Spell of the Highlander

Page 27

He nearly snarled aloud with frustration. “I very much doubt they ‘skulk,’ woman. And, to the best of my knowledge, the Fae haven’t crafted aught in millennia, not since they withdrew to their hidden realms. And doona be facetious. I’m merely answering your questions.”
“Impossible answers.”
“Does not the maxim still hold that once a thing occurs, ’tis impossible, ’tis impossible, ergo, ’tis possible?”
“I’ve never seen an immortal, and I’ve certainly never seen a fairy.”
“You split hairs. You’ve seen me. And best hope you never do see either of them.”
“Why—?”
“Jessica,” he said softly, menacingly, infusing her name with the promise of infinite dangers, “I am going to count to three. If you permit me to reach that number without having begun the chant to release me, I will rescind my offer. I will not so much as lift a finger when the next killer comes for you. I will sit back and watch you die a slow and heinous death. I’m beginning now. One. Two—”
“There’s no need to get pissy,” she said pissily. “I planned to say it; I just wanted to clear a few things up first—”
“Thr—”
“All right, I’m saying it! I’m saying it! Lialth bree che bree—”
“Bloody hell, wench, finally!”
7
“—Cian MacKeltar, drachme se-sidh!” Jessi finished breathlessly.
Heart hammering inside her chest, she eased back nervously, her gaze riveted to the mirror.
The silver went smoky and dark, boiling with shadows, like a doorway opening onto a storm. Then the black stain around the edges expanded, swallowing up the entire surface. Simultaneously, golden light blazed from within the engravings on the frame, painting fiery runes across her clothing, the furniture, the walls of the office. The disconcerting sensation of spatial distortion in the room increased to a nails-on-a-chalkboard degree, rasping over her nerve endings.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the light dimmed and the black cleared, revealing a watery silver that rippled and danced like the surface of Lake Michigan on a windy day.
One booted foot pushed through, then a powerful thigh, as the one-dimensional image crossed some kind of fairy-tale threshold and transformed from a mere reflection into a three-dimensional man, bit by bit.
It was impossible. It was terrifying. It was the most thrilling thing she’d ever seen.
Out came those kilt-clad hips, that six-pack abdomen, followed by his sculpted upper body rippling with those wicked-looking crimson-and-black tattoos.
Last came that sinfully gorgeous dark face, his white teeth flashing in an exultant smile, his whisky eyes glittering with triumph.
He gave a regal, full-of-himself toss of his head, beaded braids tinkling, as he fully exited the mirror.
The sensation of spatial distortion eased and the glass went flat silver again, reflecting his tight ass and beautifully muscled back
Jessi braced herself, trying to console herself with the thought that if she was going to die now, at least she’d gotten one final heaping helping of eye-candy. This man belonged in the RBL Romantica Braw and Bonny Beefcake Farm. Crimeny, this man probably owned the farm or, if not, had stood stud to the mothers of half the other members.
Though he’d looked massive enough inside the glass, outside it, he seemed even larger. The man had presence, that elusive quality that made some people lodestones, drawing others, even against their will. And he knew it.
From the looks of him, he’d always known it.
Arrogant, cocky prick.
But was he a murderous one? That was the important question.
“If you’re going to kill me, I’d appre—”
“Cease speaking, wench. You will bring that sweet ass over here and kiss me now.”
Jessi gaped, mouth open, midword. Snapped her mouth closed. Opened it again. Her head suddenly itched just beneath the skin, above her metal plate. She rubbed at her scalp. “As if.” She meant to hiss it indignantly, but it came out more of a squeak. Sweet ass? He thought she had a sweet ass? They could form a mutual admiration society of two.
“Remove that woolen, woman, and show me your breasts.”
Choking on an inhalation, she sputtered for several seconds. Numerous were the men who’d tried to go there—even she knew she had exceptional breasts—but none quite so obviously and without exerting even an ounce of seductive effort. She clamped her hands over them defensively. “Oh, I so don’t think that’s going to ha—”