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I watched, fascinated, as the eyes iced over, cold fury creeping through them.
“You will cry off eventually,” he said, his tone steel. “You are a sexual creature—you cannot resist the demands of your body for long.”
I shook my head at him, kept shaking it, slow and measured. “I am also a creature of the mind and will, Rogue. If not before, then the training I went through saw to that. If it means my freedom from sexual slavery and my maybe-child from some unknown, possibly horrific, fate? That gives me plenty of incentive to resist.”
I hoped.
But he must have read the truth of it in my eyes, because he stood again, gazing down at me with aristocratic disdain.
“I saved your life,” he got out. “You owe me.”
“Oh yes, you certainly did.” I smiled, careful to look flirtatious. “But how is it my fault that you agreed to a bargain that supersedes the previous one?” That was a gambit—I wasn’t sure which took precedence, chronological order or immediacy. But it seemed he wasn’t going to argue that point.
“Don’t set yourself up to battle me, Gwynn. You can’t win.”
“I’ll settle for not losing, frankly.”
“You’ll stay here, surrounded by enemies, out of childish fear of the pleasure I can give you?”
“The pleasure you offer comes with a hell of a lot of strings, Rogue. Chains even. I haven’t heard you deny it yet.”
He drew himself together, holding still, but his fingers flexed rhythmically at his sides. I admired the long lines of him. At least I didn’t have to fake the interest.
“You won’t be able to resist me for long.”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“If you don’t get yourself killed. Or worse.” He gestured to my breast.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, yes,” he sneered, “you’ve been doing a fabulous job of that so far. You can’t even protect your own Familiar.”
I felt myself blanch. “That was a low blow, Rogue.” An accurate one. “But cloistering me in your fortress like some kind of Rapunzel fuck-toy is not what I consider a fantastic solution.”
Rogue folded his arms while color suffused his skin, angry blood filling in around the black lines. “You have a filthy mouth.”
“I told you from the beginning that I’m no lady. You were just in denial.”
“I know who you are, Gwynn.”
“Then why do you get my name wrong?”
He raised the eyebrow on the clear side of his face, but otherwise did not move. He appeared to be restraining himself from throttling me.
“I know who you are, far better than you know who I am,” he murmured. “Be careful not to underestimate me, Gwynhwyvar.”
I stood, bringing the gorgeous lily with me. I tucked it into the fold of his arms, then let my hand, one hand only, trail down his leanly muscled arm, dropping to his hip. Found the hard upthrust line of him under the velvet with my fingertips and rubbed lightly. Not so impassive after all. His eyes flared.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Likewise. Pleasant dreams, lover.”
And he disappeared. Right out from under my hand.
“Poof!” I said to the thin air. “Figured you could do that.”
I stared at the spot where he’d been, telling myself I’d done the right thing. That I wasn’t even the tiniest bit disappointed.
Chapter 23
