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Evie Skartos’s wedding was the key to that.
Determination fired through Lucinda, pushing everything else from her mind. Well, almost everything. It was hard not to acknowledge a tremor of sensual awareness when she pushed out of the car and came within a few inches of her unwitting host.
‘Do you have a bag?’ His tone could not be less welcoming, but the question itself showed a degree of thoughtfulness that surprised her. So too his concern for her safety, come to think of it. Maybe he wasn’t all bad?
‘No,’ she said with regret. ‘It’s in a hotel in the city.’
His curt nod gave nothing away. He turned, striding back to the castle and holding the door open for her. She stared at it for several seconds, her throat inexplicably dry, before she stepped into the hall, almost brushing him as she passed. He was warm. They hadn’t touched and yet somehow she just felt it. Her skin seemed to be heating as if in response.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to murmur, then almost wished she hadn’t offered the civility, for the way his face shifted, rejecting her gratitude.
‘Follow me.’ She wasn’t sure how he managed to inject three syllables with so much disdain, but he did so with apparent ease. Little did he know, she’d had a lifetime of being treated like dirt by her supposed family—his behaviour didn’t really phase her after that.
She fell into step just behind him, giving more attention to the castle now. The storm added a haunted, ethereal elegance to the rooms; the candelabras, while beautiful in the full daylight, were quite spectacular in the brooding, moody light.
‘How long have you lived here?’
He stopped walking, but didn’t turn to face her. His shoulders were tense. ‘Rule number one. You are not my guest. You are not my friend. I have no interest in making small talk with you.’ He turned slowly. ‘And I certainly have no interest in answering questions. In case I have not made it obvious, you are here for one reason only: I do not want your death on my conscience.’ The words reverberated with the strength of steel. ‘The kitchen is through there.’ He gestured to a pair of timber doors to his right. ‘Eat whatever you want. But just...’ He broke off, his eyes searching hers, the smallest of frowns arching between his brows before he seemed to rouse himself. ‘Stay out of my goddamned way.’
She did exactly as he asked. For several hours, Thirio didn’t hear a peep from his unwanted visitor. But heknewshe was there. He couldfeelher in the castle, he could sense her. Vitally, he knew he wasn’t alone, and being solitary was all he craved, particularly after the day he’d had.
His mind ran over the meeting he’d run, focusing on the details, but every few minutes a pair of amber eyes flooded his mind. So, some time after eight, he left the sanctuary of his office and began to stalk through the castle. He wasn’t looking for Lucinda specifically, and yet, when he found her in the library, he was glad. Just to know what she was up to, to convince himself that she wasn’t sticking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. Thirio valued his privacy almost as much as he did his solitude.
‘Hello.’ Her voice was soft. Sweet. He ignored the tightening in his gut, the feeling that shifted through him that there was more to this diminutive, gentle woman. Curiosity was normal. Thirio didn’t see many people. He even tended to speak to Evie on the phone or via WhatsApp, rather than face to face. He couldn’t bear his sister’s kindness, nor the sympathy that softened the corners of her eyes.
‘Have you eaten?’
Her brows flexed together at the harshness of his tone. He told himself he was glad. Better that she be wary of him than look at him with sensual speculation. ‘I grabbed an apple.’
‘That’s not dinner.’
‘It’s fine. I don’t tend to eat much at night anyway. I’m usually so busy, I just have something quick.’ She frowned softly. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
‘I’m not,’ he rejected that idea, but too quickly. The words didn’t ring true. He expelled a rough breath. ‘As I said, I don’t want your death on my conscience. Come with me.’ He stalked out of the room without checking that she was following. It had been a long time since Thirio Skartos was with people, but he still carried the belief that he would always be obeyed, always be followed.
‘I don’t think I’m going to die from starvation.’ Her voice lifted in amusement and it did something strange to him. Something unwelcome, for the sheer fact of how good it felt.
‘Probably not.’ So why was he doing this? Why was he leading her to the kitchen, as though she were an invited guest rather than an opportunistic gatecrasher?
He pushed through the double doors, frustrated by the uncharacteristic behaviour. He supposed it was the novelty of having someone here.And the fact she’s as beautiful as an angel has nothing to do with it? The fact your libido is stirring to life for the first time in six years?He ground his teeth together, wrenching open the freezer door and withdrawing two ready-prepared meals.
‘Lasagne okay?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m...’
‘What?’
His curt interruption startled her. She visibly jumped and regret twisted his gut. He was all hard edges now, nothing soft about him.
‘I’m a vegetarian.’ The words emerged as an apology, and he felt even worse. For Christ’s sake. He’d forgotten how to be around another human.
He replaced the lasagnes and removed, instead, a couple of portions of mushroom risotto.
‘No problem.’ He didn’t look up to see her response, but instead busied himself with putting the contents into the microwave.
‘Drink?’
She shook her head, her long, dark blonde hair shifting around her face.
