Devil's Own

Page 25

Surely her imagination was running amok. But she reread it, and the evidence was there, written clearly in front of her.
What sort of dangerous business was Aidan dealing in? Was he in trouble? He didn’t seem to value himself overmuch; she was frightened he might blithely place himself in harm’s way.
She’d read such things in stories. Men like him embraced danger, thrived on it. He was so secretive—did it mean he was involved in some sort of high-risk plot?
“You wicked chit.”
Elspeth yelped in surprise and looked up.
Aidan glowered at her, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking like he was deciding between ravishing her or delivering a sound thrashing. He glanced at his papers, and then back to her, lying prostrate on his bed.
His gaze raked a slow path down her body, inflaming her as it dragged along her back, over her rump, down her legs, and back up again. “I knew there’d be perils lurking beneath still waters.”
His words implied perils beyond her wildest imaginings. She fumbled to respond. “I—I—I came early, and you weren’t—”
“Three hours early?”
Painfully aware of the papers under her fingertips, she gave them a quick shuffle, but there was no hiding them completely. She could only explain them away. “I wanted to help you … you said you needed help deciphering.”
He slammed the door. The room had felt small before, but now that his presence filled it, the sense of large, vibrant male closed in all around. “A lesser man might think you’re spying.”
“Oh, no, it’s not like that.” She turned to get up, but he loomed so close over the bed, and her skirts were in such a tangle, that her movements were awkward. She spotted the flicker of his eyes over the front her body, and she froze, half on her side, half on her back, the breath caught in her chest. She felt exposed, splayed in such a vulnerable position, keenly aware that she was lying on his bed.
Again, he swept his eyes over her body, and when he spoke again, his voice was a husky rasp. “Then how’s it like, luvvie?”
Sensation flooded her. Every rumple on the bedding was an agony beneath her, her skin too hot, too tight. Her bottom, her breasts, the backs of her legs—all a mass of nerves too sensitive to bear. “I only want to help.”
Muttering a curse, he turned his back on her.
She smoothed the papers into a neat stack. It took every ounce of her spirit to keep her voice composed. She was determined to show Aidan how helpful she could be, how intrepid. “Where did you get these? What’s the meaning of them?”
He sat next to her on the bed, and his weight drew her close. “I stole them.”
Rather than inching away, she shamelessly let herself roll toward him. Though it was merely a fraction of an inch, it was enough for her to sense his warmth, his scent. The heat of his hip and thigh transferred directly to her, becoming an inferno in her belly. She managed to ask, “From whom?”
“You’re a determined wee spy.” He glared at her, and just when she thought he’d ignore her question, he gave a defeated shake to his head and said, “From a smuggler. I found a stash of papers on his ship and stole the lot of them.”
“Are you speaking of the smuggler you and Cormac took down?”
“The very one.” He snatched the papers from her hands. “And though they may not be mine, they’re not yours either.”
“But why take them?”
“I’m tracking a man. A man I’m going to kill.”
Gooseflesh crept along her skin. “I can help you,” she said gravely.
Aidan burst into laughter. “You’ll do no such thing.”
Of course she was going to help him. He was right to think she couldn’t help him kill a man, but she could be valuable in other ways. “I can help you decipher these. Who is it you’re tracking?”
He gave her a long, raw stare, and she glimpsed some bleak thing haunting his soul. “A pirate with a black pearl earring. The man who kidnapped me as a child.”
She shivered. She’d been right all along. He was her intrepid hero, tracking down evil pirates. She riffled through his papers, so full of danger and potential adventure. “Perhaps we can find a clue.”
He snatched them away. “Perhaps you should go home where you belong.”
“But I belong here.” She reached for them again.
But he held them out of her reach, his expression shuttered once again behind his usual nonchalance. “In my bed, luvvie? How can I say no to that?”
Her breath caught, and she cursed her weakness for him. He’d tried to distract her with his rakish wink, and it’d almost worked.
Strengthening her resolve, she came up with the one excuse she knew would keep her there. “It’s our day for lessons, remember? After all, if you won’t let me read the complicated bits for you, you’ll need to learn to read for yourself.”
That gave him pause, and he relaxed his guard for a moment.
Because she had to try again, she darted a hand out for the papers.
Startled, he laughed, and this time there was warmth in it. He put a hand at her shoulder to restrain her. “You’re a wily wee fox.”
She wriggled. “And you’re an exasperatingly large … bull.”
Tossing all the papers aside, he gripped her other shoulder too. “A bull, is it?”
“Aye, and stubborn as one too.” As she felt herself being eased back onto the bed, her mouth went dry. “But … but … what of our … lessons?”
“I’ll teach you a lesson.”
Excitement jolted her, and it made her feel as brazen as the pluckiest of heroines. “One I’ll not soon forget?”
A true, hearty laugh erupted from him, and though it faded, the ghost of it lingered in his eyes. “You’re a strange bird, Beth. Do you know that?”
Beth. That name again. She swallowed hard. “So you’ve informed me.”
“I believe you truly do think you’re helping me.”
“I am,” she said earnestly. “I do.”
“What are you doing sparing a care for a man like me?” She was on her back now, his hand heavy and gentle at her shoulder. He gave her a squeeze. “Don’t you know I’m beyond help?”
“Nobody is beyond help.”
“You are. Just now, just here.” He drew a tentative finger down her cheek, outlining her eyebrow, her cheekbone. “Look, for example, at how vulnerable you are right now. One could easily call your predicament beyond help.”
Her pulse pounded, her face burning from his touch. “Mine is not a predicament. That… that would imply …”
“Imply what? That you won’t come to harm at my hand?” He cupped her cheek, his movements bolder now. “How do you know that? After all, we’ve really only just met. My own family barely knows me.” Keeping her cradled in his hand, he leaned close to brush his cheek along the other side of her face. “How are you to know I won’t … take advantage?”
The rasp of his voice, the faint graze of stubble on her skin, the pure immediacy of him sent a shock of wanting between her legs.
“Or perhaps,” he whispered in her ear, “you meant to imply that your current situation is a desirable one?” He brushed his lips over her skin. “Have I the right of it? Do you desire this situation?”
He was so close, the heat of his chest imprinted itself on her breasts. His hands were strong and sure, and their touch made her feel delicate and fine.
Was this how a seduction began? Was she supposed to give him a sign? Her mind was a tumult—she wanted to act, but had no idea how.
Someone shouted from far away, and Elspeth stiffened.
Aidan stilled, hovering at her cheek for what felt an eternity, his breath coming in warm, exhilarating puffs along her cheek. Dismissing the outside sounds as one of his brothers, she wondered if he’d kiss her when it grew quiet again, impatient to see how he might go about it.
But when he pulled away, his eyes had gone cold. “Perhaps not.”
“Wait—” What happened? Had she done something wrong? Why had he not kissed her? I do desire it, she wanted to cry. She’d thought he had too, but he’d turned to stone.
Aidan bolted up from the bed, snatching his papers from where they’d drifted onto the floor. “I’ve business to attend to.” He opened the door, and standing with his back to her, added, “I presume you’ll see yourself out.”
Chagrin, confusion, and embarrassment burned her from within. Like the greatest of heroines, she wouldn’t be daunted. She would be resolved.
And then Elspeth sat up, secreting into her bodice the single, rumpled page that she’d managed to steal from Aidan’s pile.
Chapter 17
Aidan stormed from his room, searching for someone to throttle. Preferably the half-wits who’d been making noise so near to his door. If his ears had the right of it, said half-wits had been Aidan’s hired man and Gregor, who’d probably detained the stranger he’d found skulking about, likely with as much subtlety as a barn afire. He wanted to strangle both of them, even though their shouts had saved him from himself.
Or rather, it’d been Elspeth who’d been saved, from the likes of him. He’d almost kissed her. He’d wanted to, and badly. And if he ever kissed her, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop.
Aidan stopped in his tracks, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, willing the cold sea wind to whip the memory away. But it was no good. The picture of her lounging so carelessly on his bed was etched in his mind.
He’d walked into his room, and for a joyful moment— an exquisitely painful moment—he’d imagined himself a man who might have a woman like her, sprawled there for him, waiting to share her smiles, just for him. To come home each night to such a sight would be heaven indeed.
But instead he’d entered, and panic had jolted her, and the eyes that’d greeted him were guilty, not smiling. At first he thought she’d been spying on him as though he were a circus curiosity.