Page 40 of Dark Victory

He crossed his arms, his face hard and tight. “But ye liked it a moment ago.”

Tabby struck him across the face as hard as she could.

He didn’t flinch, when her blow would have made another man reel. His eyes widened—and then narrowed.

Tabby could barely believe she’d hit him. She’d never hit anyone or anything in her life. She did not retreat, however. “Violence is the way you live. I get it. But here, in my time, in my home, we don’t abuse guests!”

He made a harsh, disparaging sound. “So ye wish to treat him as a guest when he insults ye?”

“That’s right!” she screamed again. Her stomach was churning. Why didn’t he get it? He had rescued her, but they could never be friends, much less lovers. Their values were too different. He lived by the sword, when she used magic to help others. But she had just had raw frantic sex with him on her bathroom floor. And now, damn it, she could not forget it. She would never forget it!

But it wasn’t shame or guilt that was foremost on her mind. It was shock.

She’d been uninhibited and passionate. She’d taken, instead of given. The more she kept recalling it, the more dismayed she was—and the more her body was quickening with the memory. It was so hard to breathe!

“If ye were a man, ye’d die fer that.”

Tabby hugged herself, just looking at him. “Then I’m lucky, aren’t I? Go away. I need to be by myself.”

“Ye dinna care fer Randall. Ye dinna even like him now.”

“Go away—far away!” she shouted.

“He has no respect fer ye. He thinks to use ye fer his own gain.”

He was right on that last point. “Like you respect me?” she cried. “Because I do believe that you were using me a few minutes ago!”

She heard him exhale harshly. He said, “We used each other. Ye wanted me, I wanted ye. ’Tis natural. And I gave ye pleasure.” He added, “I enjoyed yer pleasure.”

She so wanted to hit him again. But he was right—it had been mutual. She stared at him furiously and he stared back impassively. The memory of their brief encounter made it hard to think clearly.

But she did know one thing. “This will never work.”

His brows slashed upward. Then his expression changed, becoming cold and speculative, at once.

“It will never work!” she repeated, pointing at him. Did men die for that rather rude gesture, too? Of course they did!

His hands had fisted. “Ye said,” he said low and carefully, “that many women in yer time take their pleasure when they wish. Now ye’re like most others.”

“I am not like other women. I am a prude, and if you don’t know what I mean, look it up!”

A bewildered expression crossed his face and Tabby simply didn’t care. She pointed at him again. “I am sorry I cast that spell to bring you here. It backfired. You were supposed to come from An Tùir-Tara, all bloody and burned and grief-stricken, so I could help you! Instead, I get this murdering warrior without a soul or a conscience!” She could not control her tone. She was probably hysterical and she didn’t care. “I don’t know why I had to be the one to see you at the museum, damn it! I don’t know why you think you’ve seen me haunting you for a hundred years! And I don’t care.” She stopped, panting.

“Ye care.”

“No, I do not! In fact, tomorrow I am sending you back to Blayde, and we can both say a little prayer and hope you wind up where you belong!”

He folded his arms and stared coldly at her. “Like hell.”

Tabby finally became silent. Their gazes locked.

“Someone has to protect ye.”

“Not you. My sister can do that.”

He scoffed at her. “A woman? I dinna think so.”

“Sam is a warrior. You cannot stay here. You do not belong here. That is really obvious.”