“Don’t…” His eyes glowed, terrifyingly focused as he backed her against the stairwell. “…Get too comfortable.”
She’d never seen an expression like his on anyone…except for maybe Goliath.
Her throat dried. “Are you planning tohitme?”
His gaze hollowed out. “No,” he croaked. “Of course not. Julia—”
“Stanley.”
He ran his hand though his hair. “Look, either you are going to agree to stay here, or I am going to fasten you to the railing. I’m not going to hurt you, but,believe me”—his menacing scowl returned—“I have no problem with trussing.”
Trussing?
“I’ll stay.” She wet her lips. “Ifyou tell me what you’re planning to do.”
He snorted. “I’mplanningto inform the innkeeper to expect another guest, to order some food, and then take you to a private place to”—he paused—“talk.”
Talking was acceptable…she thought.
“I’ll stay, thank you,” she said primly. “Do go on.”
He kept her trapped against the banister for another long, breathless minute. Then he winced, uttered the curse again, and was gone.
She inhaled. Good heavens. Taking a deep breathhurt.
Not because of Rayne—her arms were already recovered—but because of Jack and his friends.
She tested her aching jaw.
Open.Good.Now, close.Not broken, at least.
She pushed off the railing and then froze. Rayne had promised not to hurt her, but she didn’t want to find out if he’d been serious about the trussing. On the other hand, how could she weigh her risks if she hadn’t some idea what was going on?
Quietly, she placed her ear against the closed door. The exchange was muffled, but she thought the innkeeper said “not that kind of place.”
Rayne’s spoke again, then the innkeeper, and then two women’s voices joined the fray. Of course the women would take Rayne’s side.
A gust of wind rattled the plates in the window, and a torrent of raindrops against the glass followed. Suddenly, she was very,veryaware that she was trapped in a near-empty inn, somewhere off the Great North Road, a ten-hour ride from anyone and everyone she knew. A ten-hour rideifthe roads were passable by morning.
And, of all the situations she’d suggested to Farring, Rayne fastening her to a stairwell hadn’t made her list. He’d been rather quick with the suggestion, too.
She pursed her lips.
She’d gain the upper hand…somehow.
Though, to be honest, she wouldn’t mind another tussle. And not because her heart was still thudding with the thrill of a fight, but because—in an act of pure treachery—her heart was still thudding with the greater thrill of being clasped against Rayne’s chest.
Rayne returned to the stairwell, his face impossibly hard. He dangled a key from his hand as he pointed up the stairs.
“Up.”
“Stairwell again.” She hauled herself onto the first stair. “Ironic.” She held the rail as she climbed. “Or funny.”
“There is absolutelynothingamusing about this,” he replied. “Nothing whatsoever.”
“Well”—she glanced over her shoulder—“you must admit you have an unhealthy habit of pushing me upstairs.”
“Did I, or did I not, tell you to be quiet?”
