By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) by Stephanie Laurens Page B

the saw blade free. “Good! Ease up.”
    Claire did as he bid and watched him twist and hand the saw out to Juliet.
    Turning back to the branch, he met her eyes. “Turn your head away. I’m going to hack through the branch, and I don’t want any flying splinters cutting you.”
    It was good advice. The only problem she had in following it was that to turn her head away from him, she had to shift her body, her shoulders… She ended with her shoulder lightly brushing his back.
    “Ready?” he asked.
    She swallowed. “Yes.” Really, this unlooked-for sensitivity was beyond ridiculous, yet her lungs had still seized, and her senses still waltzed.
    The sound of the hatchet biting into wood reached her; the branch jarred in her hands, and she tightened her grip, bracing the limb.
    “Thank you,” he murmured between thwacks .
    She could feel steely muscles shift fluidly in his back and upper arm as he hacked at the branch; the sensation riveted her senses.
    The branch cracked, then, on one last stroke of the hatchet, it came free in her hands. She had to shift to balance the weight, then she glanced at him—they were now standing shoulder to shoulder, their backs to the way out of the thicket, dozens of thorny branches blocking the route to freedom.
    She met his eyes; he looked into hers. “How are we going to get out?” she asked.
    The laughter in his eyes, just curling his mobile lips, invited her to laugh at their predicament with him.
    Somewhat to her amazement, she felt her lips lift in a reluctant smile.
    He glanced back, then to either side. “Girls—I want you to stand to either side of the spot Mrs. Meadows and I used to get in here, and then pull back all the branches you can reach and hold, but I don’t want you to step into the thicket, all right?”
    “Yes, Mr. Crosbie,” chorused four voices.
    Behind her, Claire heard the girls murmuring to each other; as usual, Louisa was directing. Claire couldn’t even turn around far enough to glance back at them. She looked at Daniel. Although his shoulder was still pressed to hers, he’d craned his neck to check on the girls. “Now what?” she asked.
    Her question drew his gaze back to her face—and, quite suddenly, it was as if they were alone, private…and if she hadn’t been sure, earlier, what he was thinking, what he intended regarding her, she knew now. It was there in his face, in his hazel eyes, in his direct and open gaze.
    Instead of the resistance—the refusal, the denial—she expected to rise up…her lungs constricted and her heart beat more heavily, and for one instant, she wondered…
    He glanced at the branch. “Is that heavy or can you hold it?”
    She blinked and had to think for a second before replying, “No—meaning yes, I can hold it. It’s not that heavy.”
    “Good. In that case”—he glanced again over his shoulder—“we’ll need to move slowly and together, or we’ll both end up stuck.” He met her gaze briefly, then leaned back a trifle to look along her back and past her, then he nodded. “All right. You’re going to have to turn toward me. We’ll have to juggle the branch—probably lifting it as high as you can and pushing it past me will be the best way. Then just keep turning slowly until you’re facing the way out, and I’ll keep the branches back and follow close behind you.”
    Claire nodded. She wasn’t going to think about this; if she did, her thoughts would end in a horrendous knot and paralyze her. Instead, she focused on doing as he said, on following his murmured directions as he and she adjusted and shifted, moving in slow motion together.
    The maneuver was a lot easier described than accomplished, and performing it inevitably and unavoidably led to their bodies touching, brushing, almost as if they were engaged in a dance, one that placed the partners as close as if not closer than a waltz.
    By the time she stepped free of the thicket into the space the girls had created, the prize branch of