Page 11 of Dark Seduction

Aidan murmured, “Ah, beauty, ye let me live another day.” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself and not in the least bit shaken by such a violent fight. “Rascal that I am, I be eagerly awaitin’ our next meeting,” he added.

Claire rushed to Malcolm’s side, barely comprehending him. He stepped protectively in front of her, and in doing so, he briefly blocked her view of Aidan. “There willna be another time,” he growled back at Aidan.

Then he turned to Claire, his gaze searching. “Did he hurt ye?”

Claire was shaking like a leaf. She was about to tell him that she was fine—a monstrous lie—when she realized that Aidan was gone. “Where did he go?” she gasped.

“Give me the weapon, lass,” Malcolm said softly, taking the gun from her. He set it on the counter and put his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace.

And dear God, he felt safe. Claire clung, shocked by the overwhelming sense of security his huge body was giving her. “Who was that? Where did he go?”

His gaze seemed to melt as he looked down at her. His huge hand stroked down her hair to the small of her back, and everything changed. His body was so strong and male, his scent was so heady and sexual that her knees buckled. Her bare thighs were molded to his equally bare ones, but his tough leather boots were a startling and not unpleasant contrast against her shins. In her cowboy boots, she was still shorter than he was, and her breasts were crushed against the solid wall of his chest.

And he was massively aroused, his erection standing hard and high against one hip.

Claire’s insides hollowed. She wanted this man and it had nothing to do with any trance.

“Have no fear, lass. The bastard’s gone.” His hand moved lower, over her denim-clad bottom, his fingers spreading firmly there. “I be wantin’ ye, lass.”

She wet her lips. “I know.” She dared, “I want you, too.”

He smiled at her and she felt his hand caress her bottom, low near the hem of her skirt. “Can ye wait an hour or so?” he murmured.

Claire was overcome with pulsating desire. Ordinarily she was hard to please, but she felt that if he touched her—really touched her, right then, between her legs—she was going to climax. Maybe it was the battle she had witnessed. “Take me upstairs,” she heard herself whisper, and she was too hot to be horrified by her forward behavior. She had never felt this way before.

She would worry about who and what he was another time, later, after they had used each other and pleasured each other again and again.

His jaw tightened. “Ye dinna listen well, do ye? It’s nay safe and I canna protect ye here. But I will protect ye, lass. Ye be my Innocent now.”

“I don’t understand,” Claire whispered, pressing closer. The only thing she did understand was that he was refusing her offer. She leaned her face against his chest and her desire escalated out of all control. In his arms, she shook with an intense, consuming hunger. She ran her hands down to his waist, barely able to bite back a moan. He seemed to rise higher and harder in response.

His grip on her tightened. “I be sorry, lass,” he said.

Once again, Claire just couldn’t understand. It was as if they were from two different worlds, speaking two different languages—except for the language spoken by their inflamed bodies.

And then they were catapulted across the room, through walls, past stars.

Claire screamed.

CHAPTER THREE

’TWAS HIS FOURTH LEAP, but he was still unprepared for the pain.

Holding the woman, her screams renting the night, he fought to withstand the excruciating torment. It was as if his skin was being flayed from his body, as if his scalp was being torn from his skull, as if his limbs were being wrenched from their sockets. He knew he would land whole. It did not matter. He had never known such agony and torment could exist. He choked on his own sobs, too.

And then they landed.

’Twas with the force of being thrown from the highest cliff and landing upon a jagged rock face. Malcolm grunted, pain exploding in his back and head, bright lights blazing. But he did not release the woman. He thanked the Ancients that he had somehow kept her with him and then he prayed that she was strong enough to live.

The woman wept now, softly, against his chest.

A Master shall not use his powers for his own gain.

He tensed. Although the torment had lessened, it remained. He had been told that the strange limbo of being weak and defenseless lasted mere minutes, and had he been alone, he would have had patience. But he wasn’t alone. The woman was in his arms, and as the pain faded, his body hardened. He wanted sex.

But he hadn’t brought her back because he wanted her. He had followed Sibylla to the future, hunting both her and the page. The woman was an Innocent, caught between evil and good. He couldn’t leave her in her time, alone and without defenses, not with both Sibylla and Aidan nearby. He had taken vows to protect Innocence through all ages. His life was no longer his own.

Three years ago he had been chosen. He had been summoned to the monastery on Iona, only to learn that the monastery did not exist. Instead, a secret Brotherhood lived behind those stone walls. He had been told that he came from an ancient line of princes, descended from the old Celtic gods, and that he must follow in his father’s footsteps, defending mankind. He had taken the sacred vows, vows that had irrevocably changed his life. Defend God. Keep Faith. Protect Innocence. His war was not with kings and queens or the clans, his war was with evil. There had been shock—but somehow, there had been relief and an utter comprehension, as if he’d known that one day, the summons would come.