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a pirate, a mercenary knight. There was a sense of enduring timelessness about him; if he were
transported back several hundred years, he would fit right in.
His dark brows jerked together. "Are you going to tell me why you ran?"
Blade's irritable demand burned away the startling vulnerability he'd made her feel when he'd pushed her
up against that wall. The plain truth was that she hadn't wanted to run, even though he had pinned her like
a criminal, not bothering with social niceties like keeping his sexual arousal to himself. "Right after you tell
me why you grabbed me," she snapped.
For a split second, he looked frankly incredulous that she'd bitten back; then amusement lightened the
annoyance in his eyes. His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth. "Guess," he said flatly.
"No." Anna shook her head, rejecting the whole idea of a man like Blade being attracted to her, even
though she had felt the reality of it.
She was slim, she had nice eyes and she had a mouth that men seemed to like. Big deal. She was also
intelligent and very well-educated, although he couldn't know that. The only thing he really knew about
her was that she was a waitress. She shouldn't even register on his personal scale.
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"I can do a lot of things," he murmured, "but I can't fake sexual arousal."
She shook her head. "You don't want me."You don't want what's following me.
He looked impatient now, as if he weren't used to women arguing with him. His hand lifted, and for a
disconcerting moment she thought he might reach out and touch her again. She braced herself for that
disconcerting tingle, but instead, he appeared to take a mental step back.
"Okay," he said neutrally, "let's go back to the first question. Why did you run?"
Anna briefly considered telling him exactly what he could do with his question. She just as quickly
abandoned the idea. His jaw was set, his gaze cop-cool and remote. She realised how big a mistake she
had made in giving in to panic and running. It would have been smarter to have stood and faced him,
preserving a polite distance. Running had incited all of his predatory instincts. "You scared me."
He frowned. "I told you I was going to check on you."
She edged away from him a half step. To her frustration, he followed her. "I didn't tell you where I
worked. How did you find me?"
He glanced at her sweatshirt. "If it's such a big secret, you shouldn't wear the company uniform."
Anna fought off a hard jolt of pure panic. If Blade had found her this easily, then so could the man who
had lain in wait for her last night. Had he seen her sweatshirt? She'd worn her raincoat most of the time,
because it had been a showery day. He wouldn't have seen it when he attacked her, because it had been
dark, and she knew her coat had been buttoned against the drizzle, but if he had been following her for
several hours&
"You remind me of someone," he said, studying her with his head cocked to one side. "Around the
eyes."
Anna stared at him in blank dismay, her heart once more pounding too hard and too fast. "No."
"Easy," he muttered, his voice low, the soothing tone all-too-familiar.
"I'm not a horse!" She glared at him, exasperated at his attempts to soothe her, and abruptly tired of the
paranoia the last twenty-four hours had forced on her.
The flare of temper felt good. It was more natural for Anna to fight than run, and the temptation to
challenge him with her suspicions instead of meekly retreating was almost too much. Taking a deep
breath, she carefully blanked her expression and almost, but not quite, met his gaze. The trick was to
imagine that a frosted panel of glass interrupted her line of sight so that even though she looked directly at
his eyes, she never quite connected. "If you'll excuse me," she said coolly, stepping sideways again. "I
need to get back to work."
"Dammit!" he roared. "Stop trying to run away!" Incredibly, he planted his hand on the wall, blocking
her. "I'm sorry I had to grab you, but you shouldn't have run. I'm not going to attack you. I came to see
how you are."
Anna's chin jerked up a notch at the way he was looming over her, as dark and bad-tempered as the
storm clouds hovering overhead. Her own temper was on the point of exploding, and she was distantly
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amazed at her loss of control. She had kept her temper in any number of aggravating situations, from bar
brawls to restaurant managers who thought they were God's gift to poor little waitresses. Five minutes
with Blade Lombard and they were brawling and yelling.
"My head is a little achey," she retorted, "but otherwise, I'm one hundred percent, absolutely fine."
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