without another word, and darted out of his room.
    “Sophia!”
    Gabriel strode to the open doorway of his chamber, still clutching his towel around his waist. As he listened, confounded, staring into the darkened corridor, he could hear her rushing down the creaky old stairs.
    His frown turned to a glower. Damn it, what the hell sort of coy, thieving tart had his daft brother sent him?
    “Sophia, come back here!” he ordered in a full battlefield roar.
    But the only answer he got back was the distant muffled slam of the front door.
             
    Sophia bolted away from the farmhouse, her hooded woolen cloak trailing out behind her. Her hastily retrieved knapsack bumped against her shoulder with every wild stride, and the drumbeat of her pulse was nearly deafening.
    She could not believe he had taken her knife!
    Gabriel had disarmed her as though she were as easy to vanquish as a fly. He had left her utterly defenseless, but she knew it was her own fault. She shouldn’t have done that, should not have attempted to brandish a weapon at a battle-scarred warrior. Unfortunately, his mind-melting kisses had addled her wits, and she had reacted automatically from all of her self-defense training.
    It had served her well last night in fighting off her would-be abductors, but she understood now that with Gabriel, it was the worst thing she could have done.
    She had realized her error the second she had seen that lightning bolt of rage flash through the indigo depths of his eyes. His reaction to her weapon had been chilling, but if she had not done something drastic to push him away, then she would have given in all too willingly to his passion.
    Even now, she could taste his kiss, her chin still tender, chafed from the short scruff of his beard, her hands tingling with the warm velvet texture of his skin. Running down the rocky drive as if she could flee her reaction to him along with escaping the house, it was bewildering to be aroused, insulted, scared, and angry all at the same time.
    Well, she had fled her near-seducer, but now she was unarmed. And if she met