McAlistair's Fortune by Alissa Johnson Page B

scanned their surroundings.
    “Are we done running away, then?” she groused, fully expecting her angry words of exhaustion to be met with angry words of pride. Gentlemen never ran away.
    His pride, however, seemed sturdy enough to weather her peevishness. He swung off his horse in a fluid movement she envied. “For now. The horses need to rest.”
    They weren’t the only ones, she thought. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath, a change of clothes, a soft bed, and a few minutes of privacy just then could be counted on one hand.
    McAlistair glanced up at her briefly before setting to work untying one of the bundles from his saddle. “Get down. Stretch your legs.”
    Oh, how she’d love to. “No, thank you.”
    He stopped and looked at her. “Get down.”
    She straightened in the saddle, trying for a regal appearance, and suspected she failed utterly. “I’m perfectly comfortable, thank—Don’t!” She threw a hand up as he came toward her.
    A small line formed between his brows. “What is it?”
    “It’s nothing. It’s…I’m a bit stiff, that’s all.”
    “Then let me help you down.”
    She shook her head, a small clutch of panic and embarrassment blooming in her chest. If he tried setting her on her feet now, she’d only topple onto her face. “I…I’d rather you didn’t.”
    “Why?”
    She began rubbing her hip discreetly in the hopes of bringing it back to life. “Because I’m not fond of being tossed on and off my horse like a sack of flour. An odd sentiment, I’m sure, but—”
    “It’s your leg.”
    Her hand stilled. Blast, the man had eyes like a hawk. “As I said, I’m a bit stiff. I’ll be perfectly fine in a—”
    She cut off when he simply reached up and wrapped his large hands about her waist. There was nothing for her to do but grasp his shoulders when he swung her off the horse.
    He set her on her feet, but much to either her relief or horror—she’d decide that later—he didn’t let her topple. He slid a strong arm around her back, the other around her shoulder, and took the majority of her weight.
    “Does it hurt?” he asked softly over her head.
    She couldn’t bring herself to look up. They were pressed together as if in an embrace. The soft wool of his coat tickled her nose and carried the alluring scent of soap and leather and man. She could feel the muscles of his legs against hers—one of hers, anyway—and the hard expanse of his chest pressed against her breasts, which seemed to have inherited all the feeling lost from her leg. They felt heavy all of a sudden and acutely sensitive. She heard him murmur something over her head, but it was impossible to decipher the words over the roar of blood in her ears.
    She wanted him to let go and step away. She was terrified he would.
    A strong hand stroked down her back and she struggled not to shiver.
    “Evie, does it hurt?”
    Her eyes fixed on a small white button of his shirt and stayed there. “No…not yet. It’s numb.”
    She thought perhaps he nodded. She felt the movement in his broad shoulders, but she hadn’t long to consider it before he shifted, slipped an arm around the backs of her knees, and lifted her.
    She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck without thinking. It was the oddest sensation, being carried as if she weighed nothing. Once again she found herself torn between delight and discomfort. But before she had time to think on that or dwell upon how much she wanted to lay her head against his shoulder and close her eyes, he was kneeling down to gently place her on a soft patch of grass.
    “You should have said something earlier.”
    “I did,” she responded, reluctantly letting her arms slide from his neck. “I said this was all a ruse and we should go back.” Strictly speaking, she hadn’t said that last bit, but it certainly could have been inferred.
    Without responding, he reached to pull her skirts up to her knees. Stunned, she instinctively swatted his hand away and yanked them