Just a Kiss Away Read Online Free PDF Page B

bloodshot eye glared back. He never once broke stride.
    She shut her eyes tightly. She didn’t want to be his next victim.
    At that thought cold fear crept over her. She felt a scream building, slowly at first. Whenever she was truly frightened, whenever she had no control of over what was happening, she screamed. She’d screamed in the well, and she’d lived to tell about it. She hadn’t screamed with him before because he had held a knife at her throat and warned her not to. It hadn’t been easy, as scared as she was, but the thought of him slicing through her screaming throat had been enough to keep her quiet. She didn’t want her last sound on this earth to be a gurgle.
    She made up for it now and screamed for all she was worth.
    He swore, then hiked her up higher on his hip, grunted, and clamped his hand over her mouth. Not once did he stop jogging along.
    She kept screaming, hoping someone would hear her calls for help, but even to her own ears the sound was muffled behind his sweaty hand. He whipped around a series of dark, musty corners, and finally he stopped.
    “Looks like it’s safe now,” he informed her, hardly winded. “You need to learn when to shut up. They could have followed the trail of your mouth.” With that, he flung her upright and set her on the ground with all the finesse of a pile driver. Her wobbly legs buckled, and she raised a gloved hand to her eyes to try to block out the bright flashing spots. She couldn’t have screamed now for anything. She was too swimmy-headed.
    “Don’t faint there, sister. I’ve lugged you around enough already, and my arm’s getting tired.” With that mannerless pronouncement, he grabbed the back of her neck and rammed her head down to her knees. Her corset stays almost cut her in half.
    “Breathe!” he ordered, keeping her head jammed down. The stays were like a vise. She gasped to get air.
    “Good,” he said, adding as he released her head. “I guess you can obey orders.”
    In the slowest, most ladylike way possible, she straightened and stared at her killer. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. His hair hung to his shoulders and was thick and straight and as black as his sinister eye patch. Despite all his cuts and bruises, he had the devil’s face, with sharp angles and chiseled ridges, and he was in desperate need of a shave.
    His muscular tanned neck showed from the open collar of a dirty and torn khaki shirt that was so damp it stuck to his massive body, which was, in size, the very spit of a strongman she’d once seen on a P. T. Barnum poster. The width of his shoulders and the sheer breadth of his chest were enough to dwarf her. Halfway down that Herculean chest several buttons were missing from his shirt, showing a slick, steel-rippled plane of stomach muscles. From his wide brown leather belt hung three knotted loops that held a variety of evil-looking knives, including the one he’d pressed to her throat. Her gaze trailed slowly down to the tip of longest blade. Just below it a faded yellow bandanna stained dark with blood twisted around his upper calf.
    “Pass muster?” he said in a tone that scraped right down her spine. His voice was American—common Yankee, to be exact.
    “Pardon me?” She looked up.
    He wore a nasty white grin that was pure Yankee arrogance.
    “Never mind. Let’s get out of here before they pick up our trail again.” His hand gripped her wrist and jerked her along behind him as he rushed down the dark alley.
    She tried to pull her hand out of his grip, but he held fast. He overpowered her by sheer strength, so she had no choice but to stumble along behind him. Her mouth, however, was not so passive.
    “Why are you doing this?” she called out to his back.
    “Because those men would have hurt you.” He jerked her around another series of corners.
    “You threatened to cut my throat,” she reminded him.
    “Yeah, but I was just trying to save my skin.”
    Before she could