Page 30 of Dark Victory

No, she thought, shocked. Tabby somehow wrenched away from him. She was imagining their being lovers—it was not déjà vu. She would never take this medieval man to bed! He was the antithesis of her type—he was worse than Randall—more powerful, more controlling, more macho. There wouldn’t be love, because there couldn’t be love. She was too intellectual to get involved with him, which meant there wouldn’t be sex.

But so much heat sizzled between them that she saw the red-hot current in the air.

He slowly shook his head. “I think ye want to be dragged to bed—an’ I think ye want me to drag ye there.”

Tabby backed away, trembling. “You are so wrong. I like gentle men.”

He began to smile. “I dinna think so. But mayhap, ye believe so.”

He was wrong, but she wouldn’t argue. A long, heated moment passed. Tension was coursing through her body. This was untenable. But even as she decided that, she envisioned him as he’d been at the Met, bloody and burned, enraged and anguished.

He crossed his arms and stared coolly at her.

What was she going to do? He had insinuated that he wasn’t ready to go back. She prayed that was not because he wanted her favors first. Her spell had backfired—she’d brought him from the wrong time. If she tried to send him to his home, was there any chance she could succeed?

She suddenly imagined his winding up in the middle of a Regency ball, with the guests screaming and fleeing. Then she imagined him winding up fighting a lion bare-handed in the Roman Colosseum. She trembled, suddenly at her emotional limit.

The man who’d been in that fire was very different from the man standing before her. Centuries separated them. The former might need her one day, although she was no longer certain if she was up to the task of helping him. The man standing before her didn’t need her at all. But he was here because of her spell.

And he’d seen her for a century.

Tabby didn’t want to try to figure that one out—it was too scary.

“Why would you want to stay here?” she asked, her mouth so dry now she had to wet her lips.

“I wish to comprehend yer world. An’ I wish to go to the museum.”

Tabby was shocked.

“Ye’ll take me there,” he added flatly.

Tabby didn’t have to think about it to know that was a very bad idea. The police were looking for him, and even if she got him clothes, she was pretty certain he’d stand out like a sore thumb. And there was no way he should ever be told about his future.

“I saved ye,” he flashed. The pots and pans on the stove rattled. “I saved the children. Ye owe me that much.”

“Damn it,” Tabby whispered. “The police want you dead!”

“I dinna fear yer dark soldiers.” He gave her a dismissive look and walked away from her.

Tabby felt like collapsing. Instead, she sat down on a stool at the counter, breathing hard. He had saved her. He’d saved the children. She owed him. A gentleman wouldn’t expect anything in return, but he, of course, was not a gentleman.

And it was her spell that had brought them to this impasse. He might very well be trapped in her time—with her—for longer than either of them wanted. She was afraid to try to send him back, which meant he was staying with her for a while. And that was the bottom line. So she was going to have to deal with that. With him.

“We need a truce,” she cried, standing.

He sighed. “Do ye have hot water an’ linen, mayhap?”

Tabby’s gaze shot to his right arm, where dried blood crusted the short sleeve of his tunic and the area on his arm above his bicep. “I don’t trust you. But I’m not powerful enough to send you back, and until we figure out what to do, we need an understanding.”

He smiled without amusement but didn’t speak.

“I want your word that you will leave me alone, that you will not try to seduce me or crawl into bed with me while I’m sleeping!”

He laughed. “Tabitha, before this night is through, you’ll be in my arms an’ verra pleased about it.”

She’d come up against a macho brick wall. “My answer is no.”

“But I dinna ask a question.”