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  Yet even as she trudged through the snow piled high on the porch and down the stairs, her thoughts were on the man inside. And what he would say if she told him the true reason for her sudden flight: That she was very much afraid she was falling hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

  Jaw clenched, hands fisted, Taggart stalked a path parallel to the bed.

  Damn, damn, damn. He’d just made what had to be his umpteenth search of every inch of cabin within his reach and he still couldn’t find one stinking thing—not a bobby pin, paper clip or even a twist tie—that could possibly be used to pick the lock on the handcuffs.

  Emotions churned through him. He was sick and tired of being a prisoner. Fed up with being chained like somebody’s pet tiger. Up to his eyeballs with having to depend on St. Genevieve of the soft heart and luscious little body for every damn thing.

  Sorry, pal. But even you’ve gotta admit, it’s hard to steal a key or anything else off a woman who only gets near you when she’s either naked or close to it.

  One who, despite her soft-voiced concern and supposedly forthright manner, hadn’t made one lousy mistake he could capitalize on.

  And who was outside now, in the killing cold, taking unnecessary chances because he hadn’t had the balls to lie and tell her what she wanted to hear. “Sure, baby. Give me the key and I’ll not only let you go, I’ll do anything else you want. You just name it—it’s yours.”

  It would have been the expedient way to go, the smart thing to say. But when it came to Genevieve, words like smart and expedient didn’t apply to him.

  You’ve got that right. Whipped and enthralled seem to be more your thing.

  The caustic thought shoved him over the edge. In a sudden fit of frustration, he snatched up the tray holding his empty breakfast dishes from the bed and hurled it across the room.

  Shame had him by the throat even before the crockery struck the wall and shattered in a grinding explosion of sound.

  What the hell was his problem?

  What the hell wasn’t?

  Raking a hand through his hair, he stood stock still as he faced the demon driving him and reluctantly admitted it was him. That as a man whose self-restraint in every aspect of his life had always been paramount, he felt precariously out of control. And—the irony had his mouth twisting in a humorless smile—it was making him crazy.

  Since meeting Genevieve, none of his behavior had been typical. From their first encounter out on the deck, when her unexpected bid to escape had resulted in the flying tackle that could have injured them both, to her recent insistence on venturing outside that he could have quashed with a few well-chosen words, he’d been one step behind and a few bricks shy of a full load.

  He could remember, as a kid, his old man grumbling that no good deed ever went unpunished. Well, score one for Master Sergeant Richard Steele’s life’s-a-bitch-and-then-you-die take on life. And not because in the past few days his second son had been outwitted, imprisoned, beguiled and disarmed by a slip of a woman.

  But because Taggart had broken the paramount rule of his life. He’d started to care about her.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He hadn’t started anything. He was solidly there. At some point when he wasn’t looking—most likely because his brain had been in a sexual fog so complete he’d been rendered temporarily blind—Genevieve had crept right past his defenses and wedged a little sliver of herself deep into his heart that he was powerless to excise.

  Not that it changed anything, he was quick to remind himself. He had an obligation to his brothers, to the Dunn family and to his own rapidly shrinking integrity to see this job through.

  And if that wasn’t enough of a reason to do what he was supposed to, there was Genevieve’s long-term welfare to consider.

  As much as it galled him, he had to admit she was pretty damn good at being a fugitive. But she could be the reincarnation of Mata Hari and it wouldn’t matter. If she kept it up, it was just a matter of time before she got hurt.

  Either she’d encounter a predator who’d use her isolation against her, or somebody with far fewer scruples than him would come after her in hopes of claiming some if not all of Steele Security’s fee.

  There was also the fact that the longer she was AWOL, the deeper the hole she was digging for herself with the judge whose order she’d defied in the first place.

  He could no longer avoid the truth. The sooner he wrapped this up, the better for everyone, Genevieve included.

  Cocking his head, he heard the faint crunch of boots on snow that signified her return. He took a forceful hold on his unruly emotions, shoving them back into the sealed inner compartment where they belonged, and tried to decide, as he tracked her progress up the steps, just what he was going to say to her. He frowned a little as there was a pause and he heard her say, “Oh, for heaven’s sake—”

  And then her voice abruptly cut off, replaced with the sound of crashing and rolling wood followed by an alarmed cry, a muffled thump and then absolute, paralyzing silence.

  “Genevieve!”

  Genevieve had never heard another human being actually roar, although the word was used in fictional conversations all the time.

  But it was exactly the way she’d describe the manner in which John was yelling her name.

  Then again, she thought hazily, as she lay flat on her back, desperately trying to suck in a breath to replace the air that had been knocked out of her, bellow might be an even better description. Although, come to think of it, she didn’t think she’d ever heard anybody do that, either. Until now.

  “Genevieve! Goddamn it, answer me!”

  Gee. Talk about having your panties in a twist. Here she was suffocating, her vision starting to go dim, and he was having a major hissy fit, carrying on as if he’d slammed a drawer on his—

  The thought was mercifully lost as the terrifying sensation of having a giant squatting on her chest abruptly vanished and she was finally able to drag a desperately needed breath into her starving lungs.

  Except that it was colder out here than a Siberian meat locker, and the influx of icy air made her feel as if she’d inhaled a pissed-off porcupine.

  Coughing and wheezing, she flopped onto her stomach and from there onto her elbows and knees, bringing her hands up to do what she could to warm the breath finally flowing in.

  After what felt like an eternity, but was more likely a mere score of seconds, she decided she was going to live after all. And while she was likely to have a few bumps and bruises, she seemed for the most part to have survived unscathed.

  She wasn’t sure the same could be said of the cabin, she realized, as a loud crash came from inside. “Genevi—”

  “I’m here,” she called, doing her best to sound reassuring as she climbed gingerly to her feet. Encouraged by another quick inventory that found all her parts in working order, she picked up the hat she’d lost in the fall and did her best to dust the snow off it and whatever other areas of her clothing she could reach. “I’ll be inside in a second. Don’t worry.”

  Not worrying—about her discovery that she loved him—was what she’d decided to do. Of course, first she’d had a minor meltdown courtesy of the bright and shiny new generator she hadn’t been able to start. Then, when she’d realized her tears were freezing like sleet on her face, which wasn’t a sensation she cared ever to repeat, she’d gotten a grip, taking a hard look at everything that had transpired between Taggart and herself.

  It hadn’t taken her long to realize that, while denying what she felt for him might make her feel better in the short run, it wasn’t going to change anything in the larger scheme of things.

  Yes, she hadn’t known him very long. Yes, there was a host of things she didn’t know about him. And yes, if she’d met him under different circumstances, she’d have deemed him too big, too tough and too intimidating to warrant a second look.

  But none of that mattered now. She wasn’t a person who gave her heart lightly or easily—that was obvious given that
this was the first time she’d ever fallen in love. Sexually, she shared a bond with him she’d never felt with anyone else, while the chance to learn more about him made her feel like a kid at Christmas who’d been gifted with an abundance of presents.

  As for his dangerous demeanor and aura of leashed power, she no longer found them threatening. She’d discovered he had too many honorable characteristics to offset them, including being committed to doing what he considered the right thing. They might be on opposite sides of the issue regarding Seth, he might break her heart by not returning her feelings, but she knew unequivocally that he’d never deliberately hurt her if there was any way he could avoid it.

  The furnishings inside, on the other hand, sounded as if they were under a major assault. Wondering what on earth was going on, she blew out a breath, stomped as much of the snow off her boots as she could and walked through the door.

  “My God.” Her mouth formed a soundless O as she looked around. Not quite believing what she was seeing, she took in the easy chair that she’d placed next to the bed lying drunkenly on its side in the kitchen, the bright blue shards of broken dishes littering the hearth and, incredibly, the deep scars in the leg of the bed frame that anchored the far end of the chain.

  Straining toward her at the opposite end of the chain was John, a bracelet of blood welling from the handcuff biting into his wrist. Her stomach dropped. “Oh, dear. What happened?” Scooting into the kitchen, she grabbed a clean towel and hurried toward him. “What did you do to yourself?”

  “Me?” His expression savage, he caught her hand in a careful but inescapable grip as she reached to blot the blood from his wrist. “You just took a frickin’ decade off my life.”

  “But you’re bleeding.”

  He said something so profane it would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap in every foster home she’d ever lived in. “So are you.”

  “I am?” Confused, she followed his gaze to her hand, surprised as she saw the blood smearing her fingers and palm. “I don’t think—”

  “Be quiet.” Taking the towel from her, he gently pressed it against her lips and chin, scowling as he lifted the red-stained cloth away and he surveyed her face. He blew out a breath. “It doesn’t seem to be anything major. Looks like you bit your lip.”

  She blinked. Now that he mentioned it, her mouth did feel a little tender. Still, that didn’t do a thing to explain—

  She gave a startled squeak as without warning he peeled off her coat, unzipped her vest and began checking her out for further damage. “Really, I’m all right,” she protested. “Which is more than I can say for this place—”

  He made a sound as if he were grinding his teeth. “What the hell happened?” he demanded fiercely as he gently examined her arms and legs.

  “Oh.” She tried to ignore the little kernel of heat blooming shamelessly in response to his businesslike touch. “I fell. I caught the end of my scarf on one of the logs in the woodpile, tried to yank it free, then lost my footing getting out of the way when some pieces fell. I guess I went down kind of hard, because it knocked the wind out of me.” She laughed unsteadily. “I think I actually saw a few stars.”

  His hands moved instantly toward her head, and it was then that it sank in how much she’d frightened him. Tenderness flooded her, and she reached up to intercept him.

  “John.” Linking her fingers in his, she waited for his gaze to meet hers. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Really.”

  For an instant his fierce expression didn’t alter. Then, with the speed that always surprised her given his size, he pulled her into his embrace, cradling her against him as he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

  With a sigh of contentment, she burrowed closer, basking in his strength and the glorious heat he radiated.

  Then, just as quickly as he’d reeled her in, he was pushing her away. “Genevieve. Look at me.”

  He sounded so serious her heart gave a little thump of alarm as she tipped up her chin. “What? What is it?”

  “I’ve decided to agree to your terms. Get this damn handcuff off me and when the time comes, I’ll let you walk out of here with a forty-eight-hour head start.”

  “You will?”

  That familiar muscle jumped once in his jaw and then was still. “Yeah.” Cupping his hand around the back of her neck, he anchored his long fingers in her hair and tipped her head back for the gentle assault of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

  Ten

  “T his is nice.” With a contented sigh, Genevieve shifted a little closer to Taggart as they sat on the couch by the fireplace.

  Apparently there was a technique for constructing a blaze that actually gave off adequate heat, she mused, enjoying the warmth on her face as she gazed into the softly dancing flames. It was a discovery she’d made not long after freeing the owner of the broad shoulder she was currently nestled against.

  In just a matter of hours, after first stripping her out of her damp outerwear, wrapping her in several blankets and depositing her in an easy chair with a book, John had put the cabin to rights, got the generator running, cleared the snow from the steps to the door, split a dozen logs into kindling and done his magic with the fire.

  That hadn’t been all. He’d put dinner together and done the dishes as well, and while Genevieve had found it all very impressive and endearing, his nonstop action had also driven home just how difficult being confined must have been for someone powered by such immense energy.

  Happily, however, he now seemed as satisfied as she was to sit quietly and enjoy the night. For the first time in days, the wind had died to just an occasional gust, while the sky had cleared enough that a scattering of stars was visible. Beyond the frost-edged windows, the merest sliver of a silver moon peeked above the jagged silhouette of the mountain peaks looming on the horizon.

  “Yeah, you’re right. It is nice.” Taggart traced the curve of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “God knows, it beats the hell out of being shackled to the bed.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sort of fond of that particular item of furniture. At least, when you’re in it.”

  He turned his head to give her a quelling look.

  She stared blandly back at him before returning her gaze to the fire. “Hey, I can’t help it if I think there’s something sexy about a guy in chains. At least when he’s you, with that hard body and outlaw face—”

  “Genevieve,” he said warningly.

  Virtuously, she quit talking. Then, unable to help herself, she glanced sideways at him, delighted when she saw the slight edge of embarrassment he was manfully trying to hide.

  She swiveled her head toward him and widened her eyes. “Still, you do know it’s true, right? I mean, women must come on to you all the time—”

  “Genevieve.”

  She sighed and with a little pout turned back to the fire. “You know, I happen to be as fond of my name as the next person, but between you repeating it now, and all that earlier roaring and bellowing, I think you’ve about worn it out—”

  She glanced sideways to see how she was doing and found herself squarely in the crosshairs of his visual sights. Only now there was a glint in his slightly narrowed eyes that warned he was on to her.

  Deciding she’d pushed her luck as far as it would go, she raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What gave me away?”

  He raised an eyebrow of his own. “Outlaw face? Give me a break.”

  She gave an unapologetic shrug. “Hey, it sounded good when I read it in a book. And you have to admit, it did take you a while to catch on.” She gave in to the impish grin she could no longer contain.

  For the longest moment his reproachful expression didn’t change. Then without warning, he caved. With a faint shake of his head, he finally let his mouth curve in a crookedly charming smile.

  It was the best gift he could have given her. With a soft sigh of satisfaction, she shifted around and kissed him, treasuring the
unfamiliar upturned tilt of his lips.

  Once again she felt passion flare between them, a banked fire that seemed to grow stronger with every hour they spent together. Yet rather than give in to it, this time when they finally stopped to take in air, she gathered her crumbling willpower and, after pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, forced herself to sit upright and move a few inches away.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly, a flicker of disquiet in the green eyes meeting hers.

  She reached out and brushed a tendril of his thick, straight hair off his forehead. “Of course. But there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  He looked the slightest bit wary for an instant, then his expression smoothed out. “All right.”

  She considered how best to start, and then realized that like most things, just being forthright was the way to go. “I want to tell you why I think Seth is innocent. And I want you to listen.”

  “Genevieve—”

  “I know.” She raised her hand in a plea for patience. “All the evidence points to him. And you think I’m acting out of blind devotion.”

  “You’re right. I do. Hell, having brothers of my own, I even admire your loyalty. But at some point you’ve got to face reality—”

  “Please, John. Just hear me out.”

  His lips thinned momentarily, but then he relented. “Okay.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I do love Seth. I also think I know him better than anyone else since I helped raise him. I know—I know—he’s not capable of what he’s accused of. He might be able to kill in self-defense, or to protect me or someone else he loved, but for money? Never.

  “However—” she sent him a quelling look when it looked as if he were going to interrupt “—that’s not the only reason I know he’s innocent. There’s also the fact that, despite what everyone thinks, he didn’t have a motive.”

  She stopped to take a breath, and to his credit, Taggart simply waited for her to continue.