To Protect a Princess. Gail Barrett
Without warning, Logan moved close and grasped her chin. Lightning flickered behind him. His dark eyes seared into hers.
And then he kissed her—a deep, rough kiss that wiped out every thought.
Just as abruptly, he stepped back, grabbed the gelding’s reins and turned into the turbulent night.
The wind whipped against her. Dara shivered, tightened her grip on the rope, determined to forget the kiss, forget the need sizzling in her veins, and concentrate on what mattered most—surviving the night.
They had a sniper close behind them, lightning threatening to strike, a treacherous mountain to cross.
She dragged in an unsteady breath and prepared herself to face the danger ahead.
But as she stepped into the seething night, the feel of Logan’s kiss still lashing her nerves, she feared that the real danger might be the temptation brewing inside herself.
Dear Reader,
There’s something about a long-lost city that really ignites my imagination. Add in towering, mist-clad mountains and ancient trails, and I’m hooked! So what better place to set this second book of THE CRUSADERS miniseries than Peru, a fascinating, profoundly spiritual land filled with pyramids, mummies, mysterious energy lines and sacred ruins.
Better yet, hiding out in the forbidding mountains I found my favorite type of hero—cynical, solitary Logan Burke. An honorable man with a wounded soul, Logan is convinced he isn’t a hero. Fortunately, he’s about to meet a determined princess who will prove him wrong.
I hope you enjoy their dangerous and exciting journey!
Gail Barrett
To Protect a Princess
Gail Barrett
MILLS & BOON
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GAIL BARRETT
always dreamed of becoming a writer. After living everywhere from Spain to the Bahamas, raising two children and teaching high school Spanish for years, she finally fulfilled that lifelong goal. Her writing has won numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s prestigious Golden Heart. Gail currently lives in western Maryland with her two sons, a quirky Chinook dog and her own Montana rancher-turned-retired Coast Guard officer hero. Write to her at P.O. Box 65, Funkstown, Maryland 21734-0065, or visit her Web site, www.gailbarrett.com.
To my sister, Mary Jo Archer, for her wonderful support.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I’d like to give a huge thanks to author Adrianne Lee for her brainstorming help; farrier Kevin King for information about mules; Darlene Leivonen for answering my endless questions about horses; and especially Judith Sandbrook, for her super critique help. Thank you all!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 1
Yanahirca, Peru
Trouble was coming.
The warning shivered down Logan Burke’s neck like the graze of a cobweb, that whisper of danger, danger, he’d learned not to ignore. He knocked back his shot of whiskey, hissed as it scorched a raw, hot path through his gut, then slid his left hand to the Imbel .45 tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
The men lurking in the shadows of the cantina shifted, and the muscles along Logan’s broad shoulders tensed. He eased himself into shooting position, flicked his gaze to the open door.
The newcomer stood in the doorway, backlit by sunlight, but there was no mistaking her long, slender legs and female curves.
He sucked a long, slow breath through his teeth. Trouble was right. A woman in this hellhole meant gunfights, bloodshed.
But damned if the blood would be his.
She strolled into the cantina, and the outlaws tracked her, watching her with feral eyes. These men were renegades, ex-guerrillas and terrorists hiding beyond civilization in a remote Andean village laid waste by poverty and war. Men with nothing to lose. Men waiting to die.
Men he just might have to kill.
The woman seemed oblivious to the danger. She sauntered straight toward him across the packed dirt floor, her fine-boned chin raised, the hips in those snug jeans swinging to the kind of sweet, sensual beat that compelled a man to watch. She drew closer, and he made out high, exotic cheekbones, dark, tilted eyes. And round, ripe breasts that shifted beneath her T-shirt, daring a man to touch, to taste, to take.
The men stirred. Mutters broke the tight silence. The air reeked of testosterone.
“Logan Burke?” Her voice was throaty, low-pitched. And any hope he had of avoiding trouble died.
“I’m Dara Adams.” She pulled a small pack off her shoulder, held out a slender hand. The motion swept her thick, black braid past her hips.
He ignored the hand, slid his gaze across the dim room to assess the danger. Three men. Five empty bottles. Enough firepower to run a war.
But armed or not, he knew these men wouldn’t challenge him outright. They were cowards by nature, hyenas who skulked in the shadows, finding strength in packs. They’d watch, wait until they could shoot him in the back.
This woman would give them the courage to try.
She pulled her hand back. Her dark eyes flashed, and a flush climbed up her cheeks. “I need to talk to you. I heard you could help me.”
“You heard wrong.”
She blinked. Her sultry lips parted. “But…you don’t even know what I want.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He worked alone, lived alone, never got involved. That was the rule he lived by. The rule he’d die by.
The one rule he could never forget. His wife’s death had guaranteed