“You must see a lot of it, doing what you do,” she said nervously.
The way she side-stepped the subject of his hunting didn’t escape him. Some women got off on his prowess—they wanted to hear how many creatures he’d killed, so they could imagine him in the throes of exertion, sweat on his back, blood on his hands.
“Yes.” He watched her suck in and wince as he attended to a particularly deep cut, remembering the tenderness in her eyes as she tended to that broken sparrow in the square. “That’s true.”
“Someone hurt me,” she babbled. “I can’t stand blood. The sight of it. The smell of it. But it was all I could smell in the dark. I thought I was going to die.”
“I know.” He wiped away a bead of alcohol from her skin. “I’m sorry.”
“News travels fast,” she said bitterly.
“Everything moves fast around here—time, man, beast.” His eyes went to the tapestry, with its frozen depiction of a hunt. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I thought small towns were supposed to be notoriously slow-paced.”
Cal breathed out a humorless laugh. “Not this one.”
She looked out at his open window with a troubled expression. “What—” she cut herself off, shaking her head before starting again, “what do you hunt for out there in the woods?”
“Deer and rabbits, mostly. Lots of small birds.” He got to a nasty-looking gash in her wrist that made her pull away again. His grip tightened automatically, like a trap, and more tears trailed down her cheeks, cutting ghostly paths through the soot.
“Why kill the birds? The songbirds and the sparrows—what do they give you?”
“They’re small and fast and hard to catch.” He released her hand to examine the other, which had a messy slice acrossthe palm. “It takes skill to catch something that frightened and determined to get away. You have to be gentle, ruthless . . . patient. And in that first burst of silence after the gun goes off, there’s this heady moment of anticipation—did I get what I came here for?”
“So you’re a thrill-seeker.”
“No,” he said, with a slight, hollow-sounding laugh. “I hedge my bets. Plato said that the measure of a man is what he does with his power. And I’m very reluctant to part with what I have.”
“A tyrant, then,” she said, the words like a stake in his heart.
“Not here.” He released her wrist. “My father is king of this castle—and my brother will follow after him. But enough about me. When was the last time you let someone take care of you?”
“I—I don’t—” She broke eye contact with a toss of her head, which made her wince. “My aunt takes care of me. And my sister—did. We all take care of each other? Why are you asking me that?” Her eyes turned accusatory. “Why aren’t you asking me what happened in the mine?”
“Oh, is that where you were? I did wonder. Fine then. What happened in the mine?”
“Are you sure you don’t know?” She looked him over, trying to match him to the man in the shadows. His mouth, in particular, seemed to hold his attention. “Since you know everything.”
“I’m a lawyer.” He smiled. “Not a psychic.”
“And you’re always mocking me.”
“I’d do other things if you let me.” Cal slid from the chair in an easy, sinuous movement that made her twitch to her feet with an agility that belied her docile appearance.
Grinning, he pushed back against her thighs, tipping her over at her center of balance to send her sprawling back against his bed. Before she could get to her feet, he gripped her by the ankle, studying the skin exposed by her capri pants. There were fewer scratches here, to his relief.
Nadine leaned over to watch him suspiciously. Her hair spilled forward with the movement and her blouse gaped, giving him an unfettered glimpse of cleavage and lace.
“Do you like me on my knees?” he asked casually.
“Cal.” She sounded scandalized.
He ran his thumb along her ankle, following the tendon down to the upper part of her heel. “I think about it sometimes,” he confessed, before letting his hand fall away. “Getting on my knees for you. I like to imagine the look on your face.”
“Don’t,” she said, but there was a catch in it.
Like she was imagining it, too.
