Bronco glanced at her. His heart began to beat faster. “What for? You weren’t in any danger.” It was a bald faced lie and he knew it. Nevertheless he felt entirely justified in adding bitterly, “I’d think you could trust me just a little.”

Her bark of laughter made him wince. “Trust you? This from the man who kidnapped me?”

He swung around to face her, blocking her way. “I’m also the man who saved your life,” he retorted. “Don’t forget that.”

As she was staring at him, eyes wide and incredulous, cheeks flushed, seething, it occurred to him that it was probably the dumbest, most asinine conversation he’d ever had with a woman in his life. That it was making him feel-and act-about eleven years old. And that he didn’t have any idea in the world how to fix it.

All he seemed able to do was stare back at her, with his heart thumping and his breath like fire in his lungs, while thunder rumbled way off in the distance and the muggy monsoon heat rolled in around him.

And then, as he stared at her, it came to him gradually that the anger inside him had gone, and in its place was a great quietness. It was the quietness, the peace, that comes with certainty. Suddenly he knew, absolutely knew, what was going to happen-what had to happen-if he didn’t find some way to stop himself from kissing her.

Stop himself? It would have been easier to stop his own beating heart.

In the instant when he knew for certain what he was going to do, he sucked in a breath-and panic knifed through him like an Arctic blast. It was something like the way he’d felt-oh, long long years ago-the very first time he’d prepared to hurl his warm body into water deeper than he was tall. When he reached for Lauren, when he felt her body, lithe and resistant in the curve of his arm, he knew the same moment of utter certainty that he’d just done something incredibly foolish and possibly fatal. When he looked into her shocked eyes, felt her breath flow hot across his lips, he knew he was going to drown.

But then, as it had happened to him all those years before, just when things seemed farthest beyond recall, he knew an almost overwhelming sense of relief, redemption and joy.

Forgive me, he prayed, to no one, to everyone. And then he kissed her.

She did resist a little at first, breath gusting in a small shocked gasp, hands fisting against his chest, spine arching backward in the automatic but futile attempt to postpone the moment of contact with that unyielding body. But he must have known it was only instinctive, a reflex, like a horse shying away from the first touch of the saddle. Because he ignored it and, instead, pulled her lower body hard against him and swooped forward to claim her with a swift and fluid grace, like a cougar springing.

She felt the heat of his body, the coiled tension in his muscles, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She felt the strength ebbing from her own muscles, and instead of pushing against his chest, found herself clutching his arms, his shoulders, his neck, sure they were all that kept her from falling. She had one stunning glimpse of his warrior’s eyes, fierce and hot and black as coals, before his mouth came down and covered hers, and then, like a patient slipping under anesthetic, her mind simply left her.

Off it drifted, with its questions and confusion, its troubled doubts and self-disgust, leaving her in a state of utter peace and profound relief, where the only thing that mattered was what she felt, right now, this minute. No more asking herself, why? How could she feel this way about this man? The very last man she should feel anything for at all! For some reason she would probably never understand, her heart had chosen him. That was enough. In that single moment when his mouth claimed hers, she knew it was exactly what she’d wanted-had been wanting, des perately wanting-for a very long time. Probably from the first moment he’d touched her, there on the dance floor in Smoky Joe’s Bar and Grill.

With his mouth like a brand on hers and his tongue slashing across her lips like liquid fire, her gasp of shock became a whimper of need. Her lips opened; giddy and intoxicated, she sipped, savored, drank him in like a fine fiery brandy, with a little gasp at the first heady taste of him, then a deep-throated moan, a primitive sound of pleasure.

He growled in response and withdrew-but only for a moment, and only to search for a better fit, a truer melding. His lips returned to nip and tease. His tongue tormented her with gentle mastery. She heard her own voice whisper-not words, just sounds, sounds of encouragement and pleading-and his voice, guttural in response, soothing, promising.

She felt his hand, so gentle in her hair, so warm on her throat. Felt its moist heat seeping through the fabric of her T-shirt, its palm perfectly nesting her breast. She felt her knees begin to buckle, felt his arm there supporting her as they both began to sink, in a wholly natural way, toward the pine-needle carpet at their feet.

And then-just then-she heard another voice, a husky whicker. As if it was a signal bringing him out of a trance, Bronco drew a shuddering breath and turned away from her. The man who a moment ago had held her in an embrace the likes of which she’d never known and kissed her as she’d never been kissed before, kissed her and made her believe in heaven, the promised land, El Dorado, leaned now across the saddle skirt and supported his bowed head. He muttered something she couldn’t understand, until he gave his head a violent shake and repeated it in a louder harsher voice: “I can’t…do this.”

“No!” Lauren cried in shocked and trembling protest. “You can’t…you can’t undo it.”

He threw her one fierce black look, then gripped the reins and, ignoring a strident little whinny of protest, began to walk the stallion deeper into the timber. Tense and fighting for control, she hurried after him. “Don’t you dare walk away!” She sounded like a jilted schoolgirl and didn’t care. “You can’t do something like that and just…pretend it never happened.”

Without looking at her he mumbled thickly, “Yeah, well, it never should have happened.”

“Yeah, well, here’s a news flash for you-it did happen.” Oh, she was furious-breathless with fury. And frightened. Terrified that he meant it and that what had just happened to her might never happen again. “So what now, huh? What now?”

He stopped and turned his face to her, and it was like an effigy carved in stone. “I should never have let it happen. It’s my responsibility to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

For a few moments Lauren was speechless. Not even when he’d first kidnapped her had she felt such rage; she wanted to fly at him, scratch his eyes out, rip at that impassive face with her fingernails-until she looked again, more closely, at his eyes. For once unshielded, she could see reflected in them everything she was feeling and more-pain and passion, frustration, sorrow and bitter regret.

“Because of them?” she asked, her voice still high and taut, but with ebbing anger, the beginning of understanding. “Because of Gil? The cause? The…whatever you call ’em of Liberty? They barely exist anymore! Why should it matter?”

Why should it matter. Gazing at her, Bronco felt all but swallowed up in heaviness and turmoil. The storms in his soul were as violent as any he’d ever faced; he felt himself becoming lost in them, desperately in need of a compass. What had he done? He’d sworn to protect this woman, and instead, he’d done her grievous harm. Now she stood before him wanting to know why, and he couldn’t even offer her an answer. Not one that would make sense to her.

Still, he felt compelled to try, with as much of the truth as he could possibly give her. “It matters to me,” he said stiffly. “It’s personal-a matter of honor. I took you away from your family. I’ll see you’re returned to them in the same condition as when you were taken.”

“Too late,” she said softly, her smile small and crooked.

Too late. He returned her gaze in silence, while the turmoil inside him grew. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled, and he felt its echoes deep in his own belly.

She spoke, suddenly, in a voice too loud, too harsh. “Do you think this makes any sense to me?” Her eyes glistened dangerously. He watched them in dread, desperately afraid of what it was going to do to his heart when the first tear fell. “It makes no sense to me at all! Everything logical and reasonable in me tells me I shouldn’t feel what I feel for you. By all rights you should be the last man I’d ever find myself mixed up with. And believe me,” she added with a strange note of bitterness in her voice, “if ever there was a one for doing what she’s supposed to do, it’s Lauren Brown. Which doesn’t alter one bit the fact that I do feel…something for you-God, don’t ask me what!” She threw her hands up as her voice broke finally with a choked helpless sound. After a moment she drew a ragged breath and whispered, “All I know is…I don’t know how I’m going to get back on that horse with you.”

A growl came from deep in Bronco’s chest, barely audible even to him. But Cochise Red turned his head toward him and bumped his shoulder with his muzzle, then nibbled and snuffled his hair in mute sympathy. Something shivered through him-part laughter, part physical desire-and holding the breath that would have betrayed those things to her, he silently took Lauren’s hand and began to walk, bringing her along with him.

Presently he jerked his head toward the horse ambling beside him and said gruffly, “You can ride-I’ll walk.”

A high liquid sound of pure frustration made him glance at her in alarm, his heart thudding hard and fast against his ribs. But she had her head down and he couldn’t see much of her face, just the warm pink stain of sunburn, and the strands of blond hair that had worked loose from her ponytail, sweat-darkened and sticking to her neck and temples and the sides of her cheeks. He jerked his eyes away from her and held his breath while desire rumbled again in his belly and the turmoil inside him grew.