Page 5 of The Blood of a Baron

“I’ll not let you see it—see him—Laney.” The roar of his voice hit her before she could find stability and look to him. Wes. Weston Jacobson, Lord Platford.

No. Not Lord Platford. Not for a very long time.

Her lip curled in a screech, her words flying as she spun to him. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Wes?”

Her feet solid under her, she found him, her first true look at him since she recognized who was coming up the drive. Standing at the side of the wagon, his chest lifted with a heaved breath.

He was bigger, if it was even possible.

Wider and not with fat. Shoulders that could plow a field. Arms under his smartly cut coat that could lift boulders. A crook interrupted his straight nose—that was new.

Her look locked onto his glare. Onto those dark hazel eyes—darker than they once were—that sliced her in two, quite clearly already plotting her demise.

His arms crossed against his chest. “So you did see me.”

Her left hand flew up in the air. “Of course I saw you—how could anyone ever miss an ogre like you? And what do you think you’re doing—manhandling me as you just did? You have no blasted right to me or to setting your meaty paws upon my body.”

His head shook, the barbs not setting the slightest dent in the rock-hard set of his jaw. “You’re not looking at him, Laney.”

With a snort of breath she charged to the back of the wagon. “He’s my brother, Wes, and I don’t care what he looks like—I have to see him. I have to or I’ll never believe it. Not for real.”

She flipped her foot onto the back of the wagon and hauled herself up again.

“Laney.”

Standing tall on the bed of the wagon, her look whipped down to him, the edges of her mouth turning into a snarl. “You haven’t cared for me in years—no, strike that—you never cared for me so don’t you dare start to pretend at this juncture.”

She moved along the side of the coffin again, her fingers reaching for the lid.

Wes thrust his steel arm in and over the side of the wagon, wrapping it around her waist and wrenching her from the side of the casket once more.

Her fingernails went to his arm, scratching the back of his hand, trying to wedge herself free. “Put me down, you bloody oaf.”

He set her down gently this time, her boots crunching solidly into the gravel. His arm stayed in place around her waist, the back of her body tight to the length of him. Tight to the body of the man that curdled her tongue.

Her lips pulled back, words seething. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“No?” She twisted in his arm with a screech, clawing at him, trying to get an angle to look at his face.

He yanked her hard into his body, the soft of her hitting the iron mass of him and taking the breath out of her.

His mouth dropped to her ear, his voice a rumble of thunder and lightning and destruction. “You’re not going to see him. I’m not letting you go until you agree to that fact.”

“You bloody beast—he’s my brother and I need to see him.”

“No, you don’t.” His lips lifted away from her ear, but the clamp across her waist was stronger than ever. “And I can—will—hold you here all day if that’s what it takes.”

“Of all the odious, tyrannical edicts, this is far above them all.”

He didn’t budge.

A growl of frustration left Laney’s lips. “Fine.”

His fingers slowly peeled away from her side and he released her.

The second she was free of his arm, she darted toward the back of the wagon. He could hold her all day. It wouldn’t stop her from trying to get to the casket all day.

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