Bride On The Run. Elizabeth Lane

herself to disobey him, but her fingers had grown so slippery and sore that they could no longer hold her weight beneath the branch. Little by little she felt her grip weakening. At last, with a furious little cry, she lost her hold altogether. The moon spun in her head as she plummeted down, down into the uncertain darkness below.

      She felt the shock as he caught her, and for a moment she could only lie still, gasping for breath. His chest was as hard as an anvil, and the musky, sensual man scent of his body made her head swim. True to his word, Malachi had not let her fall. Here in his arms she was as safe as she had ever been in her rough, tumultuous life.

      So why did she suddenly feel so vulnerable? Why was she shaking like a newborn calf, her eyes blinking back hysterical tears?

      She reminded herself how he had taunted her while she clung to the tree, how she had vowed to make him pay for everything he said. Where was her anger now? Why wasn’t she clawing the wretched man’s eyes out?

      Her hand lay lightly on his chest. Beneath her palm Anna could feel the steady drumming of his heart like the cadence of an army marching to battle. Her own pulse leaped and skittered erratically. She felt like a child in his arms, he was so large, so powerful.

      “Are you all right?” he murmured thickly.

      “I—think so.” She groped for the simplest words, struggling to reconnect the link between her mind and her tongue. “Just shaken, I think.”

      “I can put you down.”

      “Yes,” Anna said. “Yes, I know.”

      The coyote’s mournful call rose again from a distant mesa, the sound echoing down the moonlit hollow of the canyon. Anna fought its melancholy spell, fought its power to tug at her heart. She needed no one, she reminded herself, least of all this man who held her as if she’d been dipped in snake venom. He had insulted her, humiliated her, dragged her through rain, mud and danger to a place fit for nothing but lizards, coyotes and vultures. All of this for a oneway ticket back to Salt Lake City.

      Yes, she would hurt him. She would make Malachi Stone curse the day of his birth. And she would start now, by doing the very thing he feared most.

      Driven by cold rage—and a simmering desire that even she could not deny—Anna slid her hand up Malachi’s chest to his shoulder, then, with a quick motion, hooked the back of his neck and jerked his head down toward her face. Before he could react, her moist, yielding lips had captured his mouth in a kiss calculated to melt granite.

      She felt the resistance in him, the rigid lips, the straining muscles. Then, as she’d hoped, need overcame pride. With a low moan he crushed her in his arms. His hot, hungry mouth opened to hers, demanding, devouring, awakening responses that surged through her body like rivers of heat. Fighting for self-control, Anna willed the tip of her tongue to invade his mouth in tiny, darting licks, like a bee seeking moisture. Once again he moaned. His arms tightened around her, molding her to his chest as he claimed that tongue, drawing it deeper, meeting its thrust with his own.

      Anna felt the seething heat in her body, and she realized, with a shock of dismay, that she was no longer the one in charge. Malachi was master now, and, heaven save her, she needed this man. He was her lawful husband, and her whole being ached for what he alone could give her.

      Her hands raked his hair, pulling him deeper, demanding more. His breath rasped as his hand skimmed her thigh. Then, as if sensing he had gone too far, he stiffened against her. She felt his resistance return, felt the pride and self-righteousness that would not let him cross the line he had drawn between them. She felt his loathing as, with a single rough gesture, he tore her away from him and set her firmly on the ground.

      Anna swayed dizzily, the darkness surrounding her like a clammy blanket. Frog and cricket calls shrilled in her head, an irritating blur of sound. She looked up to find Malachi glaring down at her, his eyes as hard as flints.

      “How many men have you kissed like that, Anna?” he said in a flat, cold voice. “And how much did they pay you for more?”

      Chapter Five

      The sting of Malachi’s words was as sharp and raw as if he’d slashed her across the face with a razor.

      Reeling with shock, Anna stared up at him. Her throat moved in an effort to form words, but no sound emerged from her mouth. She was choking on her own pain and rage. What if she were to tell him the truth about herself? Would he believe her, or would he simply hog-tie her like an animal and haul her off to the nearest lawman to claim the reward?

      Malachi’s eyes glittered with contempt beneath the jutting crags of his brows. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, slurring the words as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. His lips were still wet and swollen from their soul-searing kiss. “How much did they pay you, Anna? If I get desperate enough I may make you an offer—strictly business, you understand.”