didn’t have time to scamper out of the way. He caught her chin in his hand, pushing her wet hair away from her forehead with an impersonal touch. “It doesn’t look too bad. Might leave a scar though. If you want I could try to stitch it.”
She shuddered, and it had nothing to do with his hard, warm hand holding her chin, his cool, dark eyes staring down at her. “I thought you told me you couldn’t sew.”
“I save my tailoring talents for field dressings.”
“I’ll pass, thank you. Every good swashbuckler needs a scar or two.”
An odd expression flitted across his face. In another man she might have called it tenderness, but Ben Frazer didn’t have a tender bone in his body. He was still cupping her chin, and a strange silence had fallen between them, broken only by the sound of the crackling fire. He bent closer, and she had the craziest notion that he was going to kiss her, that he was going to put his firm sexy mouth against hers for no other reason than that he wanted to. And she wanted him to. Badly.
She panicked. She slid away from him, backward until she came up against the old stone wall of the room. “What’s for dinner?” she asked breathlessly.
His eyes were opaque, giving nothing away, and she wondered if she’d imagined that strange, erotically charged moment. She must have.
“Freeze-dried beef Stroganoff,” he said mildly. “Since you rejected the notion of chili. Washed down by whiskey.”
“I don’t think so.”
“The whiskey’s optional, though you’ve still got a chill,” he observed with clinical detachment. “The Stroganoff is an order. If you want to keep going you’ll need to get a decent night’s sleep and some food in your belly. Otherwise you’ll probably collapse on the path again and this time I won’t haul your ass anywhere.”
“Charming,” she said sweetly. She must have imagined that moment. “I’ll eat.”
“You’ll sleep better with a couple of shots of whiskey as well.”
“I’d sleep better in a nice warm hotel room on a real mattress.”
“Wouldn’t we both? Just be grateful I grabbed my duffel. We have two blankets between us. You can wrap yourself in one and hope for the best. Or we can team up and share them.”
She didn’t even dignify that with a response. The whiskey was sounding better and better. The idea of curling up on the hard ground with nothing but a thin blanket was about as appetizing as the tin plate of hot mush he handed her, but she didn’t have much choice in the matter. Besides, it tasted surprisingly good. Maybe she’d sleep better than she expected. She was certainly tired enough.
The room was so small he could lean against the far wall and still be near enough to enjoy the heat of the fire. A little too close to her, but she was getting used to that. He’d eaten his dinner with methodical concentration, like someone taking medicine, and then he’d washed it down with some of the contents of a small, battered flask.
“You sure you don’t want any?” He held it up in offering.
“I’m sure.” She was leaning against the opposite wall. A little too far away from the fire for ultimate comfort, but a little too close to Frazer for her peace of mind. He’d managed to wash up as well, and in the flickering firelight he looked both beautiful and dangerous. Why in heaven’s name had she ever gone off with him? She knew he was trouble the moment she laid eyes on him.
She must have been out of her mind.
* * *
F RAZER KNEW SHE’D BE trouble the moment he laid eyes on her. He had to have been out of his mind to continue with this little expedition.
If he’d thought clearly he could have dumped her anywhere along the way. Left her with Elena while he took off to warn The Professor.
Not that she would have been safe. Salazar had already known of her existence, and it had only been his own dubious protection that had kept her safe. If he abandoned her she would have been considered fair game.
Not that
She shuddered, and it had nothing to do with his hard, warm hand holding her chin, his cool, dark eyes staring down at her. “I thought you told me you couldn’t sew.”
“I save my tailoring talents for field dressings.”
“I’ll pass, thank you. Every good swashbuckler needs a scar or two.”
An odd expression flitted across his face. In another man she might have called it tenderness, but Ben Frazer didn’t have a tender bone in his body. He was still cupping her chin, and a strange silence had fallen between them, broken only by the sound of the crackling fire. He bent closer, and she had the craziest notion that he was going to kiss her, that he was going to put his firm sexy mouth against hers for no other reason than that he wanted to. And she wanted him to. Badly.
She panicked. She slid away from him, backward until she came up against the old stone wall of the room. “What’s for dinner?” she asked breathlessly.
His eyes were opaque, giving nothing away, and she wondered if she’d imagined that strange, erotically charged moment. She must have.
“Freeze-dried beef Stroganoff,” he said mildly. “Since you rejected the notion of chili. Washed down by whiskey.”
“I don’t think so.”
“The whiskey’s optional, though you’ve still got a chill,” he observed with clinical detachment. “The Stroganoff is an order. If you want to keep going you’ll need to get a decent night’s sleep and some food in your belly. Otherwise you’ll probably collapse on the path again and this time I won’t haul your ass anywhere.”
“Charming,” she said sweetly. She must have imagined that moment. “I’ll eat.”
“You’ll sleep better with a couple of shots of whiskey as well.”
“I’d sleep better in a nice warm hotel room on a real mattress.”
“Wouldn’t we both? Just be grateful I grabbed my duffel. We have two blankets between us. You can wrap yourself in one and hope for the best. Or we can team up and share them.”
She didn’t even dignify that with a response. The whiskey was sounding better and better. The idea of curling up on the hard ground with nothing but a thin blanket was about as appetizing as the tin plate of hot mush he handed her, but she didn’t have much choice in the matter. Besides, it tasted surprisingly good. Maybe she’d sleep better than she expected. She was certainly tired enough.
The room was so small he could lean against the far wall and still be near enough to enjoy the heat of the fire. A little too close to her, but she was getting used to that. He’d eaten his dinner with methodical concentration, like someone taking medicine, and then he’d washed it down with some of the contents of a small, battered flask.
“You sure you don’t want any?” He held it up in offering.
“I’m sure.” She was leaning against the opposite wall. A little too far away from the fire for ultimate comfort, but a little too close to Frazer for her peace of mind. He’d managed to wash up as well, and in the flickering firelight he looked both beautiful and dangerous. Why in heaven’s name had she ever gone off with him? She knew he was trouble the moment she laid eyes on him.
She must have been out of her mind.
* * *
F RAZER KNEW SHE’D BE trouble the moment he laid eyes on her. He had to have been out of his mind to continue with this little expedition.
If he’d thought clearly he could have dumped her anywhere along the way. Left her with Elena while he took off to warn The Professor.
Not that she would have been safe. Salazar had already known of her existence, and it had only been his own dubious protection that had kept her safe. If he abandoned her she would have been considered fair game.
Not that
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