“Did you just spank me?” Her voice was ripe with indignation.

“I will again if you keep making that racket.” Valentine grinned, driven by a new burst of energy, brought on by the spitfire he held over his shoulder. “And that wasn’t a spank, it was a tap. Trust me, you’ll know the feel of my hand over this luscious, bared arse of yours.”

She went quiet suddenly, and his grin widened when a sound like barely shuttered rage tore past her lips. “You are vile. How dare you? Put me down this instant.”

“Stop bloody squirming.” He punctuated his words with pats of his palm. “Or I’ll drop you and leave you behind for those men to find. With your injury, how long do you think it will take them to catch up?”

“I’ll hide again,” she said in defiance.

Not wanting to squabble with her or deal with her struggles, he stopped, nearly losing his hold over her thighs in the process. “If that’s what you truly want, Lady Bronwyn, I will do it. Tell me, but we don’t have much time.”

She didn’t have much of a choice, and as stubborn as she seemed to be, Valentine was hoping that she would not substitute common sense for pride. “Run, damn you, Thornbury!” she spat.

It was just as well because more shouts reached them, but before he’d taken more than a dozen steps, more shouts reached him from the other end of the street. He sat Bronwyn on a crate that was half-hidden by a short wall. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

She pulled on his sleeve, halting him. “Valentine.” He turned, one brow lifting at the troubled expression on her face that was quickly hidden. “Don’t die.”

“Worried about me, imp?”

“Just worried about losing my very capable beast of burden.”

His grin was wicked when he grasped her chin in his hand and crashed his lips to hers. “You can ride me anyway you want, my lady.”

***

Bemused and thoroughly scandalized, Bronwyn touched a finger to her tingling lips.

It’d barely been a kiss, more of a violent meeting of open mouths with a single wicked swipe of a sleek, hot tongue over her lower lip, but it had rocked her to her toes. One because it was Thornbury, the man whose two favorite emotions were grim and grimmer.

And two because now she wanted much more than that small taste.

It didn’t matter that they were in a race for their lives or what was at stake. All she could think of was the firm press of his lips, the delicious scrape of his stubble on her chin, and that dark, sinful flavor that was all his. And his parting remark…what did that mean? It was some sexual innuendo, it had to be. Cheeks going hot, her core fluttered at the lewd images that flooded her brain.