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But oh my god I want to run.
Abruptly the growling stops, replaced by the sound of…an inhalation? As if someone is taking a long, deep breath.
As if something is scenting the air.
And they are in this room. In this bedchamber. And coming closer.
Cold sweat drips down my spine. Every muscle in my body tenses, preparing to flee. Then I hear a footstep, then another, coming ever closer, and I can’t bear this anymore. I’ve got to get out of here, I need to run.
Mentally I measure the distance to the door. I just have to get that far, slam the heavy oak shut behind me, give myself a few extra seconds’ head start—and hope that slamming the door doesn’t prevent the chain from magically stretching again. Because if it pulls tight while I’m sprinting away, I’m going to break my neck.
On a soft prayer, I dart for the door.
A heavy body crashes into mine before I take three steps, knocking the air from my lungs, spinning me around—
And dumping me back onto the soft cushion of the bed.
I shriek in terror, ready to fight. Pinning my flailing hands, the giant figure looms over me, his dark hair a wild tangle, most of his face in shadow…
His face.
Abruptly my struggles stop, my heart squeezing tight in my chest. “Gideon?”
Eyes as green as spring meet mine, narrowing as they search my features. “When I dream of you, Cora Walker, you do not usually run from me.”
I hardly recognize the voice that seems to reverberate from deep within his chest before emerging on a rumbling growl.
I hardly recognize him—or the way he’s gazing down at me. His eyes were always filled with warmth when he looked at me, but now they’re glowing with heat, like glass drawn from a furnace.
More aware of the hard, muscular body leaning over mine than I’ve ever been aware of anything before, I ask breathlessly, “What do I usually do?”
His head dips toward mine, that thick tangle of hair smelling cold and crisp, like a night spent in the woods. I gasp as he buries his face against my neck, inhaling deeply. His mouth skims a burning line from the hollow of my throat to my jaw.
“Usually you’re waiting for me in my bed, your soft thighs open and your body yearning for my touch.” That roughened voice thickens. “The beast within me enjoyed it when you ran, Cora.”
Oh god. The beast in me is enjoying the way he’s holding me down, breathing in the scent of my skin. “Does he?”
Against my ear, Gideon makes a rumbling sound of assent. “But you smell far sweeter this time. As if you are not a dream at all.”
Mind swimming in a haze of desire, I tell him, “I think I’m the one who is dreaming.”
“Then I shall make you scream so loud that you will awaken.” The gravelly promise in his voice is followed by the shock of his big hand pushing beneath my skirt. A stunned breath catches in my throat, my body tensing—then arching toward his on a ragged gasp when his long fingers dip into my panties, delving through slippery wetness and heat.
A tortured groan rips from his chest. “You are wetter than I have ever dreamed. Shall I taste you, then, my beautiful Cora? Shall I lick and tease your…your little…”
His body goes utterly still. His hand withdraws from my panties, and when he pulls back, his fingers glisten with the wetness of my arousal—and he’s holding the glittering thread of the gold chain, which had been trapped beneath my body when he tossed me onto the bed. I’m still lying upon it, but now I feel the tug at the back of my neck and the strange sensation of the line being pulled up between my legs as Gideon raises it higher, his gaze following the trailing length to the bedpost.
Abruptly he drops the chain and backs away, staring at me with an expression near to horror. “You are here. You’ve come.” Torment darkens the green of his eyes and he rips his hands through the long tangle of his hair, his voice hardening, taut anger whitening his lips. “Bloody fucking hell, Cora! You should never have come!”
I can’t respond to that. Only sit up and scoot back to the center of the bed, my body still aching with need and my heart now trembling with fear.
Dried blood covers his hands. And his jaw and throat and chest. He’s naked, and almost every inch of his tall, powerful form is filthy—his tanned skin not just covered in blood but in dirt.
And his penis is erect.
Hugely erect.
I can hardly take my eyes off that long, thick cock. There’s blood all over him, and I’m immobilized by uncertainty and terror, yet lust still has me in its merciless grip. My pussy clenches with desperate yearning as I stare at the blatant evidence of Gideon’s desire for me.
A sardonic smile twists his firm lips. “And now there is the scent of your fear. It is also sweet to the beast.” A cold, steely edge scrapes away the rough growl in his voice. “But not to me. Why did you come, Cora?”
“Mr. Singh. Your parents’ solicitor.” I struggle to pull coherent answers from the riot of emotions and thoughts crowding my mind. “He contacted me on their behalf.”
“My parents were killed nine years ago.” Over my gasp of disbelief and dismay, he asks, “Where is your father? He was supposed to protect you and keep you away from this place.”
“He died this past fall.” Raw grief aches in my throat. My father. His parents. “He had a stroke several years ago that left him bedridden. Then…he slowly faded.”
A muscle working in his jaw, Gideon averts his face before saying gruffly, “I am sorry. He was a good man.”
He was. But also a man who practically locked me away for years, away from everything and everyone I loved.
“I am sorry to hear about your parents, as well,” I tell him softly. “They were always very kind to me.”
“Kind to you?” A hard, short laugh barks from him. “Not at the end, if they gave Singh directions to bring you here. They must have left instructions to do it after your father passed.”
“I don’t know anything about that. Singh said there was a debt owed. I wasn’t sure what it was—perhaps unpaid wages? But I came because I wanted to see Blackwood Manor again.”
And to see Gideon again. But the man standing before me is not the same boy I knew. Not just because he’s bigger, taller, stronger. Gideon had once been so kind and even tempered. Never had he shown the cold, cruel edge that Gideon has now, and never had he seemed so…feral.
Or so ravenous.
Nervously my gaze drops to his thick erection again—then rises to his broad chest, where blood has dried in smears and drips. Drips, as if he were a messy eater. And that deer had been torn apart. Yet how could a man do that?
I don’t know how it’s possible. But I also don’t think I’m dreaming anymore.
“You came to see the estate?” A mocking smile appears on his lips. “And what do you think of Blackwood Manor today?”
