Lovestorm by Judith E. French Page B

vanished into the darkness.
    â€œOh,” she protested, scrambling to her feet. “I didn’t mean to—”
    Cain stood up and smiled at her.
    â€œYou wouldn’t have hurt the fox, would you?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œBut you thought I wanted it dead?”
    He chuckled. “No, brave hunter of wolves. I knew you did not. This one only wish to hear you say so.”
    Perplexed, she opened her mouth to reply, then closed it when she realized she was at a loss. She averted her eyes to keep him from reading what was on her mind.
    â€œYou hide a woman’s heart, Eliz-a-beth,” he chided gently.
    â€œYou knew it wasn’t a wolf, didn’t you?”
    He nodded. “The tracks tell me.”
    â€œWhy did you let me go on believing—”
    He reached for her hand. Trembling, she let him take it. “Would you accept my word?”
    â€œNo.” Elizabeth’s mouth felt dry and her knees weak. “No,” she admitted. The touch of his hand sent tremors up her arm, but she had no desire to pull free. “I was convinced I had been attacked by a wolf.”
    â€œAnd now?” He moved a step closer.
    She swayed in the moonlight. “Thank you for the foxes,” she murmured. “They . . . they were beautiful.”
    â€œIt is not wrong to stand firm,” he teased, “if such a one does not stand on a thin branch.” He took another step.
    A flush of heat coursed through her as she tilted her face to stare into his eyes. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m cold,” she said. Her voice sounded strained and far away.
    He opened his arms. “I will warm you, Eliz-a-beth.”
    Against her will, she moved into those arms and laid her face against his chest. His heart beat strongly, and he smelled of pine and tobacco. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she protested.
    His hand stroked her hair. “Hush,” he soothed. “Hush.”
    Somehow, her lips were touching his—hesitantly at first, and then with a growing intensity. His mouth was firm and tasted of honey as he returned the kiss. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened and the confusion in the pit of her stomach returned full force. Breathless, she pulled away. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean . . .”
    Cain’s eyes reflected the moonlight. “Do the English always say what they do not mean?” he asked. “It is something my cocumtha did not tell me.”
    Elizabeth swallowed hard, unaware that she had brushed her tingling lips with the tip of a finger. “It . . . it was my fault,” she corrected. “You didn’t take advantage of me.”
    Cain’s deep laugh blended with the boom of the surf. “I did not,” he agreed. “But it was a pleasant kiss—was it not?”
    She felt herself blushing.
    â€œTruth.”
    She darted off toward the beach. She’d not gone more than five yards when her toe caught in a root and she went sprawling into a beach plum bush. As she struggled to get up, she tangled her other leg and went down again. “Just don’t stand there laughing like a fool,” she cried. “Help me.”
    â€œDoes English custom allow ignorant savage to help a lady out of a bush?”
    â€œIf it doesn’t,” she replied, “it should.”
    He put his arms around her waist and tried to pull her up. She freed one ankle and hooked it over his, so that he fell on top of her.
    Elizabeth twisted and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now!” she declared. “You are my prisoner.” She brought her face close to his. “That’s what you get for . . .” Her teasing words trailed off unfinished as a surge of overwhelming desire flooded through her.
    â€œI see it is the custom of the English to torture prisoners,” he answered hoarsely. He lowered his head to