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Sabrina drew up his one and only chair. Settled herself with experienced professionalism. But he was aware of the smooth, cool flesh beneath that proper high-collared exterior. The sweet taste of that mouth and the dreams filling that sapphire gaze. It made him want to howl his anguish. Pull the world down around him and crush out the pain of this new exile.
She childishly chewed the edge of one finger. “She claims she’s going to kill Brendan if she finds him.” A wobble threaded her words. And now you’re hurt . . .”
“Miss Roseingrave is Amhas-draoi, Sabrina.”
She sucked in a frightened breath, her face going chalk white, brows snapping into a frown.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Puzzled it out, have you? She wants me to hand her Brendan Douglas’s head on a platter. Or at least his whereabouts.”
“That’s why you kept asking if I’d heard from him. You planned on—”
“Trading him for a clean, quick death. Aye.”
“You want so much to die?”
He opened his eyes to see her glowering down at him from eyes bright with outrage.
“I want to be free,” he answered firmly. “The form of it makes no difference.”
She gazed at him for long unbearable minutes, her words when they came soft but certain. “So what made you change your mind about Brendan?”
“What makes you think I have?”
“You’d not be telling me otherwise.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His stomach rolled, but the room had stopped the wild spinning of earlier. “Perhaps it’s all part of my wily plan,” he said, running a hand over his chin. “Make you think I’m on your side when the only side I’m on is my own.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re too forthright. Deception and conniving aren’t your way. You face your enemies head-on.”
He straightened, shooting her a sarcastic look. “Your empathic gifts are so great you can read my character?”
A dogged glint flashed in her eyes. “It’s naught to do with empathy. I read the man as he’s shown himself to me over and over.” She leaned forward. “Honorable. Principled.” So close he counted the freckles upon her nose. Drowned in her jewel blue irises. “Compassionate.” She barely pressed her lips to his.
His body shuddered, this time with suppressed need. “This isn’t a game, Sabrina. I can’t save you. I can’t even save myself.”
“I’m not asking to be saved.” Such a serious face. Determined. Almost angry.
No. He knew exactly what she was asking for, and it was becoming harder to deny her. And why should he? His villainy had been firmly established.
“It wouldn’t be our first time,” she cajoled. “You know it. You remember.”
All too well. Sabrina, smiling as she teased him to arousal. Wanton and passionate, her body sleek and soft beneath him. Spooned against him as she slept after. The picture burned in his mind.
“It never happened. Couldn’t have.” He denied his memories. Yet here she was before him. An impossible reality. But then—as death undone—so was he. Perhaps two impossibilities created their own mysterious magic.
He reached for her. Felt her shiver beneath his fingers as he drew her up and against him. For all her brave talk, she remained fearful.
He cupped her face in his hands, sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips. She opened to him, letting him dip inside. Quick flicks to entice. To tempt. While she stood without moving, hands splayed against his chest as if unsure where to go from here.
Taking the decision away from her, he caressed her shoulders, the curve of her breasts, down her sides, settling his hands on her hips. Gathering her close.
As she relaxed, his kisses deepened. She tasted velvety sweet, her honey heat acting on him like a drug until he hungered for more. Hunger for her congealing into a devastating greed. He wanted not just to recall their passion. But to relive it. Sabrina belonged to him. Body and soul. In this life and the last.
Buttons. Knots. Ribbons. Each article of clothing discarded with wicked eroticism until he throbbed with impatience, and her breathing came quick and gasping with every touch of his hands upon her flesh.
There was an instant when he stood before her naked, his uncountable scars ice-white and puckered against the bronze of his skin. Shame and cowardice and the burning knowledge of his crimes flared through him once more.
Sabrina would find out. Sabrina would hate him.
