The Mercenary Read Free Page A

didn’t matter whether she liked him or not. Whether he scared her or not. She was here for one thing,
    and one thing only. “I need your help.”
    “Why should I help you?” He asked over his shoulder as he strolled to the built-in bar across the room
    and poured himself a drink. “I don’t know you.”
    “May I have a drink, too, please?”
    His shoulders tightened before he said in an amused voice, “Sure. You’ve already slept on my couch.
    What’ll it be?”
    She supposed that he had every right to his irritation. “Whatever you’re having, I don’t want to be a
    bother, really.” She walked over to the French doors and rested her hand on the icy pane.
    It had started snowing. The snow looked pretty illuminated by the lights from inside the house, soft,
    white. But snow was another unknown. She shivered. Already unnerved by too many weeks of the scary
    and the unfamiliar, Tory gritted her teeth and turned back into the room.
    It was warmed by the blazing fire in the hearth, which caused reflections of dancing amber light from the
    highly polished dark-wood floor and the smooth surfaces of the two black leather sofas that flanked it.
    Wall-to-wall mahogany bookcases rose to twelve-foot ceilings. Victoria moved from the door to trail
    one hand across the tempting bookbindings before casting an anxious glance at the man across the room.
    Having counted all the books on the left-hand wall after she’d arrived hours ago, she was about to start
    on the right when he came up behind her. She almost jumped out of her skin as he handed her a glass.
    The touch of his warm fingers across hers made her breath catch.
    Too close, was her panicked reaction to his nearness. Much too close. She sidestepped, almost falling
    over her own feet in her haste to put a decent amount of space between them. She could feel the heat of
    his large body coming off him in waves. The smell of him, male and far too sexy, made her suck in a
    breath of surprise.
    He scowled. “You okay?”
    Tory’s sheltered life hadn’t in any way prepared her for him. It hadn’t prepared her for anything else
    she’d experienced in the past few weeks, either. As Grammy used to say, What didn’t kill you would
    make you stronger. She hoped.
    Nodding, she realized he was waiting for a verbal response and choked out, “I’m perfectly fine, thank
    you.” Oh, Lord. She sounded just like her grandmother.
    He gave her an undecipherable glance, and she stayed where she was even though every intelligent cell
    in her brain was telling her to run. Fast and far away from Marc Savin. The safest tactic was to find a
    fault, an Achilles’ heel to focus on that might make him less intimidating. Her gaze hunted for just such a
    flaw.
    What man wore a stupid ponytail? If his hair had been loose, it would probably touch his broad
    shoulders. At least it was clean. And shiny. And silky looking. Her plan wasn’t working too well. Oh,
    good Lord. Get a grip.
    His snug jeans outlined the bulge…Oh my God, Victoria Francis! Stop looking at his…
    at his—She took
    a long drink. The liquid was room temperature and wet and for an instant felt very soothing as it slid
    down her throat—until it burned her esophagus like fire.
    His expression was impassive as she gasped for breath and the whiskey fumes made her eyes water and
    her throat close up. It took every ounce of her control not to cough.
    She shot a poisonous glare at his back as he sauntered across the room.
    “Next time,” he told her unsympathetically, “ask for water.” Jesus, she was a throwback. An anomaly.
    One small shy, question mark. The clothes. The hair. The skittish demeanor. None of which added up in
    this day and age; it made her almost intriguing. There was something vaguely familiar about her.
    Especially around the eyes, but he knew he’d never met her before.Her he would have remembered.
    While there was less ranch work in winter, he’d still put in a long day. Tired and hungry, Marc