The Brooding Stranger. Maggie Cox

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       To the wonderful Conar and Sandy, and the equally wonderful Luke and Mia, with my everlasting love.

      CHAPTER ONE

      TO KAREN, the thumping tread thundering in her direction sounded like a herd of wildebeest on the rampage, and for a few vivid seconds she imagined she had somehow stumbled into some other dimension. Lord knew it couldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility in these deep, labyrinthine scented woods she’d recently taken to wandering in. A lively imagination was bound to go haywire. And right now Karen’s imagination was doing just that. She regretted taking the sleeping pills she’d swallowed last night to help her drop off—especially when her head felt as though every percussion instrument in the world was being played inside it. Her wits needed to be razor-sharp—not dulled by medication of any kind.

      As the thumping tread drew nearer, she glanced through the tangle of trees and foliage, fear coating her mouth as surely as if her dentist had numbed her in preparation for a filling. She couldn’t run. The bones in her legs had turned to water and it was impossible to think straight. Her gaze swept down desperately to the sensible walking boots she wore that were liberally caked in mud. She told herself she could sprint if she had to—but from what? She had yet to find out. Oh, Lord! Don’t let me faint … anything but that. Please don’t let me lose consciousness. Her desperate silent plea was bordering on a mantra as she waited for whatever was coming towards her, ice-cold terror jack-knifing through her heart.

      Seconds later, a fawn-coloured monster hurtled out of the trees into the clearing where Karen had turned to stone—heading with a great lolloping gait towards her. A strangled gasp left her lips as she came face to face with the unseen terror that had halted her morning walk with such spine-tingling fear, her heartbeat mimicking an increasingly loud drumroll in her ears. He was a beast and no mistake! What idiot would let such a creature loose? Left alone to roam and terrify and possibly attack at will? At the thought of the latter possibility, she made her gaze home in anxiously on the huge fawn head and wide mouth, saw the creature’s long tongue, lolling and wet as he panted heavily, and felt physically sick.

      A commanding shout rang out that took them both by surprise. The beast pricked up his ears as though he were a transmitter receiving a signal, and came to an abrupt stop only bare inches from her, his ears cocked, his intimidating energy streaking between them like lightning.

      ‘Oh, God!’ Karen covered her mouth with her hands and cursed the foolish tears that hazed her wide blue eyes. It was going to be all right, she told herself. The creature had an owner. Irresponsible clod he must be, but he hadn’t let the beast out on its own. Thank God for small mercies.

      When he appeared from out of the trees, the man appeared as shocked to see her as Karen had been at the sight of his animal—shocked but apparently unrepentant … That much was evident even in the space of just a few seconds. Pausing briefly to assess the situation, he immediately gave her the impression that he was the one who held the upper hand, and something told Karen that apologies or concern for another didn’t come easily to him. Remorse was probably just as alien. There was something innately proud and overbearing in his lean rugged stance that immediately raised her hackles and put her senses on high alert.

      Tall and unquestioningly commanding, with black hair that edged untamed and untrimmed onto his shoulders in arrogant defiance of trend or convention, he had a hard, unforgiving face that even at a distance looked forbiddingly incapable of any notion of kindness whatsoever. Perhaps it would have been better if she had fainted, Karen thought wildly. Here she was, at not much past seven o’clock in the morning—despite her sleeping pills—alone in the woods with an intimidating dog and his equally intimidating owner. If only she had listened to the instincts of her tired, aching body and succumbed to an extra hour or so in bed. But, no … As usual she’d had to push herself to the limit. Past events might have taken their toll, but no one would accuse her of being lazy or idle. Maybe she’d have cause to revise that opinion later, she fretted now, her gaze fixed on the dominating individual striding towards her. She’d have to wait and see.

      As he walked there was a kind of reined-in anger in his tread, and his boots were crunching through the carpet of twigs and mulch as if tolling a death knell on Karen’s peace of mind. When he came to a stop just behind the animal, he reached out and roughly stroked the oversized head.

      ‘Good boy.’ He stopped petting the dog, then pushed his hand deep into the pocket of the battered leather jacket he wore, which might have been a high fashion item for the mouth-watering effect it had on that hard rangy body. Nonetheless, Karen all but shook with the effort of trying to contain her rage.

      ‘Good boy?’ she echoed in a disbelieving rasp, ‘Your damn dog—if that’s what he is, and I have my doubts—scared the living daylights out of me! What do you think you’re doing, letting him run loose like that?’

      ‘This is a free country. You can walk for miles in these woods without meeting a soul. Besides, Chase wouldn’t hurt you … not unless I told him to.’

      A glint crept into eyes that were the winter-grey of an icy lake. Strangely light. Teamed with that rich, cultured voice, they were potent enough to cause a ripple of unease in anyone.

      ‘Chase? That’s his name? How apt. What is he, exactly?’ Karen plumped for bravado to waylay the pulsing thud of fear that was rolling through her in increasingly disturbing waves.

      ‘Great Dane.’ He spat the words out as if only a fool would have to ask him that.

      ‘Well, he still shouldn’t be off the lead.’ Ignoring his obvious contempt, she folded her arms defensively across her thick navy fleece, silently cursing his innately masculine ability to intimidate and belittle—and amazed by her temerity in pursuing a conversation with such a man for even a second longer than necessary. His accent was rather more clipped than the softer lilt she had became used to from the locals.

      Just