Killian's Passion. Barbara McCauley
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be right with you gentlemen.” Beverly smiled at the men, then turned back to Cara and slid a key across the counter. “All the cabins have phones, dear. If you need anything, just give a call.”
She made a quick trip to the market, then found the road off the main highway that led to Silver Tree Lake. The twolane road was narrow and wound upward through thick dogwood and pines. Twenty minutes later she’d unloaded her groceries and gear from her Jeep into her cabin, zipped on her overalls and grabbed her backpack.
Piece of cake, she’d thought when she’d settled herself into the tall weeds across the lake and found her man lazing on the front porch of his cabin. She snapped a roll of pictures, munched on dried apricots and crackers and replayed Casablanca in her mind to pass the time.
But as the heat settled in and the humidity rose steadily over the next three hours, that piece of cake began to quickly crumble.
When the first big drop of rain hit her on the cheek, the cake all but dissolved. The next drop splashed on her nose at the same time thunder rumbled the ground and lightning zigzagged across the dark sky. Cara might be the first one to admit she’d done a lot of foolish things, but never stupid. She at least knew enough to get out of a lightning storm. Tomorrow was always another day, as the saying went.
Tossing her binoculars into her backpack, she rose on her hands and knees and started to crawl backward out of the thick cattails.
And froze when she hit something very solid.
And very human.
Slowly she glanced over her shoulder, then swallowed hard at the sight of one Killian Shawnessy towering over her.
“Hi, there.” He stared down at her; the tight smile on his mouth did not reach his narrowed eyes.
She opened her mouth to respond, but the only sound that came out was a whoosh of air when he lunged, then neatly flipped her onto her back and pinned her down. Even in this suddenly embarrassing and demeaning situation, Cara had to admit that he was good.
Damn good.
Nonetheless, he was also a man. And with him lying on top of her like he was, he was almost in perfect alignment for her best and most effective move, a move that would have him singing soprano for days.
Adrenaline pumped wildly through her blood, but despite her finely honed instinct to slam her knee upward, she clenched her teeth together and resisted. She didn’t come here to hurt him, after all.
“You wanna tell me why you’ve been spying on me all afternoon?” he asked smoothly.
She forced her heartbeat to slow down and struggled to concentrate on his face rather than the press of his hard body against hers. His expression was calm, but his jaw was set tight, his eyes as sharp and focused as a cat with a mouse under its paw. What a strange time to notice that his eyes were brown, as she’d guessed. Deep, dark brown, with a black ring around the iris.
Eyes like Margaret Muldoon’s.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” She feigned indignation and made a pitiful attempt to pull away from his grip. She’d always found it to her advantage to pretend weakness until her opponent was off guard and the time was right. “Get off me.”
To her annoyance, his large hands tightened their hold on her wrists. He leaned closer, his broad chest pressing her down into the cattails. Sweat dripped down his throat and disappeared into the open collar of his shirt. The scent of hot skin and pure masculinity clung to him.
“I asked you a question, Blondie. I want an answer. Now.”
Blast it, if the man wasn’t solid muscle and outweighed her by at least seventy pounds. But what she lacked in strength she always made up for in endurance and timing, both of which were on her side at the moment. She didn’t want to hurt him, but if he didn’t let go of her soon, her pride would insist on taking over. Especially after the Blondie crack. Lord, how she hated those obnoxious little names men gave women.
What had been a heavy sprinkle of rain gradually increased, and Cara blinked the drops out of her eyes. “Look, buster—” she chose her own annoying little name for him “—this isn’t private property and I’m not trespassing. I’m renting the next cabin down, and I was just taking in a little scenery while I’m on vacation, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Is that so?” He scanned the length of her. “You always take in the landscape on your stomach with binoculars?”
“I’m a bird watcher. Last I heard there’s no law against that.”
One shock of dark hair fell over his damp forehead as he considered her answer. “What bird?”
“What bird?” What bird…what bird… Damn. She knew nothing about birds.
Impatience deepened his frown. “What bird have you been watching for the past three hours?”
“Oh. A three-toed, yellow-rumped sapsucker. It’s nesting in that Douglas fir twenty yards off your cabin. Very rare.” She prayed there was a bird up there. Any bird, or something that even remotely resembled a nest.
“Is that right?” He lifted his gaze to the thick grove of trees and stared. “Three-toed sapsucker, huh?”
“Yellow-rumped,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Now get off me.”
The weight of his body matched the heavy gaze he dropped back down to her. The lines on his face were hard, angular, like his body, and the intensity of his narrowed gaze made her breath catch.
He shook his head slowly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, sweetheart. It’s your choice.”
She didn’t know what he meant by this, but she had no intention of doing anything with this jerk. She let her body go slack and turned her head away, as if she were acquiescing to him.
“All right.” She dragged in a shuddering, pathetic breath. “I guess we’ll do it—” her knee came up hard and fast and right on target “—the hard way.”
Ian sucked in his breath as the first blast of pain ripped through the lower half of his body. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him. Her voice had sounded so weak and frightened that he’d let his guard down for one, sympathetic moment. A moment he was now paying for dearly.
“Now get off me!,” he heard the woman yell through the sea of agony he was drowning in.
He’d collapsed on top of her, and she shoved furiously at his chest. Even if he’d wanted to, he hadn’t the strength to move. He’d been annoyed before, but now he was downright mad. She was definitely going to pay for this, and so was Jordan. Big-time.
He gulped in a deep lungful of air, swore heatedly on the exhale. Her clawed fingers were plowing toward his face when he caught her wrists just in time. Using one hand, he pinned her hands over her head again. With his other hand he reached behind him and pulled out the rope he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans before he’d left the cabin.
Her big green eyes widened at the sight of the rope, and for the first time he saw fear there. He’d been careful not to hurt her before, but that was before she set the rules between them, or rather, eliminated the rules. He wasn’t taking any more chances with this one, and if she got roughed up, that was her choice.
She bucked under him like a crazed bronco.
“Did I ever tell you I spent six months working a cattle ranch?” He had her hands wrapped and tied in two seconds, then moved to her kicking feet. Two more seconds and they were bound, as well. “They called me Flash.”
Her eyes spit green fire while she called him a few names of her own. Lightning punctuated one especially rude exclamation she shot at him; thunder drowned out the next. If nothing else, Ian noted, she certainly was creative with her expletives.
With another