Moon Cursed by Lori Handeland Page B

He wasn’t shivering. Which was amazing considering he didn’t have a jacket and his arms were bared by his smoke-colored T-shirt.
    “Your h-h-hands are l-like ice.”
    He glanced at them, then shoved them behind his back. “Family curse.” He shrugged. “I’ve had my share of women tell me I’m a cold-blooded bastard.”
    Kris frowned. He didn’t seem cold-blooded at all. He’d just saved her life.
    “C-c-cold hands, warm h-heart,” she said.
    “I believe one or two have mentioned that I dinnae have a heart.”
    Kris wasn’t sure how to respond. He seemed determined to paint himself in a bad light, even though he’d just risked his health, if not his life, rescuing her from—
    Who?
    “Tea,” Liam blurted, heading for the kitchenette.
    “I don’t—,” Kris began.
    “Ye do,” he interrupted. “And so do I.”
    They remained silent while Liam put on the kettle, then searched out the tea and cups. Had she ever seen a man half as beautiful? Why was he hiding in Drumnadrochit? He could earn hundreds with that face alone.
    Her gaze wandered over the taut pecs, honed biceps, and flat belly. The body would net him thousands.
    Then again, was making a living with your appearance all it was cracked up to be? Constant diets, facials, workouts, highlights. Being told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, and what not to.
    Kris was small potatoes in the TV arena, but sometimes she became heartily sick of it all. Maybe Liam had the right idea. At least he was happy here.
    Or maybe not. His shoulders slumped; his head, too. His expression was as far from happy as she’d yet to see. She had to wonder what lay in his past that haunted him.
    He approached with two mugs of steaming tea and handed her one. Kris took it, immediately grateful he’d insisted as the heat from the cup thawed her aching fingers and the steam from the tea did the same for her stinging cheeks.
    “Drink.” Liam urged the mug to her lips. “ ’Twill stop the shivers.”
    She drank, and in a few moments he was proved right. When she looked at him again, he stared out the window at the loch, a frown marring his perfect face.
    “Did you see who hit me?” she asked.
    His sapphire blue eyes cut back to hers. “I couldnae say.”
    “Couldnae? Or wouldnae?”
    “Ye think I’m protecting a murderer?”
    “I’m not dead,” she pointed out.
    “Ye would have been.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Aye,” he said, and glanced out the window again.
    “You didn’t recognize him?”
    “I didnae see him.” He growled low with annoyance. “Hell, with the dark and the mist, it could have been a her.”
    “What mist?” Kris asked.
    He flipped his fingers toward the loch. “It comes and it goes.”
    She’d seen that already for herself.
    “Ye’ll have t’ report this to the authorities,” he said.
    “Right.” Kris began to get up.
    “Not now.”
    “But—”
    “Whoever attacked ye is gone. Won’t do any good fer Alan Mac to be out here in the dark. Time enough to tell him tomorrow.”
    Since she wanted nothing less than to leave her house and walk into the village—she wasn’t even sure she could—Kris decided Liam’s advice was sound. Even though it wasn’t.
    “What about evidence?” she asked, but her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open.
    “Shyte!” he muttered, the Scottish twist to the curse making her smile. “Well, there’s naught to be done. Ye cannae walk all that way, and I cannae carry ye. Ye don’t have a phone?” She shook her head, then groaned at the return of the pain. “How about some medicine? Fer yer head,” he clarified when she frowned, confused.
    “Aspirin. In the bathroom.”
    He returned with the pills and a glass of water. As soon as she took them, he held out his hand. She put the empty glass into it, and his lips twitched. He set the glass on the coffee table, then caught her hand. “T’ bed with ye,” he said.
    Kris suddenly became aware of the small cottage and the even