“I believe you misunderstand me,” he purred, his voice low. “First, in every scenario,Iam the conquest. I never take a woman to my bed who isn’t prepared to walk away the next morn.”
He stood so close that for the first time since they’d met, Cara realized his eyes weren’t just brown, at least not in this moment. They were honey-gold and amber, threaded with chestnut. They were beautiful. And they were focused entirely on her.
“Second, if you believe that I could really, truly, try to win your affections and you wouldn’t be the least bit tempted, you’re lying to yourself. And I’m willing to prove it.”
Cara opened her mouth, because she absolutely had something to say about that, but he put a finger gently to her lips. “Before you go telling me how wrong I am, or to kiss my own arse, or whatever sharp-tongued reply you’ve invented, consider this. I have never—and I mean never—made that offer to a woman who hasn’t accepted.”
His thumb brushed over her bottom lip as his hand fell back to his side. And her treacherous body leaned toward him, as though aching for his hand to return. A warmth coursed through her that she’d not felt in a long time, not since she’d been in a very similar situation. With a very similar man.
“I apologize in advance for destroying your impressive record,” she said, keeping her voice low to match his. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something over there that Idowant: my supper.”
She didn’t wait for his response, ignoring his throaty chuckle at her tart reply. Ignoring the way it made her heart skip. Cara couldn’t forget the last time she’d reacted to a man in such a way. A shudder rushed down her back as she recalled Torna. Just like Diarmid, he was all smiles, all kindness and warmth and charm. Until he got what he wanted. And then he was gone. She’d been a foolish girl then, believing herself in love before she even knew the meaning of the word. She wasn’t a girl any longer.
And she’d not make that mistake twice.
Chapter Four
“You didnotproposition the princess! Diarmid, tell me you didn’t.”
The look on his brother’s face was worth any trouble that would come of it. Cormac was livid. Diarmid sat opposite him, beside Illadan, in the only seat remaining between the two tables they’d overtaken. At Cormac’s accusation, Illadan turned an icy glare on him.
“I was simply teaching her a lesson,” he told them, knowing full well that neither believed him.
“Youcannotbed her, all wagers aside,” Illadan said. “We can’t have her fawning over you instead of Sitric.”
“I doubt that woman is capable of fawning over anyone.”
“Turned you down, did she?” Cormac’s eyes danced with amusement.
“I didn’t proposition her,” Diarmid shot back, taking a large bite of his stew before he said anything foolish. If only he could stop his thoughts as easily as their badgering. For, in truth, she was precisely the sort of woman he would normally pursue. When he stopped her in the woods two nights ago, he’d been struck speechless. Until she slapped him across the face, that was, believing him an attacker.
Of course, everyone in Thurles had told the Fianna of Princess Cara’s unparalleled beauty. That was why she’d been taken, after all—she was a prize unto herself. Even so, Diarmid hadn’t expected her features to be so striking, her scent soalluring. Her hair was the color of a raven’s feathers, and her sharp tongue held all the bird’s cunning.
Eyes the color of the sea, a vibrant blue-gray, glared at him with the same iciness that emanated from every inch of her. Aye, the woman was stiff and unyielding, though Diarmid would wager those pouty lips of hers would be soft as silk. Of all her many pleasing features, however, Diarmid’s eyes were drawn most to her slim nose, with its rounded tip that was not quite upturned. Odd though it may seem, to describe anything on that frigid woman as adorable, that truly was the only word for it.
“Diarmid?”
He turned to find the innkeeper, Enat, smiling at him warmly. “Did you need something, dear?”
Though he had been rather forward with his charms in their prior conversation, Diarmid realized she was unlikely to suggest any tryst with him when he noticed a burly man glaring at him, taking silvers from someone for their supper. Her husband, no doubt. Diarmid enjoyed himself as much as the next man, but he wasn’t about to bed another man’s wife.
And he wasn’t going to lose his wager on the first day.
“My husband found a room for your women,” she nodded to the other table, where the ladies sat with Finn, Dallan, Conan, and Ardál. “I’m afraid that’s the only one we can manage, though the rest of you fine men are welcome to sleep anywhere on the property. We keep the coals warm through the night.”
“That’s perfect,” Diarmid replied with his signature grin. “Can we pay you double for your efforts?”
She smiled back at him. They always did—except Cara. “You can, but I’d prefer you lot kept guard. I’ve seen too many armies moving about, and you look like you know your way around a battle.”
“We’ll set a watch,” Illadan assured her. “All will be safe.”
After refilling their ale, Enat went to show Niamh and Cara to their room. Dallan followed, no doubt intending to sleep in front of the door. Diarmid would never cease teasing the poor bastard about going and falling in love.
“How do you do it?” Broccan asked from beside Illadan. Broccan was notoriously gruff, making him excellent at leading armies, but terrible at charming women.
“Well,” Diarmid replied, forcing a serious tone, “it can be quite tricky, you see. In order for women to cooperate, you must be nice to them.” He winked at Broccan, just to get a reaction from him.
Broccan gripped his mug as though he would throw his ale at Diarmid, until Illadan’s hand stopped him.
