Page 40 of The Scot Beds His Wife
She gestured with her chin behind him, and tried not to notice the coil and sinew of his muscular neck as he glanced over his shoulder to validate her claim.
The tall, emaciated silver hound lay crumpled on his side, bleeding from two wounds. Her first shot had broadsided him. The second one caught him behind the ears. The poor thing’s death had been a mercy.
“I’d be obliged if you’d return my pistol, or is that somethingelseyou plan to steal from me?”
Her insult washed every last vestige of a smile from his sensual, kiss-warmed lips.
He dropped her arms and stepped back, as though he suspected she might draw her own weapon from where he’d stashed it in his waistband. “I might just hold on to it a while, until I know ye’re sane enough to be armed.”
“The hell you mean by that?” she demanded, her temper replacing the heat she’d lost when she’d lost his proximity.
He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her wide-legged stance. It was impossible not to notice the bronze flesh molded to perfection beneath the cling of his soaked shirt. Nor the way it dipped and settled into the grooves created by the muscles in his arms. So, Samantha did what she always did when trying to ignore his damnable attractiveness.
She stared him right in the eyes.
Eyes darker than the most ancient evergreen tree, ringed with traces of amber—
Goddammit.
“Ye’ll have to admit, bonny, that itdoesseem ye’re mighty eager to use yer wee gun when in my company.”
“Thatcan’tbe a new phenomenon.”
“And to be fair, this is the second time ye’ve shot in my general direction.”
“I already told you.” She locked her fingers around her biceps to keep from gesturing wildly. “If I was aiming at you, you’d be full of holes.”
“It seems ye’ve something against dogs,” he continued casually. “And everyone knows that only the troubled are cruel to animals.”
“Look at it.” She stabbed a finger at the poor animal. “It’s emaciated, foaming at the mouth, and its hair is falling out. I justsavedone of my herd.”
“Which ye should have let me put down in the first place, as it has been suffering all this time.”
“You mean all this time you’ve been molesting me against a tree?”
His jaw locked into a stubborn position, advertising his culpability.
The extent of hiswrongnessstole her capacity for speech for a full minute. “Oh, I get it. This is all because I’m awoman.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“Do you mean to tell me that if you were out here with Callum, and he’d put down a rabid animal, you’d treat him with this same ridiculous condescension? Relieve him of his weapon? Talk down to him like he was nothing more than bog mud beneath your boot whenyou’rethe one who’s so mistaken it’s almost laughable?”
His jaw now worked to the side in a gesture of unmitigated masculine gall, but after a bracing breath, he pulledher gun from where he’d stashed it in his waistband, and offered it to her.
“Pardon my reaction, lass. It isna every day a man’s kiss is interrupted by gunshots.”
Samantha took the weapon, checked it, and returned it to its holster before replying, “Had my aim not been obstructed by your… ironhanded, oafish ass grinding me into that tree, then I’d have only found it necessary to shoot once.”
Ignoring her remark, he stepped over to the animal, inspecting it with a solemn nod. “I’ll admit, ye’re better than a fair shot, bonny.”
Frowning, she eyed him warily, half wishing she was still ignorant as to the meaning of the word.
“Yeah… well… thanks.” If she hadn’t despised him, she’d have been flattered.
But she did. So she wasn’t.
“Now, let’s discuss what ye meant by laughably mistaken.” He arched a dubious brow at her.
