The broken rogue - healed by innocence

Her secret revealed

*River*

Dawn begins to emerge as I bring my horse to a halt in a small clearing, hidden by an abundance of trees, far from the main road.

The she-wolf sitting before me has stopped struggling, but small tremors continue to cascade through her slender body. Slender, but ah, the soft, rounded curves. Enticing, just the way I enjoy them. Calling for a man's hands to cradle them, knead them...

Swearing harshly beneath my breath, I throw my long leg back and dismount. The last thing I need right now is a she-wolf and all the trouble that would bring.

It's not in my nature to panic. What in the hell was I thinking to haul her away with me? What does it matter that she's seen my face? I know sooner or later my identity will be revealed. I can't keep it hidden forever, no matter how diligently I avoid those who might recognize me.

As it is, I've had five years in the grave. But I have plans for my resurrection that do not include some she-wolf describing me accurately to the Texas Rangers werewolf division.

Damn it! My repeated successes have led me to believe I don't need to wear a mask for a night job. Arrogant. Incredibly arrogant. I've paid the price for it tonight.

I glance at my brothers, who remain mounted. "What are you staring at? Prepare a meal. It will be our last before we ride like the wind. Tomás, see to the horses."

I reach up and wrap my hands around the she-wolf's waist. Such a tiny waist. She stiffens. "I am not going to hurt you, señorita. I swear to the Goddess on my mother's grave."

Gently, I bring her to the ground, her body scant inches from mine, her chest heaving with each breath she takes… coming incredibly close to skimming across mine. She stares up at me with the greenest eyes I've ever seen. Beautiful eyes. Innocent eyes. "I am sorry, señorita. I made a mistake, but I promise I will find a way to fix it."

Carefully, I pull my red bandanna from her mouth.

"You damn well better, you worthless son of a b***h," she snaps.

I quirk a brow in surprise. Maybe not so innocent after all. Fire sparks within those emerald eyes, and I imagine them directed my way, smoldering with the flames of passion. I shake my head in an effort to clear my mind. What am I thinking?

"I'm going to untie your hands, but if you try to run, I will be forced to take drastic measures. Comprendes?"

In answer, she quickly spins around, presenting me with her back, impatiently jiggling her hands up and down as much as she's able in what I know is an uncomfortable position.

I unwind Joaquín's bandanna, freeing her from its restraint. She swings her hands forward and rubs her wrists. Guilt surges through me for the discomfort I've caused, and I touch her shoulder with the intent to offer comfort, perhaps rub her wrists myself, but she twirls around, her eyes shooting daggers that would have wounded a lesser man.

"Keep your bloody hands off me!"

As though she's slapped me, I jerk back and hold out my hands. "There is no blood on them." A thousand scrubbings have washed it away. "Why do you say they are bloody?"

She rolls her eyes as though I have no more sense than a fence post. “It’s an expression... like ‘damned.’”

“So it is profanity?” I ask.

“Yes, British in nature. My father and his friends use it constantly. Bloody. Bloody hell. Bloody damned. Bloody damned hell.” She fires each word with the precision of a well-aimed bullet.

I bear my gaze into her, a practiced look that causes most men to flinch. She simply ignores me. “Señorita, I think you use too much profanity.”

“I truly don’t think you’re the one to instruct me in the art of social graces.” She huffs.

Her words strike a nerve. What do I know about the finer aspects of life except that I long for them? “Make yourself useful. Gather up some kindling for a small fire.”

I am surprised when she slowly turns, steps forward, reaches down, and picks up a twig. I do not quite trust her acquiescence. She had been fighting like a wildcat outside the bank. I have a feeling she is gauging her surroundings, plotting her escape. I will have to watch her vigilantly, but that chore will be no hardship.

Tomás grabs the reins of my horse and leads him away. I saunter to a nearby tree. Leaning against it, I study the she-wolf. Her red hair had been caught up into a neat bun when I rammed into her in front of the bank. Now it has fallen to one side, threatening to spill free of the pins that hold it in place. I am incredibly tempted to help it along, remove the pins, and watch it cascade over her shoulders, along her back.

Bending to pick up more twigs, she unwittingly gives me the pleasure of gazing at her small, rounded backside covered by the finest of materials. Perfection.

She bolts upright and glares over her shoulder at me as though she knows exactly where I’ve been staring. Arching a brow, I flash a cocky grin. She snaps her head around and drags her feet as though she is a mutinous little girl who has just been punished. I do not think she is afraid as much as she is angry. For some strange reason, that knowledge pleases me.

Joaquín snatches his bandanna from my fingers before tilting his head toward the she-wolf. “What are you going to do with her?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“What were you thinking to drag her off?” He asks.

I sigh heavily. “For five years no one has seen my face. I wanted to protect my identity. In retrospect, a stupid move.”

“Hurry up, puta!” Thiago calls out. “We don’t have much time.”

“Thiago!” I scold harshly. “Do not call her that, hombre. It does not make you tough. It only makes you mean.”

“We are outlaws. We are supposed to be mean,” Thiago retorts like a petulant child before crouching to set the branches he’s gathered into place.

“I told you not to bring him,” Joaquín says.

I shake my head lightly, “What choice did I have? He was shadowing our trail. I would rather have him where I can see him than find out that he is in trouble and I cannot get there in time to save him.”

“You saved us once,” Joaquín says quietly. “You cannot save us always.”

“I can try. I owe it to the memory of our parents to always try.”

He lets out a soft sigh, “They would not expect you”

“I expect it of myself, Joaquín. That is the way of it.” I admit.

I return my attention to the she-wolf. She is incredibly slow at gathering kindling, shuffling her feet along the ground. I smile with the knowledge that she is attempting to stall us. She lurches forward and quickly catches her balance.

“She will slow us down,” Joaquín says.

I nod, “Si. If we have to, we will split up.”

“That is a very nice dress she is wearing,” Joaquín murmurs. “Perhaps she has a rich husband who will pay a ransom for her.”

“She has no husband,” I assure him, and she has far too much green material. The puffy sleeves had gotten in my way when I struggled to subdue her. The bodice rises to her neck, where a collar circles her throat, every button snugly secure. She only exposes the flesh of her face and hands, and yet she is a temptation I cannot explain. Perhaps because she leaves too much to a man’s imagination. Yet I have a feeling that once a man sees what is beneath all that cloth, he would work diligently to keep it uncovered. “She would have been warming his bed, not walking the streets at midnight.”

“You find her attractive?” Joaquín asks.

Incredibly so. More than her petite frame, her lush coloring, and her delicate features, I am attracted by the untamed spirit I felt in her when I first grabbed her. She is no simpering female willing to follow. She will fight tooth and nail to achieve what she wants, and right now she craves freedom. I do not trust her, but she lures me like a siren’s song. “She is not so hard on the eyes.”

“Her hair is too red for my taste,” Joaquín says.

“I like her hair. It reminds me of...” Something teases my memory, a glimpse into a past I cannot remember. Quickly unveiled only to be hidden once again.

“What? What does it remind you of?” Joaquín asks.

I shake my head. “The flames dancing in a fire.”

“Then you must be careful, brother. With her, you could get burned.”

A price I imagine any man without a bounty on his head would be more than willing to pay. I am damned near tempted myself as I watch the morning shafts of sunlight tease her hair and play over the delicate slope of her shoulders. She stumbles again.

“She is a clumsy one,” Joaquín remarks.

Narrowing my eyes, I study her more closely. She holds out one hand as though to fend off an attacker, when the only thing before her is a copse of trees. She pitches forward once more.

“Damn it!” I bark. I shove myself away from the tree, stride across the clearing, grab the she-wolf’s arm, and spin her around.

I rake my gaze over her and release a slew of expletives designed to make Satan blush before announcing with disgust at my own stupidity, “She is not clumsy. She is blind! I had no reason to take her.”