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There was a petulant expression on her face, and her hand at the base of his cock tightened, stemming his seed. “It’s that bloody Annabel, you’re obsessed with her.”
Anger flared in him. “Don’t you dare speak her name in that tone.”
Isla glared at him. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Bastard,” she muttered, snatching her hand away.
The atmosphere in the room grew tense, the rest of the coven quieting as they observed the exchange. The urge to climax had gone, but he refused to suffer her insolence. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted it.
Her body buckled under her and she shrieked.
Cain rose to his feet, doing up his fly as he did so, and then kicked her flat to the ground. When she tried to get up, he put his boot over her forearm, pinning her to the floor.
“Cain, no!” It was Elspeth, but when he caught sight of the dismay in her expression it only urged him on. They needed to know that he would never, ever accept disobedience or insolent words from a member of his coven. Never had, never would. He’d brought them jobs, money and knowledge of magic far beyond what they already had. He expected unconditional loyalty in return.
Isla writhed on the floor beneath him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Please don’t, Cain. You’re hurting me.”
When she tried to pull her arm free, he pressed harder, trapping it while it twisted.
“Please, no!” Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated.
Her body stilled. She’d finally realized how serious he was. He put his weight through his boot and rocked, rocked until he heard the sound of bone breaking and her screams filled the room.
7
THE PILLOWS WERE SOFT AND WARM, AND ZOË nestled deeper, her consciousness stirring even while her body remained languid with sleep. Her hand moved between her thighs, where she felt pleasured and sensitive. Her breasts were tingling beneath the weight of the quilt, and she felt deliciously comfortable. Rolling onto her back, she stroked her hand over her breasts, squeezing rhythmically. An ache, like an aftershock, shot through her on each clutch of her hand.
It was the sound of gulls outside the window that forced her to surface. As she reached full consciousness, her hands stilled on her breasts. Strange bacchanalian dreams from the night before flitted through her thoughts—a wild party in the night, in the woods. It had seemed so real. She sensed the woods in her dream were the ones on the hill above Carbrey, the place that she had been drawn to on her way into the village.
I’m in Scotland. Her eyes opened and she took a deep breath. The tang of the sea was on the breeze coming in through the open window. She glanced around the room. Her suitcase sat on the floor, half unpacked, clothes spilling out of it in a heap of a mess. That wasn’t like her, and she groaned at the sight of it. But she hadn’t been away from home in ages, and the last time she did go away it had been with her mom, to a crummy caravan in Somerset. Zoë had always been the organized one, back then. She had to be. Being a “free spirit” meant her mother didn’t bother with regular stuff like housekeeping. She was always too busy messing with tarot cards and other such nonsense.
Zoë glared at the clothes spilling out of the case. “Please tell me I’m not turning into my mother as I get older,” she muttered to herself.
Groaning, she put her hand over her face. She recalled that she’d made an attempt to unpack before she left for dinner the previous evening, and then everything had…well, got away from her.
That’s when it all came rushing back. Like a film flickering on the screen, images of what had gone on the night before flashed through her mind. Dinner at the Tide Inn, and that strange encounter with Cain Davot.
Grayson. Had she really done that down there on the stairs with him?
Sitting up, she peered out onto the landing, as if that would somehow answer her questions. Then her hand instinctively moved across the mattress beside her. The dent his body had made in the bed was there, but he wasn’t. The dent was proof enough. She ran her hand back and forth over the place where he had been lying close alongside her, while she thought back over the raunchy sex they’d enjoyed.
Her pussy grew heavy and hot and she took a deep breath.
When had he left? That part was all a bit vague and dreamlike. She climbed out of the bed and walked to the window, peeping through the curtains at the sky. It was clear and blue, and the waves inside the bay were gently cresting in the breeze. It was going to be a beautiful day, and she was here to enjoy it—whatever it brought her way. Glancing back at the dent in the bed, she smiled to herself and headed for the bathroom.
It was when she stepped out of the shower that the smell of food cooking wafted up the steps to her. At first she thought she was imagining it. Was he still here? Clutching her towel around her, she pushed back her hair with damp hands and peered at herself in the mirror. Not too bad, considering. A little wild-eyed, perhaps. It really did smell like toast. Cocking her head, she listened. There were indeed noises emanating from downstairs. Her pulse raced as it fell into place. The biker prof was still here, and—by the sounds of it—he was making breakfast.
“Well, hello.” Her voice ran over him, soft and seductive.
Grayson turned and when he caught sight of her standing in the kitchen doorway, he wondered if he should have put more than his jeans on. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, her lips softly parted. Perhaps a barefoot, bare-chested man wasn’t what she wanted to find in her kitchen, the morning after.
Her hair was damp and loose, and the shirt she’d put on was clinging to her as if she hadn’t dried herself properly. It clung to her breasts provocatively, drawing his attention. She was wearing low-slung jeans, and the shirt was open at the base, revealing a glimpse of her midriff. It seemed like an invitation to run the back of his hand over the soft, womanly curve of her bared abdomen.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, and when she smiled his way, he wanted to take her back upstairs. That smile, and her aura—what a combination. The sexy morning-after look in her eyes told him she was thinking about what they did last night, and the added psychic aura that had attached itself to her glowed and vibrated with intense sexual energy. It suited her, too. She was a lush, sensual woman to begin with, and now her sexual aura was visible on the outside.
It was the house that had brought that to the surface in her, and the whole room was filled with energy and promise. He’d never seen anything quite like it, and it made him want to get physical with her, so that they could enjoy it all, together.
Grabbing the linen tea towel he’d flung over his shoulder, he dried his hands on it then cast it aside. “The house let me know you were awake, so I took the liberty of making some breakfast.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “The house?”
