This week, a few lines from Mystic Mountains by Tricia McGill
"So, you're filling out a bit, I see." He
tightened his grip just below her breasts. "A full belly
hasn't improved your temper though. Now, be still, little
bundle. I'm your master an' I have the right to do as I like
with you."
"Do
as you like?" Isabella squirmed away from him. With
violently shaking hands she straightened her skirt. Her
cheeks flamed when she looked up to see he watched her every
movement closely, as if it was his right. The twinkle in his
eyes made her temper rise. "I'll kill myself if you take
what you see as your rights. Anyway, what would you want
with the likes of me when you have so many other women
chasing after you?"
"Oho, so you've heard the tales of my exploits
with the fair sex, have you? I feel I must set you straight
on that account. There aren't that many. But you're right on
one thing. I wouldn't fancy you in a fit. I prefer my women
to be amenable." He placed his hands on his hips, returning
her stare with the arrogance that set her teeth on edge.
"Then
I'm saved from a fate worse than death, for amenable I'll
never be." Isabella stepped out of his reach. But to her
horror he made a grab for her, grasping her hand. She tugged
but he refused to release it.
"Now then, which fruit did you want?" he asked,
his tone now quite pleasant. "Perhaps I can reach it without
resorting to climbing the tree."
Isabella stared at him, then pointed to
a bunch within easy reach for him. "That one, and those
there." She breathed a small sigh of relief when he finally
let her go then reached up to pluck them.
"Hold
out your apron," he ordered, dropping the apples in. "There,
will that satisfy Thelma?"
Pulling free the cloth tied round his neck, he
used it to wipe his brow. As he retied it he watched her
like a cat stares at a cornered mouse.
"I
... I think so." Isabella gathered her apron to her chest
and turned to flee, but he caught her by the arm again.
"Bella.
Satisfy my curiosity, will you?"
His
soft tone made her suspicious. She watched him cautiously.
"How?"
"Are
you happy here in my household?" he asked softly, those
strange eyes of his searching hers.
"As
happy as any woman can be working for an Englishman." That
was a dreadful lie, for she'd seldom been happier.
"You're
not yet a woman, Bella. You have a lot to learn about how
real women behave."
She disagreed, but wasn't about to go into that
argument now.
Mystic Mountains is available here:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EFE5UL6