Bounty Hunter by Donna Kauffman Page B

ears. Louder, she said, “It’s more complicated … I
     mean, I just can’t go back right now.”
    Kane crouched down next to her raised knees. Setting the bottle on the ground, he
     balanced one hand on his thigh and let the other one drop gently on her shoulder.
     He pressed his fingers lightly, urging her to look at him.
    After what seemed like ages, she did. He’d expected the sorrow and uncertainty he
     found in her soft brown eyes. But what curled his free hand into a tight fist against
     his thigh was the unmistakable trace of fear he saw as well.
    “Did he hurt you, Annie? Did you come all the way out here because you’re afraid of
     him? Of what he might do?”
    Even the late hour couldn’t cast a shadow dark enough to mask the flash of pure terror
     in her eyes before she looked away.
    He tightened his hold on her shoulder, using what was left of his restraint to keep
     from yanking her to her feet and doing whatever he felt necessary to get the whole
     story from her. “Annie,” he demanded softly. When she didn’t respond, he pulled her
     until she sat sideways on the steps, her tightly pressed knees tucked between his
     thighs. She kept her gaze cast downward. “You can’t stay here alone.”
    “I’m not alone,” she whispered. Then, even softer, she added, “You’re here.”
    His fingers trembled. “Look at me, Annie. Look at me.”
    Slowly, she raised her eyes to him, and he could see what she’d been trying to hide.
     The moon highlighted their glassy surface, but her cheeks were dry.
    “Did he hurt you? I know it’s hard, but you have to tell me if I’m going to help you.”
    His fingertips registered the gentle tremors that raced through her. He ached to pull
     her into his arms. He wanted to hold her, heal her. He also wanted to kiss her, to
     taste her again and again, to make love to her. And that was absolutely the last thing
     she needed from him.
    Her gaze locked on his, and his chest tightened. “I wish you could help me, Hawk.
     You can’t know how much.”
    “Hawk?” he echoed automatically.
    A shaky smile curved her lips. “I don’t know where that came from. Your Indian name,
     I guess. It … it suits you.”
    He fought his immediate physical response, telling himself it was only a nickname.
    “Call me whatever you want,” he said, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter. “But
     I can’t do anything until you tell me why you ran.” He refused to let her back away
     from the truth.
    She broke eye contact again and stared downward as she twisted her fingers together.
     So much tension in such a slender frame.
    “Aw hell,” he muttered. Giving in to his need to ease her silent torment, he slid
     onto the step aboveher and gently turned her so she sat between his thighs with her back to him. He’d
     expected a fight and didn’t quite know what to make of her acquiescence. Not one to
     dwell on infrequent favors, small or otherwise, he began gently kneading the soft
     curves at the base of her neck.
    She didn’t make a single noise, but after several minutes, she did let her head fall
     slightly forward.
    Kane stifled a groan as the moon lit the fine ridge of her spine that peeked out from
     the top of her loose collar. Acting on instinct, he pressed his thumbs to the center
     of her back and ran them slowly downward. It was as if he’d unzipped her. Her body
     sagged, then shivered as he retraced the motion upward. He followed the same motion
     again, this time wringing a sigh from her as his hands stopped to rest on her shoulders.
     He forced his fingers to lay gently and not to pull her backward—against his hard,
     fully aroused, body.
    Instead he let his hands drop, his arms resting on his thighs, his chin just above
     her head. The scent of her hair, the scent of
her
, kept him aroused, but he used the discomfort to remind him of his offer to help.
    “Why did you run?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper.
    After a long moment in which he felt her