She’d once written an article about the experiences of coma patients who had finally woken up, and some of the stories had been wild.
One man had had a whole other life with a wife and kids and dog and a job and a mortgage, only to wake up and discover he was a single, childless man who’d slipped into a coma at twenty and woken up ten years later. One woman claimed there was nothing but the hospital room, and she had been aware of everything going on around her. Another woman had said it was like a dream you couldn’t remember.
Just then, the insanely tall man with the long, dark hair, flaring green eyes, deliciously pouty mouth, and mile-wide shoulders grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her toward him. Right into the cement-hard muscles of his broad chest, where the scent of salt and woodsmoke and fresh air overwhelmed her.
“Daenae play games with me, lass,” he said in that low, rumbling voice that seemed to reverberate through her like heavy bass. “I never lose, and ye willnae want to see it when I win.”
The first shiver of true fear rippled through the center of her, where it picked up an undercurrent of something that told her she really needed to get out more when she woke up from whatever this was. A faint little thrill thatdefinitelywasn’t appropriate, but she couldn’t prevent, all starting where his rough, callused hands gripped her wrists.
Human touch.Maletouch.
God, how long has it been?
She pushed the thought away. Firstly, because she didn’t want to know the answer. Secondly, because this wasnotthe situation to start thinking about the last time she’d hooked up with someone. Thirdly, she didn’t need the reminder: few though they were, her lovers had been a disappointing little bunch, barely scratching whatever itch had made her seek out their comfort in the first place.
“And I don’t like men who speak in clichés and grab me without asking first,” she said, attempting to step back.
But his grip remained firm, his green eyes flashing with thinly veiled annoyance. No doubt worried that his annoying guards had overheard her.
“I hope ye still have that fortitude when I’m done interrogatin’ ye,” he snarled. “It’d be a pity to break such a lively spirit.”
At that, his minions erupted into laughter, elbowing each other like teenagers on the street with nothing better to do but egg each other on. The very essence of all the catcallers and nightclub pests she’d ever had the displeasure of encountering.
“Good luck to ye, lass. Ye’ll need it,” one jeered.
“Aye, ye’ll soon be wishin’ ye stayed far, far away!” another chimed in.
The Hawk’s green eyes burned in the single most terrifying look she had ever seen, and the guards immediately fell silent, their heads bowed.
“Come with me.” He didn’t actually give her a choice, as he pulled her forward through the gates.
Nancy stumbled on the uneven ground of a paved courtyard, her sneakers sliding on well-worn flagstones.
If she fell now, the Hawk would only haul her up and make this entire ordeal more embarrassing than it already was. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was follow him to an interrogation. Unless this hallucination had something a little spicier in mind?
Even my poor, smashed-up brain thinks my love life is garbage.
She would have laughed if the Hawk’s grip on her wrist wasn’t so tight, the faint burning sensation spiking a small tremor of something in the back of her mind that she truly didn’t want to consider. That this might be real, somehow.
The Hawk stopped and, seemingly as an afterthought, called back over his shoulder, “Daenae interrupt us. We’ve got a lot to discuss.” He glanced down at her, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Daenae we, lass?”
CHAPTER 4
Emily would love this,Nancy mused distractedly as the Hawk ushered her through a labyrinth of drafty hallways and down a seemingly endless flight of stairs. The temperature dropped with each downward step, while flickering torches cast menacing shadows on the stone walls.
If Emily wanted atmosphere for her latest novel, this was it.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, as the stairs finally ended in a long, narrow passageway. “I can’t keep calling you the Hawk in my head.”
He ignored her and pressed on, though his grip had loosened somewhat. Maybe now that she was already inside his castle walls, he knew she wouldn’t run. And if she did, she wouldn’t get very far.
Years of running away from this, that, and the other had given her pretty solid cardio, but even she wasn’t idiotic enough tothink that she could outrun this giant of a man. A step of his was twice hers, and she didn’t have short legs.
It’s not fair for a man to be that tall andthat good-looking.
He had to almost bend at the waist to make it through the low-ceilinged passage, his shoulders broad, his back a fine display of rippling muscle that she could see beneath his thin shirt.
Even without him looking at her, she could picture his face: a strong jaw, accentuated by a pleasant, short beard; defined cheekbones that could slice apples; a nicely sloping nose that hadn’t been punched out of joint, unlike a couple of his guards; and eyes the color of a jade ring she’d once stolen, which might’ve been just as pretty if they weren’t glaring all the time.
