but before he jabbed her in the neck, he sat up and grasped her shoulders, pushing her upright so she sat between his legs. His efforts were wasted. She slumped against his chest, her head falling back on his shoulder. His cock pressed snug against her ass. The hard part ought to be coming up with an excuse that didn’t involve a flashlight and a front pants pocket, but he barely managed not to rock his hips forward.
“We need to talk.” When she didn’t answer, he turned his face into her hair and inhaled. His nape stung in warning before spines erupted down his neck. Where his hands gripped her shoulders, they contrasted dark against light. Fuck no . She gasped. He stuttered. “I can explain.”
Her face turned toward his. Not a gasp, a snore. “Isabeau?” he asked to be certain.
In answer, she buried her nose against his throat. “Hmm?”
“Nothing.” His arms were stiff where he folded them around her waist. He ought to move. No one was immune to the desert heat. Linger here and he’d become as dehydrated as she was. Then they’d be prey for sand traps, raiders or other godforsaken scavengers combing the dunes.
The soft puff of her breath across his neck froze him in place. Her fingers tangled with his, and she made a low moan in the back of her throat. She’d been out here for the better part of a day before he had found her. Sun sickness might have set in, but he’d bet thirst was the culprit.
He glanced around. No horse and no more salt. Enough cubes were shoved down her top to prove she’d been the one to steal them, but where was the rest? The best he could figure was her partner had ditched her and escaped with the bulk of their loot, leaving her with enough evidence to incriminate her. Brought to justice or left to die. Either way, her partner would be free and clear.
All she had were the clothes on her back and a battered locket. Something about it had her fired up and ready to fight him for it. Was it stolen too? It must be more valuable than it looked.
Careful not to jostle Isabeau, Dillon leaned to one side and dug in his pocket. His hand closed over warm metal, and he withdrew the necklace to get a good look at it. It was oval, plain. Scratches marred the cover, and the clasp had seen better days. Spots of bronze shined through where someone or something had rubbed past the silver plate. When he popped open the clasp, a bit of string fell onto the sand. Fumbling, he tried to catch it but missed because his gaze was glued inside the locket, where a miniature portrait of a miniature Isabeau stared back at him.
His same primal core that waked whenever Isabeau was near raged against the implication she belonged to another male. She was his. “No, she isn’t.” Saying the words aloud didn’t help.
On his third attempt, he managed to break from the tiny face staring back at him to see what else she’d kept in there. Part of him hoped this was an heirloom piece. It would explain the wear on the finish. The little girl was Isabeau’s twin, so maybe she was Isabeau when she was a child.
Shaking sand from the string, he realized it wasn’t thread. It was a lock of braided hair. He swallowed. It could still be hers. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled fresh violets, he knew.
Isabeau had a child.
Did she also have a mate?
His nose pressed against her hair, smelling pears. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” This changed everything. He had hard questions to ask and he better damn well like her answers.
Chapter Seven
Footsteps jarred me from sleep. I jerked upright and groaned as the world spun before my eyes. Darkness enveloped all sides of me but one. Glaring sunlight illuminated a long…tunnel? My eyes watered as I squinted. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I saw rock walls and scattered debris. My hand went to my necklace, and the knot in my chest loosened until the sound of boot hitting stone made my heart skitter. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was
“We need to talk.” When she didn’t answer, he turned his face into her hair and inhaled. His nape stung in warning before spines erupted down his neck. Where his hands gripped her shoulders, they contrasted dark against light. Fuck no . She gasped. He stuttered. “I can explain.”
Her face turned toward his. Not a gasp, a snore. “Isabeau?” he asked to be certain.
In answer, she buried her nose against his throat. “Hmm?”
“Nothing.” His arms were stiff where he folded them around her waist. He ought to move. No one was immune to the desert heat. Linger here and he’d become as dehydrated as she was. Then they’d be prey for sand traps, raiders or other godforsaken scavengers combing the dunes.
The soft puff of her breath across his neck froze him in place. Her fingers tangled with his, and she made a low moan in the back of her throat. She’d been out here for the better part of a day before he had found her. Sun sickness might have set in, but he’d bet thirst was the culprit.
He glanced around. No horse and no more salt. Enough cubes were shoved down her top to prove she’d been the one to steal them, but where was the rest? The best he could figure was her partner had ditched her and escaped with the bulk of their loot, leaving her with enough evidence to incriminate her. Brought to justice or left to die. Either way, her partner would be free and clear.
All she had were the clothes on her back and a battered locket. Something about it had her fired up and ready to fight him for it. Was it stolen too? It must be more valuable than it looked.
Careful not to jostle Isabeau, Dillon leaned to one side and dug in his pocket. His hand closed over warm metal, and he withdrew the necklace to get a good look at it. It was oval, plain. Scratches marred the cover, and the clasp had seen better days. Spots of bronze shined through where someone or something had rubbed past the silver plate. When he popped open the clasp, a bit of string fell onto the sand. Fumbling, he tried to catch it but missed because his gaze was glued inside the locket, where a miniature portrait of a miniature Isabeau stared back at him.
His same primal core that waked whenever Isabeau was near raged against the implication she belonged to another male. She was his. “No, she isn’t.” Saying the words aloud didn’t help.
On his third attempt, he managed to break from the tiny face staring back at him to see what else she’d kept in there. Part of him hoped this was an heirloom piece. It would explain the wear on the finish. The little girl was Isabeau’s twin, so maybe she was Isabeau when she was a child.
Shaking sand from the string, he realized it wasn’t thread. It was a lock of braided hair. He swallowed. It could still be hers. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled fresh violets, he knew.
Isabeau had a child.
Did she also have a mate?
His nose pressed against her hair, smelling pears. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” This changed everything. He had hard questions to ask and he better damn well like her answers.
Chapter Seven
Footsteps jarred me from sleep. I jerked upright and groaned as the world spun before my eyes. Darkness enveloped all sides of me but one. Glaring sunlight illuminated a long…tunnel? My eyes watered as I squinted. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I saw rock walls and scattered debris. My hand went to my necklace, and the knot in my chest loosened until the sound of boot hitting stone made my heart skitter. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was
Similar Books
