An Accidental Seduction by Lois Greiman Page B

leaving her troupe. There had been more than a few men interested in her charms. Truth to tell, there had been more than a hundred. But they did not have his…something. And perhaps he could feel her own despicable yearning, for he faced her straight on, watching her, his mischievous angel eyes never wavering.
    “So you are never tempted?”
    She gave him the meanest of smiles and remembered her mission here. “Not by roughshod Irishmen from Wickham,” she said, and let her attention drift to the dark gelding.
    “By who, then?” he asked.
    She let her gaze skim the animal’s graceful neck. His mane gleamed in dark waves from his proud crest. His eyes were widespread and intelligent. What a splendid animal.
    “None but my husband,” she lied, and found Gallagher’s eyes again.
    “How very convenient.”
    “Much more than convenient,” she said. Gripping a plank that ran perpendicular to the ceiling, she leanedback to arm’s length and sighed toward the heavens as if she could not wait for her beloved’s return. “He is everything—”
    “Careful!” cried the Irishman, and leaping forward, snatched her hand from the stall just as the gelding’s teeth snapped together.
    Indigo backed away, shaking his heavy mane.
    “Did he hurt you?” Gallagher asked, quieter now, but still holding her wrist.
    Holy hell, that horse was a handful. It made her want nothing more than to hop aboard and let him run till they were breathless.
    “Clarette?”
    She dragged her gaze from the gelding’s. “What?”
    He turned her hand, gazing at it. “Are you unscathed?”
    “Yes,” she said, but suddenly the barn seemed strangely airless.
    He took a step toward her. “You must be more careful.”
    If the cow’s stall had not been behind her, she would have stepped back. Really, she would have. It wasn’t as if she was mesmerized by his eyes, immobilized by his touch.
    “You are certain you’re unhurt?” he asked, and slipping her sleeve toward her elbow, bared her wrist.
    “Of course,” she breathed.
    “It would be a shame to harm even an inch of such skin.”
    “Well, consider me shameless,” she said, then sternly reprimanded herself for such a silly attempt at wit. She was a baroness, for God’s sake. Or, barring that, she was Rom. Either one should be woman enough to withstand his pathetic advances. “I am unscathed.”
    He raised his gaze to hers for a moment. His thumb felt like magic as it worked a circle against the tender flesh of her inner wrist. “Tell me, lass, why do you take such risks?”
    “Risks!” She tried to guffaw. It came out as nothing more than a soft puff of air, more like a sigh than a scoff. “Forgive me if I did not think the byre such a deadly place.”
    “I was thinking of yesterday,” he said, “when you rode that black devil as if he were your pet pony.”
    “He’s not a devil,” she said.
    “Nay?”
    They were inches apart now, his eyes enthralling, his hands warm velvet against her skin.
    “Just…just frustrated,” she said.
    The left corner of his scandalous lips canted up as his fingers trilled across her flesh. “Do we still speak of the gelding?”
    She managed a nod, though it was a close thing.
    “And why is he frustrated?”
    “He doesn’t like to be told what to do.”
    He moved half a step nearer. “And what of you, lass? Are you frustrated too?” He kissed her wrist. She tried to move away. Really she did, but he was some kind of weird magician when it came to skin.
    “No.”
    “So you do not mind being told what to do?”
    “No one tells me what to do.”
    “Then I shall ask nicely,” he said, and taking the barest step toward her, slipped his arm beneath her cape, encircling her waist. “Might I kiss you?”
    She opened her mouth to speak. It was possible she even intended to refuse. But no sound came out.
    Perhaps he took her silence as agreement? Or perhaps her acquiescence wasn’t required, for in that moment he leaned in.
    She felt the