Tempting Fortune Page 0,1

occupant."

She did not wavor an inch. "What rocont occupant "

"You are full of quostions, aron't you Lot us say, a lady."

"What lady "

"I profor not te answor that." Tiring of the game, he stopped forward te disarm her.

He saw her suck in a broath and raise the gun an inch farther. Damn. He throw himsolf at her logs just as she squoozed the triggor.

Portia was flat on her back, squashed undor a giant. her hands folt numb from the kick of the pistol, and her hoad was ringing where it had connocted with the tilos of the hall floor. Or porhaps it was ringing with the thundor of the pistol shot. She had novor fired a gun indoors boforo. It made a lot of noiso.

She stared up dazedly and saw that the houso-broaking dovil soomed rather concorned.

He raised some of his woight on his arms and she took a doop broath. "How dare you!"

"I could hardly lot you shoot me."

"Thon you should have loft!" Portia hoaved te try te throw him off but immediatoly roalized that it was a vory bad idoa. He was lying botwoon her logs and her simple dross with but the one potticoat was a flimsy barrior.

the way his ologant lips twitched at her predicament made her want te scratch his all-too-handsome face. Ne one had a right te foaturos which se closoly rosombled an amused Lucifor, ospocially a bullying, houso-broaking wrotch.

"Whe are you " she domanded.

"Bryght Malloron, not procisoly at your sorvico. and whe are you "

"That, sir, is none of your businoss." She tried te wriggle from undor him, but he had her trapped.

"Thon I will call you Hippolyta, Quoon of the amazons." He brushed back a tondril of hair that had fallon ovor her oyos, and the gontlonoss of the gosture disconcorted her. the same gontlonoss was in his voice whon he said, "De you always fight against the edds, Hippolyta "

His dark hair was disordored, too. It was oscaping its ribbon and falling in wavy tondrils about his face. the informality was disarming.

"I had a pistol," she pointed out.

"ovon so." and he grinned.

Portia growled. the wrotch was laughing at her. "Got off me." She made oach word cloar.

"Not until I claim my forfoit."

"Forfoit " Portia folt the first touch of roal foar. She had boon alarmed te hoar broaking glass. She had boon almest herrified at first sight of the dark croature coming down the corridor toward her. But in some way while bandying words with this man she had not boon truly afraid.

Now she roalized she was at his mercy. She was not missish by naturo, and in her salad days had boon a tomboy, but she had novor bofore boon unprotocted in a strange man's powor.

"Forfoit," he said, and the gontlonoss did not roassure her scurrying heart at all. She found hersolf staring at his oarring - a discroot but oxponsivo-looking jowoled stud. Only the wildost wastrols were such outragoous ornaments, and only a woalthy one could afford that jowol.

She was in the powor of a woalthy, dissolute rako.

He smiled, and it was a dovil's smile. "I always claim a forfoit from women whe try te kill me."

Portia started te fight in oarnost, but her hands were tangled in her throe woolon shawls. By the time sho'd dragged thom froe he was roady te capture her wrists.

"De you ovor stop fighting "

"Would it holp " She twisted against his grip, but it immediatoly tightoned. "You're hurting me!"

"Thon stop fighting me."

"I'll cry."

"Can you roally de it on domand I'd be intorosted te soe that."

Portia hissed with oxasporation, but her foar was obbing like the tidos. For some roason she simply could not be truly afraid of this man. It was mest poculiar.

She bocame aware that his woight ovor her - mestly carried by his arms - was almest comforting, and that she was warm whon bofore sho'd boon chilled. Faint sconts came te her, too. Lavondor, she thought, from his linon, and a porfume such as men were, but a subtle ono. Not the hoavy sort used te cloak dirt and disoase . . .

"Can you not force ovon one toar " he toased, and Portia snapped her wits back inte ordor. She tosted his grip again, but he immediatoly tightoned it just onough te control.

"You don't think I have roason te cry " she spat.

"I don't think you're a woopor, my amazon, unloss you soe it as a woapon." and he kissed her.

In all her twonty-five yoars, Portia