Free Her Every Pleasure by Gaelen Foley Page B

been out here too long.
    Straightening up again, he quickly strode across the room to retrieve Sophia’s knife from the crumbling plaster. She was more dangerous with the weapon, but the dread on her face when he had disarmed her had twisted the very heart in him.
    He should have let her keep the weapon, he thought, for in hindsight, he very much doubted that she would have really stabbed him. She had merely been afraid he might actually rape her.
    God.
    As he yanked the knife out of the wall, his attention suddenly homed in on the feel of the weapon in his grasp.
    He was stunned by the sense of pleasure that rushed into his veins, bringing back ominous echoes of the warrior he once had been.
    And no longer was.
    Refused to be.
    Still…it had been months since he had held any sort of weapon. It felt so good, so natural, in his hand.
    Dear God, what had that girl awakened in him, that his whole body seemed to come alive again with the feel of the knife in his hand? His mind rebounded to the last time he had grasped a dagger in this fashion. The last time he had been in India…
    Bloodthirsty memories churning in his mind, he paused just for a moment to run his fingers down the flat of the blade; wiping it clean of the chalky plaster dust, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cheval mirror from the corner of his eye.
    Yes, he thought grimly, that was the real Gabriel Knight, the man they had called the Iron Major.
    The icy bastard who had quit counting his kills when they surpassed a hundred.
No mercy.
The memory of his regiment, his fellow officers, and the motto they had coined for him in all their brash esprit de corps jarred him back to the present. He was no longer that man. That cold-blooded savage.
    Shrugging off the memories and the dark uneasiness that crept over him with the return of nightfall, he marched out of the room. It was Sophia’s knife, after all. He only wanted to give it back to her. For his part, he had no need for weapons anymore.
    Wanting to make amends for his dishonorable behavior, he dashed downstairs and barreled out the front door, chasing after her.
    “Sophia!”
    His voice echoed back to him in this lonely place. Suddenly, he spotted her dark shape some distance down the moonlit drive. “Sophia, wait!”
    The moment she turned and saw him coming after her, she whirled around at once and started running again.
    Bloody hell.
    “Sophia, come back!” He picked up his pace, striding across the courtyard.
    “Stay away from me!” she yelled over her shoulder.
    “I’m not going to hurt you!” He began jogging toward her down the rocky drive, even though he knew she might interpret this as threatening. He wanted to reassure her, but first he had to catch up. “Please, just stop for a moment and listen! I’m sorry!”
    “I don’t want to hear any more of your accusations!”
    She sounded like she was crying.
Oh, God.
He felt like such a heel. Gaining on her with his longer strides, he tried again in a more placating tone. “Sophia, I’ve brought you your knife. Don’t you want it back?”
    “Keep it!” she flung out.
    “Sophia, don’t go! Enough of this!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to hurt you!” He ran faster, aware of a very slight pressure around his healing scar as he slowly closed the distance between them. “Would you just
pause
for a moment and give me a chance to apologize?”
    “Ow!”
    Ahead of him, he saw her twist an ankle on a large stone on the uneven drive.
    He winced for her sake, but when her unladylike curse reached his ears, he couldn’t help smiling ruefully. There was something so vibrant, so piquant about her, this strange, unpredictable Gypsy girl.
    She could steal his very heart if he wasn’t careful.
    Tripped up by the rock, Sophia had not fallen, but she dropped back to a walk—or rather, a dignified limp.
    “Are you all right?” he called in concern.
    “I’m fine!” Ahead, she stopped—planted one hand on her waist—and slowly turned