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Lainie ignored him and kept pacing. His attitude was really starting to irritate her. When she woke up, she was going to seriously revise his character.
The sharp, familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafted on the breeze. For a bittersweet moment, she thought she was home again, waiting for Kelly. . ..
But that was the crudest dream of all.
Slowly she turned around. Killian was sitting cross-legged beside the fire, his hat tossed casually aside. Moonlight caught in his long, unkempt hair and turned it to brilliant strands of sterling silver. The night shadowed his face, re-formed it into a plane of sharp angles and sunken hollows. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, a disembodied, hovering red dot in the darkness.
A cigarette. Thank God. She moved toward him, close enough to feel the fire's heat against her shins. "C-Can I have one of those?"
He looked up sharply, surprise stamped on his features. One black brow arched mockingly upward. "A lady doesn't smoke."
She tried to smile. "I've never been much of a lady. And I started smoking when I was eleven."
"Eleven?" There was a softness in his voice that surprised her. "That's young."
She laughed, a bitter, snorting sound. "Yeah, it can be."
"Your folks didn't mind?"
"They never said." The acid words, neither true nor false, stung. She forced a smile and looked away.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his tobacco and papers. Slowly, still looking up at her, he rolled her one and handed it to her across the fire.
She took the cigarette in trembling fingers and lit up, inhaling deeply. Without a filter, the smoke scorched
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her throat and hit her lungs hard, reminded her of how rarely she actually smoked. It should have tasted searing and awful, but for once, it tasted good.
He watched her intently and took another drag. Smoke swirled across his face, masking it for a moment. "You're a strange one, lady."
She kneeled down beside the fire, welcoming the waves of warmth against her body. "So I've been told."
"Tomorrow we'll make the ridge." He brought one knee up and dangled his arm across it. "Then we'll talk."
"I won't be here tomorrow."
"Uh-huh." He took a last drag and flicked the wasted cigarette into the fire. Then he slid into his bedroll and looked at her. "Come to bed."
Coughing, she tossed the remainder of her cigarette into the fire and tried to make herself stand up. Her legs felt like pudding and her heart was thumping so fast, she couldn't hear anything else.
What
in the world was wrong with her?
Everything she wanted and needed was lying over there, waiting for her. All she had to do was crawl into that sleeping bag and go to sleep and this nightmare would finally end.
She forced herself to a stiff-legged stand and walked beside the fire. At the bedroll, she stopped and looked down at him.
Arms crossed behind his head, hair a tangled silver mess, he lay there, looking unconscionably handsome. Arrogantly male.
He grinned. "Ready for bed?"
She winced, feeling another sharp stab of fear. It wasn't that she was afraid of him. That, she could almost understand. It was something else; something she couldn't put her finger on, something just out of reach.
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"Move over."
