Midnight Jewels

him.
    "Damn it, Mercy!"
    For the first time that evening Mercy heard some genuine emotion in his voice. Unfortunately, that emotion was chiefly frustration and annoyance. She couldn't even take minimal satisfaction from it because his arm was suddenly in the middle of her flight path, coiling around her and whirling her gently to an abrupt halt. Mercy came up against Croft's chest with a silent thud and found her face pressed into his bare shoulder. The warm, sexy scent of him assailed her nostrils.
    "Let me go." The words were muffled against his skin.
    "Not yet, sweetheart." He started to fold her closer. "Not for a long time."
    Mercy felt his other arm around her, locking her to him. She reacted instinctively, driving her small fist into his ribs. It felt as though she had struck a solid wall, but she had the satisfaction of hearing Croft's sharp intake of bream. His grip loosened slightly and Mercy danced back out of reach. A new kind of excitement washed over her.
    He wasn't invincible.
    "So, you're not all that tough, after all, are you?" Her mood was shifting with a rapidity that left her feeling euphoric. A wave of adrenaline seemed to have unleashed itself in her bloodstream. Mercy found herself enjoying a heady sensation of power. "I warned you not to use your clever little tricks on me. I took a class in self-defense once."
    "Is that right?"
    "Damn right." She edged a few more steps away from him. The class in self-defense had been a three-hour seminar conducted by a policewoman the library had hired to instruct female employees in certain emergency measures. It had been over two years since she had had the class and Mercy was realistic enough to assume she shouldn't push her hick too far.
    "Are you sure you want to turn this into a battle, Mercy?"
    "What I'm sure of is that I want you to go back to your room and leave me in peace."
    "I can't do that."
    "Try."
    "And leave you here by yourself to think about what a charming, educated, cosmopolitan man Erasmus Gladstone is? Not a chance. I want you to think about me tonight, Mercy."
    She felt her breath catch in her throat. "Are you jealous, by any chance?"
    His eyes were fathomless. "Is that what you want? Is that why you were hanging on Gladstone's every word tonight? Did you want to see if you could whip up a little jealousy?"
    "Not much chance of that, is there?" she shot back, goaded to a rashness she knew she would probably regret. "You've got too much cold blood in your veins."
    Something flashed in his gaze, and in spite of the precarious position in which she found herself, Mercy felt a flicker of triumph. It was dangerous to prod Croft Falconer, but at times it seemed the only way to find out what lay beneath the cool, totally controlled surface of the man.
    "Maybe what I need is some of your warmth to take the chill off, Mercy."
    He flowed toward her without any warning, his hand snapping out to catch her by the nape of the neck even as she tried frantically to duck back out of the way.
    "Damn it, Croft," she hissed, "I'm not going to make this easy for you." She brought her hands up quickly in an attempt to break his hold and shoved against the wall of his chest. When nothing happened, Mercy used both hands to try to dislodge the gentle grip on her nape.
    He was drawing her inexorably toward the bed. She tried another rib punch, aware that she was severely hampered in the conflict because she didn't really want to hurt Croft. The knee-to-the-groin routine and the finger-in-the-eye bit were definitely off limits.
    She wasn't fighting for her life or her honor. She was just trying to make one very thickheaded man aware of her on a vital level. She would force him to be just as emotionally involved with her as she was with him even if it meant a knock-down, drag-out battle royale.
    Croft didn't seem to notice her side punch, but he must have felt her heel when she brought it down fiercely on his bare toes because he reacted immediately. He swore, something very short and very crude. Mercy had never heard him use the word before. He used his convenient grip on the nape of her neck to yank her off his foot and then he gave her a small shake. "You little witch. I ought to turn you over my knee." Mercy gave him a fierce, reckless smile that showed all her fine white teeth. "I think I read something about that technique in
Valley of Secret Jewels
. Does it work?" "Use your heel on my toes again and we'll find out." "Let go of me, Croft. I won't be