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“I’m making this up as I go,” she shot back.
“Really? I’d never have figured that out.” Now he definitely looked amused, damn him.
“So what’s your big idea?” she snapped. Hating his smug superiority. Hating her helplessness. Hating the way he eyed her like a starving man eyes a meal. Hating the way she enjoyed it.
“First things first,” he growled.
Without warning, he flung her down on the bed. Fell on top of her, fisting his hands in her hair, forcing her head back as he covered her mouth in a violent kiss of domination, his hand molding itself to her breast, his knee forcing her thighs apart as if he planned on dragging her skirts up around her waist and pushing himself inside her right here and now.
And if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop him. Her body seemed to have divorced itself from her brain. It welcomed his touch. Ached for it. A traitorous whimper of pleasure escaped her. They’d be caught. Revealed. But instead of embarrassment, that threat of discovery heightened her already dizzy senses. Somehow her hands ended up in his hair, her tongue in his mouth, her hand sliding downward to cup the hard bulge in his breeches. Oh yes. He might not actually mount her, but he certainly wanted to. A heady rush of power infused her panic.
The door slammed back on its hinges at the same instant she risked all with the most basic of fith-faths hidden under the thinnest of cloaking spells. It took every ounce of concentration to draw even that little bit of power. She just prayed it held.
Cam raised his head, his eyes black with need. “What the great goddamn?” he snarled, the venom in his voice completely convincing.
A buxom woman, dressed not in the exotic outfits of her girls, but in a prim gray linen gown and mobcap, curtsied, her cheeks flaming. “Excuse me, sir. My mistake. Looking for a redheaded imposter. Someone said she came in here.”
“Does she look like a redhead to you?” Cam demanded, grabbing up a fistful of Morgan’s hair, now black as ebony.
“No, sir. My mistake. Excuse me, sir. So sorry.” She curt-seyed her way out, knocking into the man standing behind her, his pale eyes raking them both with a hostile gaze. “Go on,” the woman snipped, “you can see it’s not her.”
The man bowed and withdrew, but Morgan knew without a doubt, he’d be waiting. He may not have caught them redhanded—or redhaired—but he wasn’t ready to dismiss them completely.
They were trapped.
Cam stared at the closed door as if deep in thought. Then as if a conclusion had been reached, he shrugged. Got to his feet, leaving her bereft. Stupid with abandonment. What was wrong with her? She should be working out a way to get them out of here. Planning their next move. Instead, all she wanted to do was pull him back into the huge bed. Watch him in that huge mirror as he pleasured her.
“Where’s Brodie?” Cam’s barked question jolted her out of her sexual stupor. Made her feel foolish. Until she caught the pained look in his eyes, the way he avoided touching her as if afraid he couldn’t hold himself back a second time.
Morgan dissolved her spells. Hoped her magic had passed unnoticed. “In the alley behind the building. He’s supposed to be guarding our escape.”
“Well, we can’t get that far without dealing with the man out there and any help he may have.”
Morgan stood, adjusting her gown, trying to control her racing heart. She pulled her clothes out from under the bed where she’d stashed them earlier. “Let me change and I can—”
“No,” Cam answered, his tone final. “You can barely stand. I’ll get us out of here.”
“How?”
His features seemed carved in stone, his eyes flat and staring. As if his spirit had fled. As if some dark demon inhabited his body. “Leave that to me. Get changed. I’ll knock twice. Be ready to go.”
She nodded, unable to argue with this new, implacable Cam.
And just like that, he was gone.
Piece by piece, she removed the whisper-thin silks. Dragged on the workaday gown, the comfortable jacket. Bundled her hair back into a quick knot at her neck. She regarded herself in the mirror. Looked down at the discarded clothing. And the truth hit her. She’d failed at being the elegant lady. And now she was failing at being an Amhas-draoi.
Neither fish nor fowl.
Tossing a curse to the empty room, she dropped onto the bed. Warrior or woman. Duinedon or Other. Where did she fit in? Who was she? Really?
A knock—once, twice—broke her from her thoughts. Cam.
She ran to the door, her childish worries forgotten. If they didn’t get out of here, it didn’t much matter, did it?
Cam stood on the threshold. Or a horrifying imitation of Cam did. He was frightening, his gaze flint-hard. His hands curled to fists at his side. His body poised to erupt if she so much as touched him. “It’s done. Let’s go.”
She risked it, putting a hand out.
