Page 18 of Knight of the Sword

“You poor thing,” Morgan exclaimed. “How did you get home?”

“A man named Alan Caldwell was visiting my client. He dropped me off.”

“I really wish you had not trusted a stranger,” Michael said.

“Mr. Smith trusts him. I hardly think I was in any danger,” Sophie responded.

Morgan slanted a look between the two of them. Was Michael interested in this plain-looking woman who didn’t even wear makeup? He had better not be. She—Morgan—had been very patient in trying to get Michael into her bed. Most men only needed a “come hither” look. But, for some reason, Michael resisted her, which made him all the more intriguing. She wanted him mounting her, riding her hard, his muscular arms holding him over her while she played with his well-chiseled bare chest.

Sophie picked up her keys and stood. “I’m ready.”

Morgan forced a bright smile on her face as Michael opened the door for Sophie and followed her out. Now she had a reason for making Adam Baylor’s vendetta her own. Michael McCain was hers. And no woman was going to get in her way.

****

“I’d feel better if you gave me your word you won’t take any more rides with Caldwell,” Michael said.

Sophie refrained from rolling her eyes. “So you’ve said about ten times since we picked up my car.” She plucked at a nacho chip from the plate they were sharing before she had to get back to the clinic.

“I don’t trust the guy,” Michael answered. “My friend, Sara, dealt with him. He took her to lunch and she got really sick, like she’d been drugged. Neither Lucas or I could prove anything, but—”

“And here I am, having lunch with you.” She waved another chip in front of him and smiled. “Am I safe?” A series of emotions crossed his face. She wasn’t sure she had even seen them. Oh, God, what if he thought she was flirting? She was just trying to lighten the conversation.

“You will always be safe with me,” he finally said as a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’ll protect you.”

Sophie stared at him. Why was he getting all serious like some medieval knight?

“Lighten up, will you? Alan drove me directly home and, since there was a group milling around outside, he walked me to my door and came inside for a minute.”

“He what? You didn’t mention that.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want another lecture? He wanted to see the rapier I use for fencing, that’s all. Why are you acting like my father anyhow?”

Michael nearly choked on a chip and reached for his water. His dark eyes glinted at her. “Acting like your father was the last thing on my mind.”

Sophie felt her face heat at the possible innuendo. She was hardly having paternal thoughts about Michael either. It would be extremely difficult for any woman not to react to him. He was all male, his close-fitting T-shirt defining the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and clinging to sleekly carved biceps. She would bet his flat belly had the required six-pack of ridges in it. His muscular thighs in the tight jeans made her wonder if he rode horses. Not that she was looking at his thighs or at that bulge above them as he perched on the barstool next to her. Really, what woman wouldn’t notice? She swept her gaze to his face, but that didn’t help much. His mahogany hair rakishly brushed his collar and his dark eyes penetrated, as though he were looking into her very soul. Her face flamed and she silently cursed her fair complexion. Better to turn the tables.

“So how do you know Morgan?” she asked.

He took another sip of water and studied her. “She belongs to a group called Sisterhood Circle. They…study old goddess religions. Sometimes I join them.”

Sophie frowned. “Don’t tell me you are like those New Age Druids who go to Stonehenge at the solstices? Dancing around in white robes?”

Michael smiled. He had two kinds of smiles, Sophie decided. This one showed a dimple that made him look angelic. The other one was all bad-boy and made her body want to do very lustful things.

“Too much tourism at Stonehenge these days,” he said easily. “Sometimes, I’m asked for advice, since I do have that almost useless degree.” He grinned suddenly—no dimple—and reached over to wipe a drop of salsa off Sophie’s chin with the pad of his thumb. “But you shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it, right?”

That was his wicked grin. She wondered if he knew that her nipples had just tightened with that slow brush of his thumb. He probably did, since he was giving her a very perceptive look. Damn it. Better to change the subject. Fast.

“So, tell me about the riddle from the manuscript,” she said as briskly as she could. “It is how you coerced me into spending time on lunch.”

“You’ve got to eat to keep up your strength. Never know when you’re going to need it.” His grin widened. “Or for what.”

She hoped her face wouldn’t suddenly explode into flame; it felt so hot.

“The riddle?” she asked again.

Michael tossed several bills on the counter. “Let’s go outside to the car. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”