Excerpt of The Spring Bride by Anne Gracie

She froze a moment, staring down at the big hand holding her wrist so firmly. Warm, brown, masculine fingers wrapped around her bare skin. She would have imagined a gypsy's hands would feel rough but his didn't. She tried to remember how those hands had smashed into those young thugs. His grip was strong, but he wasn't hurting her.

With dignity, she turned her head to glare at him. An unhand-me-sir sort of glare. A society-lady-to-gypsy sort of glare.

It ought to have put him in his place.

It didn't.

Their gazes locked for an endless moment. Gray-green eyes bored unapologetically into hers, warm hard fingers gripped her firmly. The noise of the city, the dismal reek of the alleyway, even the dog faded from her awareness. Such bright, hard, unsettling eyes. Soul-stealing eyes. She swallowed and fought to maintain her composure.

He was a stranger, a gypsy—and an angry one, judging by the glitter in his eyes— and this was the second or third time he'd touched her, yet she felt no sense of threat. Well, not physically.

It was a different kind of danger.

He was so close she could feel the warmth of his big body, could see each dark bristle in his skin, the rough darkness of his jaw, the mobile fascination of his mouth.

Fascination? What was she thinking?

A chance-met gypsy in a small side-alley. Rough. Tough. Intimidating. He'd handled those boys with a casual violence that ought to have horrified her.

Instead, it had thrilled her.

She ought to be repelled by him.

She wasn't. Far from it. Something about him drew her in some strange way. The thought sparked a warning deep within her.

"What do you think you're doing?" She wrenched her gaze off his face and glanced pointedly at his hand. A surprisingly clean hand, tanned, but with clean, well trimmed fingernails. He didn't smell dirty, either. There was a scent of woodsmoke and damp wool and old leaves and underneath it all a scent of. . . she didn't know what, but it was dark and masculine, and somehow. . . enticing.

He moved, and another sliver of stark awareness rippled through her.