The Dark Highlander

Page 24

“What?”
He smiled bitterly and traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, still swollen and damp from his kisses. “And I told myself a lass like you was no’ for me.”
“Why?”
The desire in his eyes ebbed, replaced by such a remote, empty expression that she felt it like a slap. He’d shut her out. Completely. She could feel it, and didn’t like it one bit. Felt bereft.
He stood abruptly. “Come, lass, let’s put you to bed.” He smiled mockingly, another one of those that didn’t reach his cool eyes. “Alone, if you insist.”
“But why? Why would you think that?” It was terribly important to her to hear his answer.
He didn’t answer her. Merely escorted her to the bathroom, offered her towels for a shower if she wished—which she was definitely too uncomfortable to do and refused, but washed up and brushed her teeth again—then motioned her toward the bed so he could tie her.
“Must you do this?” she protested as he knotted the first scarf.
“No’ if I’m sleeping with you,” was his cool reply.
She thrust her wrist at him.
“I know you’re untouched, if ’tis what fashes you.”
“And we both know you’re not,” she muttered irritably. Mr. Multiple-Magnums-beneath-the-bed. How did he know she was a virgin? Was it stamped on her forehead? Were her kisses so inept?
“ ’Twas naught but practice for the day I might please you.”
She shivered. Smooth, very smooth. “If you don’t tie me, I promise I won’t try to escape.”
“Aye, you would.”
“I give you my word.”
With a graceful flick of his hand, he tossed one of the pillows from the bed.
Chloe didn’t have to glance down to know what he’d just revealed: the skean dhu she’d wrapped earlier in a soft piece of plaid she’d found, then tucked beneath the pillow so she might cut herself free later. “I was keeping it safe. I didn’t know where else to put it.” She batted her lashes.
“No words of promise or even desire binds a woman. Bonds bind a woman.” He scooped up both blade and plaid, crossed the room, and tucked them in a drawer.
She narrowed her eyes. “Who taught you that? Women? Sounds to me like maybe you pick the wrong ones. What are your criteria? Do you have any criteria?”
He shot her a dark look. “Aye. That they’ll have me.”
Blinking, she let him tie her. The man could have any woman.
There was a very dangerous moment when he fastened her second wrist. A long pregnant pause where they simply stared at each other. She wanted him, ached for him, and the intensity of it terrified her. She hardly knew the man, and what she did know about him was anything but reassuring.
As he closed the door he said over his shoulder, “Because you’re a good lass.” A heavy sigh. “And I’m no’ a good man.”
It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. Then she realized he’d finally answered her question—why she was not for him.
• 6 •
I’m no’ a good man.
’Twas the only real warning she would ever get from him on her sweet, inevitable fall from grace.
Dageus sipped his whisky and stared at her. That kiss, that one mere sip of a kiss still lay upon his tongue, honey-sweet, and no amount of whisky could wash it off. He’d scarce begun to taste her when she’d stopped him.
And stopping had damn near killed him. His tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair, for a brief moment he’d been filled with icy rage, pure and black, something that refused to be denied. The ancient ones had stirred, demanding he sate his hunger. Force her, a dark voice had purred. You can make her like it.
He’d waged a dread battle against them, hence the carefulness with which he’d pulled away. That blackness was not him. Would not be him. He would not permit it. It could too easily consume him.
He knew he shouldn’t be in the bedchamber. He wasn’t in the best temper for many reasons, not the least of them that he’d used magic earlier, first on a brief visit to Security before she’d wakened, reminding them that they saw Chloe Zanders leave yestreen, and later when she’d tried to escape, a reflexive action, without thought. The interior dead bolt had been locked for a change, and she’d unlocked it, and he’d jammed it with a whispered word before she could open it.
Then, pressed close to her, with blades betwixt them and a bit of blood on his skin and the darkness rising, he’d made clear the cost of her escape: his life.