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One good news being that the troglodyte might spend the night elsewhere, like her brothers were wont to do. And why the idea sank her in an even fowler mood she did not understand.
CHAPTER SIX
When Taran entered the manor, he heard sounds in the drawing room. His legs took him there without a conscious decision. It was her voice in his ears, like a mermaid’s chant.
He stopped short at the open door to see Aileen and Sam sitting close by her. His hand in hers, her thumb distractedly grazing his palm, the movement reflecting directly in his lower abdomen. Rage surged so hot and powerful, his rational mind simply shut down at once.
The woman touched his son as if he was a fully-grown man! The perception blinded him to anything else. And blinded him to the real reasons for his rage.
His infuriated person stormed the room as a barbarian invader. Two heads turned to him bewildered.
“Aileen.” Her mahogany gaze flashed on him. He lost the rest of it. “In my studio.” He paused in vain attempt to catch himself. “Now.” No success there, so he stormed out, expecting her to follow.
Aileen looked at the devil and could not decide if the tremor that coursed her came from the disappointment of seeing him so early back or exactly the opposite of it. If the latter, she must be out of her mind.
The giant gave no respite!
A communication passed between her and Sam, as if saying, here he goes again. At the Laird’s peremptory bidding, she had no choice.
He stood by the study door, which he closed as she stepped in it. For good measure, she reached the other side.
“What do you think you are doing?” An angry scowl smothered his rugged features.
Brows pleated quizzical. “What do you mean?”
She had been sitting with Sam in the drawing room waiting for dinner. He showed her the cut he got on his hand for tending to his plants in the hothouse. At the gnash, she tried to convince the boy for them to bandage it.
“You were obviously trying to seduce him.” He spat as if she must be the
lowest of creatures.
The accusation so absurd she nearly laughed. But his tone only ignited her temper. “Seducing? Is it not the purpose of ‘getting to know him better’?” Why should she gift him with the true story when he could be so bent on accusation?
“Know him better does not mean corrupting the boy.” Emphatic, the growl wormed its way into her ears with warm honey to her senses and fuel to her fast shortening patience.
“Since when holding one’s hand means corruption?” Something dark and acid entered her.
“Since when I define it.” He stood in the middle of the room, mussed sable hair, dark stubble, sweat shirt, tartan in disarray.
A warrior demanding his loot.
“You, hypocritical villain!” She breathed hotly. He dallied with widows at his leisure, but she and Sam must be chaste? To hell with him!
He pretended she did not say it though his too handsome face went even more furious. “My son is too young to be the victim of your vile.”
She sucked air into her lungs to avoid losing her cool. “What do you mean by that?” The air brought the scent of earthen man, clean sweat and harvest.
“He understands little of what goes on between a man and a woman.” Legs braced, arms crossed, his green eyes bombarded her with vexation.
The day’s sulphur erupted to the surface, and she did not care what she said anymore. “In which case, I will teach him whatever he needs to learn.”
A demon awoke in her and she wanted to see him lose it and taste the same acid she did during luncheon. She did not understand why. And she did not care.
It produced the expected result. “What does he need to learn, Aileen?” The guttural delivery came low and dangerous.
A small derogatory smile came to her lips. “Things you would not believe.” She stabbed further. If he wanted to… test how much she understood of the matter, she could deliver a treaty.
At this, he prowled in her direction. “Try me.” One more of those growls and she would throttle him or—heaven forbid—grab him.
