"You're wise to keep them close by."

It took Jocelyn a moment to get over the jolt caused by the suddenness of his words, and another moment to understand what he meant. She turned to see who had followed her and saw at least four of her guards stationed about the area, and not even trying to be inconspicuous. They had allowed her partial privacy by keeping back a reasonable distance, but they were obviously unwilling to leave her completely alone with their newest guide.

"They don't know you yet. They'll relax their vig-ilance once they do."

"You don't know me either."

She shivered at the way he said that, as if it implied a threat. Likely it did and she would be smart to take heed and run like hell. She was nervous enough without him saying things like that. But she didn't want to be afraid of him. And she didn't want him to stay angry with her. And she'd never get anywhere with him if she let him frighten her away.

"We could change that," she said hesitantly, wishing he would turn around to look at her. "I would like very much to know you better."

"Why?"

"Because I find you. intriguing." And excit-ing, and immensely desirable, and blast you, Colt, turn around and look at me!

He didn't. He continued to rub down his horse with slow and easy strokes as if she weren't even there.

She wasn't used to being ignored deliberately. It added nothing to a woman's confidence, and hers was already at a low ebb.

For a while she watched in silence the movement of his hand over the animal's flanks and almost became mesmerized, imagining.

Jocelyn shook those thoughts quickly away and stepped to the front of the horse to stroke its muzzle, admiring the animal for a moment instead of its owner — who still wouldn't look in her direction.

She tried again. "Can't we at least talk?"

"No."


For some reason that flat refusal annoyed her enough to spark her own temper. The man was im-possible, totally, completely impossible.

"Look, I know you're still angry with me, but—"

"Angry doesn't even get close to what I feel, lady."

He had straightened and was finally looking at her, and now she wished he wasn't. Those blue, blue eyes smoldered with some fierce emotion that took her breath away. Fury? She wasn't quite sure.

Neither was Colt. He tried to hold onto his anger, but other things kept getting in the way, her scent, her voice — memories. Every time he got this close to a white woman he could almost feel that whip tearing the flesh off his back. With her it was even worse, because despite knowing he couldn't have her, he still desired her. It shouldn't be happening at all. It hadn't happened in three years. In all that time her kind had turned him cold with revulsion and remembrance of what he had suffered because of one of them.

He was a man who made mistakes only once. So why wasn't he repulsed by her? Why was his body aflame with the need to grab her and draw her even closer? And why the hell didn't she back off before he lost what little control he had left?

"What was it?" he demanded, his tone deliber-ately cutting. "Had no one ever told you no before?"

"Not — not at all."

"Then why me, Duchess?"

The contempt he put into her title was the last straw. What intimidation she had been feeling was super-seded by a burst of indignation.

"Why not you? You did apparently have your price or you wouldn't be here." She was being obtuse and knew it, but wanted one more point made before he got around to telling her that. "I won't release you, you know, even if you do continue with this surly attitude."

"Lady, if I thought there was something I could do to get myself fired, I'd do it," he assured her with a good deal of exasperation. But then his eyes happened to drop to her lips and stayed there for a heart-stopping moment, and he added, much more softly, "Then again — maybe there is something…"

She knew it was going to happen even before his hand reached for her. She even knew it wasn't going to be pleasant, that what he intended was to insult her, or hurt her, or something of the like to get himself fired. But he gave her every opportunity to stop him. There was nothing hurried in his movement as his hand stretched toward her neck. And the first touch of his fingers against her nape was gentle, without constraint.

Up to that point she still could have escaped, but several painful heartbeats later it was too late. His fingers moved up and locked in the thick coil of her hair to trap her and pull her toward him. Yet he did it so slowly that even then she could have done* something, begun to struggle, cry out — only she didn't.

He probably thought he was frightening her so bad that she was incapable of speech or movement, but the simple truth was she didn't want to stop him. She wanted the touch of his mouth on hers so much that she was willing to take the hurt with it. She had known that, even when Vanessa had warned her he wouldn't be gentle with her. If she feared anything now, it was that he wouldn't kiss her.


But when he did, it was more brutal than she had counted on. He was serious in his desire to repulse her, perhaps even make her hate him, at the least make her get rid of him. What he didn't know was that the kiss accounted for only half of what she was feeling. The other half, the incredible excitement taking over the rest of her body, sustained her and allowed her to accept what was given without resistance.

"You ready to fire me?"

The question was grated out as his grip tightened painfully in her hair. But she didn't think he was aware that his hold was hurting her. Her lips were numb and throbbing, her breathing ragged, her knees so weak she could barely stand, while his whole concen-tration seemed to be centered on her mouth, waiting for her answer, as if it alone would decide what he would do next.

"No," she answered breathlessly, surprising him as much as herself. She didn't want him to hurt her any more, but she wasn't giving up on him yet either.

His eyes came to hers, perhaps trying to figure out if she was just stubborn, or just plain crazy. And then his body tensed as reality intruded, and he said in a softly ominous tone, "Tell him to get his hand off me.

If I take care of it, he's not going to be much use to you for a while."

She blinked to see Robbie just behind him, his big hand on Colt's shoulder. Colt hadn't looked at him, was still looking at her, but she doubted that Robbie's size would have made any difference in what he'd said. Far from it. He was ready to get violent, wanted to get violent. And she knew it even if the big Scot didn't.

"It's all right, Robbie. Mr. Thunder was just. proving a point to me. Nothing for you to be con-cerned about."

The brawny Scot hesitated in indecision. However much he had witnessed of that punishing kiss in the dim light supplied by the numerous campfires behind them, it was enough to make him doubt her reassur-ance. How could she have forgotten that her men were near? Of course, she didn't have to explain herself to them, but still.

And then she realized that Colt's fingers were still twisted in her hair, holding her in place, and that likely was why Robbie was still concerned. It had escaped her notice, and probably Colt's too, when Robbie interrupted them. But when she nudged her shoulder where Colt's wrist touched to subtly remind him, he didn't let go. And one look at his eyes proved he hadn't forgotten he was holding her. He wasn't going to back off, not for any reason.

She didn't understand what motivated him now. Did he want to provoke a fight with her men, hoping that would get him fired? Or was this just another means to frighten her, to show her that her men were no real protection, not against him anyway? Whatever his reason, she didn't like it.

If she remonstrated with him and he ignored her, that was going to cause a fight. If she forced Robbie to leave while Colt still held her in his grip, then she was giving him free rein to start up again where he had left off. But if she did nothing, then Colt would do something, and Vanessa would never forgive her if she let him hurt her favorite guard. And she had little doubt about who would be getting hurt. Robbie might be a big, brawny man who had seen service in Her Majesty's Royal Highlanders, but there was noth-ing of cold, merciless steel in him, whereas everything about Colt Thunder cried danger.

There was no help for it. "I do appreciate your concern, Robbie, but I'm perfectly safe in Mr. Thun-der's company. You may leave now — and take the other gentlemen with you. I will be along in a mo-ment."

Made into an order, he had no choice but to com-ply, however reluctantly. "As you wish, Your Grace."

The moment Robbie let go of Colt and turned away, Colt released her. So that was all he had wanted.

Blast the man for making her worry about his inten-tions.

"That was utterly despicable of you," she hissed as she put a hand to the back of her head to rub her sore scalp. "And I don't mean what you did to me, though that was despicable too. I don't doubt that you are capable of meting out a good deal of damage to my men, but to take that means of provoking your dismissal is cowardly, and whatever I thought of you, sir, it was not that you were cowardly."

"And what do you think of me now?" he asked in a low, hard voice.

She took a step back from him, well aware he was referring to what he'd done to her. What did she think, besides the fact that he could be merciless in getting what he wanted?

"I think you are a very determined man, Colt Thunder, but then I am known for that quality myself.