“Emery.” He brought his face closer to mine and our gazes locked and held. This close, I had to choose which eye to focus on. The pale brown was ringed with a shade like fresh-turned earth, the eyelashes a dark fringe hooding them. Brodie was looking back at me, his pupils blown with…what was that? Tenderness? Lust? I shook my head, unable to decipher the emotion and afraid to try.
He licked his lips, his eyes flicking downward, and then he released one of my arms long enough to bring his thumb to my lower lip. He traced it with the pad, slightly roughened against my mouth’s tender flesh, before he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped it up. “Wha—”
As my lips parted on the word, his mouth descended. There was just enough time for a sharp gasp to escape before it was on mine, his lips mobile, seeking, gentle. They sipped, requesting entry with a flick of his tongue against the seam of mine, and I opened to the leisurely request. He explored my mouth thoroughly but with restraint, passion banked and waiting for permission to take over.
Part of me remained aware. I was conscious of shaking, of a violent prickling of sensation as I warmed by degrees. Cognizant of my dress, cold and wet and clinging to my form. The other part of me was aware of one thing only: the place where our lips connected. His kiss was as heady as it was unexpected.Hewas unexpected, reading me with an awareness that was disturbing. Where I anticipated demand, he sought, sweet and light. Where I predicted force, he retreated, playful and teasing. It was nothing like another kiss I’d once experienced.
But it was still a kiss. Possibilities niggled at me. I was tense, but not panicking. Not yet, anyway. Maybe this was a break-through. Maybe it could lead to other break-throughs.No.This wasn’t…I didn’t want this. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed hard, pulling my face away. He allowed me the movement, sitting up and releasing my hands.
“Better?”
Tears leaked from the corner of my eye and traced a path down my temple, into my hair and then on to the sofa cushion. Once they started, I couldn’t stop their slow slide any more than I could stop the sun rising every morning. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?” I wailed.
“Maybe because you’d have wound up hypothermic in minutes?” His expression was fierce, his anger a match to my own. I didn’t get it. I was nothing to him.
I slapped a weak hand against his chest, feeling its heat sear my palm. “Why don’t you get it? I’d have been okay with that.”
“Aye, I fucking get that! Why?”
“None of your dammed business, that’s why.” I didn’t understand why he was so wound up about it. I was nothing to him.
A muscle flexed in his jaw and he slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”
“Why did you do that?” I sat up and moved into the corner of the couch, away from him.
“Kiss you? Because I wanted to, that’s why,” he answered calmly, standing and moving into the kitchen. “Hungry?”
Outside the large picture window, it was still black. I looked at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was only four-thirty. “Now?”
With a shrug, he turned a knob on the stove and placed a cast iron fry pan atop it. “I figure you’ve probably had enough sleep to last a while. Might as well eat.”
“You’re not going to poison me, are you?”
The look he shot me was amusement laced with aggravation. “Have I done anything to suggest that I might be thinking about poisoning you?”
I lifted my chin. “You already told me you hadn’t made up your mind about killing me. And you kissed me because you ‘wanted to.’ What else should I worry about you wanting to do?”
“How about I let you know when and if I decide to kill you?” He grabbed another pan and slammed it down beside the first, making me jump.
“Why are you so angry?” The question emerged as a whisper.
“Don’t worry about it.” He laid strips of bacon neatly in the pan, and as the smell filled the room my mouth watered. I was hungrier than I’d even realized. But he had neatly sidestepped my actual question. The question of him taking what he wanted. I knew, even as I opened my mouth, that it wasn’t normal for me to be more worried about this than I was the very real possibility of death.
But that was just it. I’d rather be dead than to give up that control ever again. To have it wrested from me. Stolen.
“And the other stuff?” My voice was thin.
Brodie turned and I struggled to remain still when he stalked slowly over to me. He stood a few inches away, forcing me to lift my eyes to meet his, and reached out a finger to brush a lock of hair behind my shoulder. “I promise not to do anything you don’t want me to,” he finally replied. He started to move away, then paused. With creased brow, he moved his hand to grasp and tug my own hand away from my wrist, lowering it gently but inexorably to my side. “No more.”
Something swelled within my chest, rising to my throat to choke back any words I might have said. I curled my fingers into a fist, a futile defense against that rising tide, and remained silent. He wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do. The chances of me wanting anything were nil, so I should be safe. My shoulders dropped incrementally. I could work with that.
He started to turn back to the kitchen and paused, shaking his head. “Shite. I’m an eejit. You’re shaking, girl. We need to get you out of that dress.”
The cold had been peripheral until he put his hands on my forearms. I noticed it then, dull and lingering compared to the hot brand of his touch. At my nod, he pulled me into the back and to the bathroom. One hand on my arm, as though he thought I’d run, he leaned down and twisted the taps on the ancient-appearing claw foot.
“Let’s get you in the tub, then, get you warm again.” His hands went to the buttons of my dress, as though he was going to undress me, and I stopped him.
“I can do it.”
