Spell of the Highlander
Page 21

He dripped primeval, elemental power, looked as much a relic as the mirror itself, a throwback to a time when men had been men and women had Done As They Were Told.
Her eyes narrowed. She couldn’t stand men like that. Chauvinistic, domineering men who thought they could order women around.
Too bad her body didn’t seem to be of the same mind. Too bad her body seemed downright intrigued by the various orders possible, like: Take off your clothes, woman; let me get the taste of you on the back of my tongue . . .
It didn’t help that he looked like the kind of man who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, who would tolerate zero inhibitions on a woman’s part; the kind of man that, once he got a woman in bed, didn’t let her out again until he’d done everything there was to do to her, had fucked her so thoroughly that she could barely walk.
“Summon me out, woman,” came the tight, low command laced by that sexy Scots burr. His voice was as incredible as his appearance. Deep and rich as hot, dark buttered rum, it slid down into her belly, pooling there in a slow burn.
“No,” she said faintly. No way she was letting all that . . . whatever it was, too much testosterone by far . . . out again.
“Then I bid you, woman, cease looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she bristled.
“Like you wish to be using your tongue on me again. And on more than my back.” He caught his lower lip between his teeth and flashed her a devilish smile.
“I didn’t mean to lick you,” she snapped defensively. “I told you, I thought you were a dream.”
“Any dream you wish, woman. You need but summon me out.” His gaze raked over her, burning hot, lingering at her breasts and thighs.
Heat suffused her skin where his gaze skimmed. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”
He shrugged, powerful shoulders bunching and rippling. “Have it your way, wench. Die needlessly. Doona say I didn’t offer my aid.”
He turned in the mirror then. The silver encasing him seemed to ripple, the black stain around the edges flowed and ebbed as if the surface were suddenly liquid, then she was beholding a mere looking glass.
“Hey, wait!” she cried, panicking. “Get back here!” She needed answers. She needed to know what was going on. What the mirror was; how any of this was even happening; who was trying to kill her; would there really be more assassins sent after her?
“Why?” His deep butter-rum voice resonated from somewhere within the glass.
“Because I need to know what’s going on!”
“Naught in this world is free, woman.”
“What are you saying?” she asked the smooth silver surface. She was conversing with a mirror. Alice in Wonderland had nothing on her.
“‘Tis plain enough, isn’t it? I have something you need. You have something I want.”
She went absolutely still. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and her heart began to hammer. She moistened suddenly parched lips. “Wh-what?”
“You need my protection. You need me to keep you alive. I ken what’s going on, who’s coming after you, and how to stop them.”
“And what do you want in return?” she asked warily.
“Och, myriad things, lass. But we’ll keep it simple and start with freedom.”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. No way. I don’t know the first—”
“You know all you need to know,” he cut her off flatly. “You know you’ll die without me. Think not to constrain me. I’ve been stuck in this bloody frigging mirror far too long for civility. This glass is the only prison I’ll suffer. I’ll no’ be allowin’ ye to be buildin’ another for me, woman.”
His brogue thickening, he spat the final words. She swallowed. Audibly. Her mouth had gone so dry that she heard tiny things crunch as her Adam’s apple rose and fell. She cleared her throat.
Suddenly there he was in the mirror again, looking at her, silver rippling like diamond-spiked water around him.
That sexy, arrogant mouth curved in a smile. If he’d meant it to be reassuring, she thought, shivering, he’d missed the mark by a mile. It was a smile full of leashed power and chained heat. Barely leashed. Barely chained.
It occurred to her then that, had she gotten a good look at him the other night, she would probably never have released him, whether she’d believed herself to be dreaming or not. The killer she’d thought so terrifying was no match for this man. They weren’t even remotely in the same league. Breaking the blond man’s neck had probably been as easy for him as absently swatting a fly. Whatever he was, he had something more. Something normal people just didn’t have.