I yank my arm away from Leith and reach for Bailey, but my hands are bound and it’s a futile attempt, for two things happen at once. Islan quickly whisks Bailey out of my sight, and Leith bends, scoops me up, and hoists me straight into the air without a word or the barest hint at effort. He heads for the spiral staircase Islan just descended.
I’m overwhelmed with every observation I can make, the first our nearness. He’s strong and muscular, as he carries me with speed and effortless ease up the stairs. I try to pull away from him. This can’t be intimate, but damnit feelsintimate. I’d imagine this would be nice if the man were my lover and not someone cold and detached, but warm and loving.
If I’m honest, it’s nice now. It’s the most focused attention I’ve gotten from a person of the opposite sex in years. He smells like the woods, clean and fresh, a mix of snow-capped mountains and pine.
I won’t let myself look too closely at him, not now. He still wears the mask from the graveyard, so I have no idea what he looks like. It’s a ski mask or something, the same kind one might wear to ski the slopes of the Alps. Why hasn’t he removed it yet?
Am I never to see his face?
Maybe they’ll kill me before I do.
For some odd reason, I think,I need to see his face before I die.
It seems he’s decided that if I’m to be silent, he will as well. We reach the top of the spiral staircase to a landing, and a few pacesaway there’s another staircase, this one a standard one, that leads to a third floor.
It’s cooler up here as we ascend the second flight of stairs. I want to tell him to let me go, that I can walk. I may not be able to speak, but I’m no damn invalid already. I don’t, of course. I merely observe.
I can’t see much of anything as we move upstairs, but everything is clean and well-appointed. Spotless carpet on the stairs and landing, framed pictures without a speck of dust on them, and on the landing, a diamond-shaped window. I can see nothing outside but darkness.
When we reach the landing, he still doesn’t put me down, but stalks down the hall until we reach a room. He slides me to the ground, my body pressed up against his. It’s a feeling that’s unfamiliar but… if I’m honest, not unwelcome. If he wasn’t a criminal, he’d be the type I’d want on my side.
He reaches for the doorknob and pushes it open, then drags me inside.
To my utter shock, he swings me against the wall, so firmly my head cracks against it. I wince but don’t make a sound, my heart slamming against my ribcage as his hand comes around my neck. Why is he so angry? Will he hurt me?
Of course he’ll hurt you,I chide myself.Why else did he bring you here?
I’ve been so naïve, I realize, so deeply hidden in my world of fantasies that for a brief moment in time, I thought being hauled to this beautiful lodge in the woods would be an escape from my dismal life at home. But now?—
I can breathe, but barely, as he pins me in place, those rough fingers of his trapping my throat, my pulse quickening against his palm.
With his second hand, he reaches for the edge of his mask and whips it off his head. He’s glaring at me.Naturally.
My pulse races. He’s roguishly handsome, in a haunting, terribly masculine way. Longish, dark brown hair frames his face, his deep brown eyes glinting in the overhead light. He’s got a scruffy beard and full lips, and he?—
The next second, my mind comes to a screeching halt when he lowers his lips to mine, my neck still caged in the roughness of his hand.
I’ve never been kissed before. I’m so startled by his response I don’t protest, but melt against him. His lips are soft, perhaps the only soft part of his entire body, and they move against mine with branding insistence. A woman never forgets a kiss like this.
Women use words liketenderorromantic,but this is nothing of the sort. His mouth on mine feels like both punishment and violence, an assault against my innocence and retribution for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I inhale out of panic and instinct, his breath becoming mine.
I should be terrified. I should be plotting my escape or frozen in fear, but I’m neither. I’m not sure what I am when he pulls his mouth off mine.
We’re panting as we stare only inches away from each other, and my skin prickles with the warmth of his breath.
He flexes his hand on my neck, and my pulse throbs. There’s something undeniably erotic about the way he touches me, andit takes me by surprise. How can a threat to my safety make my heart beat faster, my breath quicken, and heat rise on my cheeks?
“Tell me your name,” he says in a hoarse, ragged whisper. Is he affected like me, then?
No.No.I internally plead with him not to force the issue, not to make a big deal of this. I want to be his ally, not his enemy, but I might as well be a foolish wee girl who wishes herself away to castles and fairytales. There’s something in those deep brown eyes of his that tell me we have more in common than it may appear.
There’s a deep well of hurt in those eyes only someone who’s been wounded by the same blade can recognize.
“Your name, beautiful,” he says. If I could make a sound at all, I’d moan at the way his words affect me, as evocative as a tender caress.
No one has ever called me beautiful. Why does it have to be him?
I look away from him, but only for a second because the next moment his fingers are at my chin and he’s dragging my gaze back to his.
