Strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her from the floor and into Lieutenant General Grey’s equally strong arms.
Oddly, the nausea eased as his scent surrounded her. He carried her to the settee. She breathed him in, replacing the sickening remnants of cloying summer flowers with clean soap and warm spice. He gently placed her on the couch before kneeling next to her, taking her hand and placing his fingers at the pulse point of her wrist. It took all of her concentration to ensure sparks didn’t fly where his bare fingers touched her skin.
‘Why are you here?’ Her voice was rough, but thankfully no longer the deep timbre of a dead man.
It made no sense for Grey to be back at the house. He was supposed to be on his way to goddess knew where. Purgatory. Hades. Harrods. Anywhere but here.
‘I forgot to give the maid my card. She thought I was looking for you and told me you were in the sitting room. It doesn’t matter. Your heart is racing. What happened?’ Grey’s deep voice rippled over her raw nerves.
I saw Viscount Beachley. He showed me a memory from his past. His wife was having an affair.
The thoughts almost escaped her like steam.
What would he say if I told him the truth? All of it?
Clio knew the answer. If he believed her, he would condemn her. If he did not, he would think her mad and refuse to work with her on this case. Either way, he would never accept her or her power. The very idea was impossible.
Clio pushed aside the rogue desire to be honest with Grey, instead creating a believable lie. ‘I wanted to see the sitting room once more. Make sure we didn’t miss any clues. I didn’t break my fast this morning. When I came in, I felt dizzy. I must have passed out.’ Clio couldn’t determine if her thoughts were fizzing because of her vision or because Grey was touching her. His fingers gently stroked over the delicate skin of her wrist, no longer seeking her pulse, but something else entirely. Heat and power thrummed in rhythm with her heartbeat. She could feel her magic arcing between them like an electrical flare as her control started to slip.
She pulled free, pushing herself up to sit properly. The world tilted, and she nearly fell from the settee, but he caught her once more in his solid embrace. Her nose brushed against his neck, and she couldn’t stop inhaling. She held his scent inside her lungs, letting a small part of him absorb into her bloodstream.
A woman could get drunk on this man.
Pushing him away once more, she tried to create distance, but he kept his grip on both her arms. ‘You can’t walk home like this. I have my carriage. I’ll take you.’
Before she could argue, he was lifting her in his arms once more.
‘Maybe I wouldn’t be dizzy if you didn’t keep hauling me from one place to the next.’
Grey didn’t respond, but she felt his body flex and shift beneath her as he strode out of the sitting room.
‘I can walk.’ Her sharp tone should have at least stalled his step, but he kept a steady pace down the empty hall and through the front door. He must be remarkably fit. He moved as easily as if he weren’t carrying a fully grown woman. Clio struggled, but he only held her tighter against his solid chest. A dangerous desire to stop fighting and let herself melt into his strength, burrow into his warmth, nearly stole her breath. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
I don’t want him carrying me. I can carry myself. Er. Walk myself.
Her thoughts were still jangled from the vision. When Grey stepped up into his carriage, the fluid movement made her belly flip. He settled onto the squabs, but instead of placing her on the seat opposite, he kept her snug on his lap. Fresh linen and the blasted spice she couldn’t place beckoned her to lean closer to his cravat and bury her nose in the soft fabric. The carriage lurched forward, and he tightened his hold, once more saving her from a fall.
‘Put me down.’ She struggled to remove herself from such an inappropriate position, but his arms only grew harder. She might as well be fighting an oak tree.
‘No.’
Her futile efforts to escape were creating an odd reaction in Clio. She knew Grey wouldn’t hurt her. She knew she could unleash a fireball that would render him helpless. But an awareness of his physical power over her created an inexplicable ache low in her belly.
‘Release me this instant.’ Even as she spoke the breathless words, she questioned if she really wanted to be free from his arms. Perhaps sharing her body with a man she despised was the best way to explore physical intimacy without worrying about losing herheart. Not that she had spent much time thinking about physical intimacy. Until recently, that is.
Helena had engaged in a wild fling once, telling her cousins about the misadventure. Based on her experience, it seemed too much effort for very little reward. Clio had decided then she would much rather focus her energies on developing her craft. Though there had been a few interested suitors in her younger years, she quickly shut down any men interested in wooing her, and the gossip spread that Clio Blair was a shrew best left alone. Which was fine by Clio. So why was she suddenly wondering what it might feel like to have his fingers trail up her naked spine?
‘Not until I know you won’t faint again.’ He bit out the words, turning so his face was only inches from hers. What she saw burning in his eyes was deeper than frustration. Sharper than fear. Hotter than anger. ‘I won’t let you go until I know you are safe.’
As a firewitch, she was used to running hotter than most, but her skin felt oddly tight, and the warmth in her belly was nothing like the heat her magic usually conjured. This was something entirely new.
She could see the individual hairs covering Grey’s cheeks and jaw. His mouth was pressed tight, creating two creases on either side, and she wondered if she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, would it soften? She couldn’t test her theory because he held her arms tight to her side. Even that was strangely arousing. She was helpless. Unless she chose to unleash her powers and crisp him into ash.
While he had shown no signs of being winded when he carried her from Viscount Beachley’s house, Grey’s chest now rose and fell with harsh breaths that matched her own. She leaned closer. Her nose brushed his stubbled cheek as she tilted her head.
Clio had been kissed before. Once. An uninvited smash of wet lips that ended with her fist in the would-be suitor’s belly. If shedidn’t already hold a dim view of romance, that kiss confirmed all her suspicions. It certainly wasn’t pleasant. But here, now, she wondered. And wondering was a dangerous thing indeed.
‘You are not a nice man.’ It was her last attempt at denying what she most desperately wanted. And it failed spectacularly.
