Shattered

Granite-like sinew and muscle secured Tasha into a corner of floor and wall, holding her immobile, covering her, shielding her from the outside world. She sucked in air and caught a whiff of pure male – a little sweat, a little outdoors, and the hint of something infinitely more tempting. Okay, maybe being crushed under this virtual mass of man wasn’t all so bad.

As if sensing her breathing distress, Bracken shoved an elbow beneath his weight and opened a small chasm between them. “Are you hit? Injured?” His hand swept behind her head, gently probing underneath the ridiculously curled and coiffed bulk of Poppy’s hair. “I shoved you into the wall pretty hard.” More space opened between them. His brow furrowed, his intense look searing the length of her. “I don’t see blood. Although under this mess, you could be hiding a mortal wound.” His hand followed the path of his glance, brushing against the mounds of bunched ruffles and further displacing her clothing.

Who would have thought through all the layers that she would feel his touch? But like some twisted static-electric charge she absorbed a shocking connection between his fingertips and her nerve endings. His caress was positively lethal to her drought-laden sex life. No man had been this close in months. There was no one to trust – not anymore. Bracken’s fingers caught high on her thigh, tangling in the lace of one her of garters. An unquenchable need, a shiver she couldn’t control crashed through her. She could drink this man right through the pores of her skin.

“Did I hurt you?” Dark and dangerously seductive, his words whispered between them.

The urge to turn into his caress, to shed the ludicrous, confining clothing layers rose inside her. He’d barely touched her and she wanted him with a distracting need. He was close, shadowing her body, heating the very air between them. His pupils widened, darkening until she could read his matching desire there. As though sensing her thoughts, he lowered his head, his mouth a masterful invasion against hers. Flames of too-long denied need licked at her. She surged closer, deepening the kiss, given into her own tinder-box response. He shifted, rolling onto his back, taking her with him, carrying her to the shelter of his embrace. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, soothing, igniting, caressing. Her world tilted as desire raced through her. His hands spanned her waist, gently clasping inch by higher inch as he worked his magic against her sides. Slowly, pressure parted and reality checked in. He was opening her damned corset. Correction – he was opening Poppy’s, his fiancée’s, corset.

Tasha lifted her head, breaking the kiss and ignoring the scream of her lustful self. Screw this! Her timing positively sucked. “I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and go completely mindless with you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her words. “Interesting choice of words.”

His hands moved again, and this time the probing of his fingers ratcheted through her rattled senses. She’d thought the man was ready for a quick roll and tickle and he’d been examining her for injuries the whole time. Well, that was a splash of cold water.

“However . . . ” she shoved away from him, kicking the fluff of her petticoats out of the way, “Some maniac is taking pot-shots at me.” She stood then swayed, not too steady on her feet.

Instantly, he was beside her, placing the bulk of his size between her and the window. “Are you faint?”

Funny, now that he mentioned it, her head did feel like it wanted to take another swim. “Headache. Pounding one now that I’m vertical.”

“Sit.” He guided her, carefully away from the window, and to a lady’s lounger. He returned to the window, the crunch of crystal beneath his feet. Appearing unconcerned for his own safety, he stood in the open exposure for a few moments then seemed to signal to someone below before pulling the heavy damask drapes. Turning he caught her stare, and what had to be an astonished look on her face. “My men are scouring the countryside as we speak. If the culprit is within any near distance, they’ll flush him. Then, I’ll deal with him. And then, somebody, by God, will tell me how he got so close in the first place.”

There was a deadly seriousness about Poppy’s fiancé. The shudder hit Tasha unexpectedly. He apparently didn’t believe in losing his meal-ticket. She licked her lips, a sudden thirst rolling through her mouth. “Why assume the shooter was a him?”

He’d crossed to the teapot and poured some of the brew. Actually, it was more like he clanked the cup against the pot then managed to slosh a little from one to the other. Pouring tea didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “I don’t know many women proficient with firearms, do you?”

In this century or the next, she wanted to ask, but the thump behind her eyes didn’t make her feel like being chatty. However, she’d seen first-hand how vicious women could be, how devious in their desire to achieve success, the perfect marriage, hell, their daughter as a cheer-leader. Yeah, she’d seen female proficiency with a gun, a knife, a meat-cleaver. Gentler sex, hell, just try pissing off the wrong gal.

Returning to her side, Bracken held the cup near her lips. An almond scent struck her nose. The implication suddenly jarred into place. No wonder her head hurt. “God, all mighty, that’s poison.”

He immediately pulled the cup back and took a sniff, then moved the cup to his lips.

“No, don’t. That’s arsenic.”

Her warning went unheeded and he took a sip. An instant and thunderous expression settled on his face as he spat out the liquid. With lightning speed, he hurled the cup into the fireplace – the tinkle of shattering glass a second explosion on her nerves in a few short minutes. Striding to the door, he flung it open and bellowed down the hallway. Yep, that was a bellow if ever Tasha had heard one. People seemed to materialize from thin air. She couldn’t help but wonder that no one had come early, not when the gun sounded, not the breaking glass. It was as though while the lord and master had control of the room, no one dared enter without his permission. And this wasn’t even his house. That kind of control was more than a bit scary.

“Bring me fresh boiled water. Hot enough that I’d better see the steam rising when it gets here, understand? Several unpeeled cloves of garlic. Find a maid, and get Lady Hatcher’s bags packed immediately,” he grated out the instructions to the gapping servants. Answering nods met his demands, as two of the lesser house maids disappeared in a flurry of skirts. A familiar face appeared in the crowded doorway. “Jacob, find that louse of a stepfather and let him know we’ll be leaving the premises immediately. His daughter and I will wed within the hour.”