overcome you. You know exactly what you're doing, and you know why, and there's nothing simple or base about it. Is there?"
He allowed himself the luxury of a faint smile. "I don't usually underestimate you," he said.
"You aren't answering me. You did that on purpose, didn't you? To rattle me. To see what kind of reaction you could get from me. You like playing with people, teasing them, frightening them…"
"Do I frighten you, Cassidy?" he interrupted her.
"Yes."
He had to give her credit for her honesty. He wanted to frighten her. He wanted to scare her half to death, and he wanted her to want him anyway. Be willing to do anything for him. "Do you think I'm going to take a butcher knife to you?"
"Did you take a butcher knife to your pregnant wife?"
"Sooner or later I'll answer that question. And I don't think you're going to like what I say."
"Then don't tell me."
"Stop asking."
She bit her lip, biting back the words she no doubt wanted to fling at his head. Her lips were still damp and reddened from his mouth, and he wanted her again, more powerfully than before. "What do you want from me?" she asked with a trace of desperation.
He let his glance slide down her strong, lush body, slowly, then raised his eyes to hers. "What makes you think I want something from you?"
"I'm not a total idiot, even if I act like one on occasions."
"I haven't seen you act like an idiot recently."
"Try five minutes ago. Kissing you in the kitchen was not a particularly smart move."
"Should you have kissed me in the bedroom?" he countered smoothly. "And actually, I didn't notice you doing any of the kissing. Granted, you didn't slap my face and screech 'how dare you?' like an outraged virgin, but I wasn't aware of any enthusiastic participation." It was a lie. He'd felt her response, in a thousand tiny, yearning ways. But she wouldn't know that.
The color on her cheeks deepened. "What do you want from me?" she persisted.
For such a tall, womanly creature she suddenly reminded him of a child. A defiant tomboy, facing her worst nightmare, with fists clenched, trembling, determined not to show it. Maybe that's exactly what he was. The thing every woman feared. A spiritual vampire, ready to drain her of everything for his own survival.
He reached out a hand, waiting to see whether she'd try to duck. She held her ground, but he could see the muscle clench at the base of her jaw, as his long fingers brushed the side of her cheek. "Maybe just a taste of innocence," he murmured.
"I'm not innocent."
He wanted to laugh. "Compared to me you are."
"Compared to you, anyone is."
"Perhaps." He let his fingers play across her lips, and they were soft, faintly clinging. "Perhaps I want to bring you down to my level. Corrupt you, destroy you, and then murder you." He spoke the words lightly, softly, and it took a moment for her eyes to grow cold with fear, for her mouth to tighten, for her to take a step away from him.
"I don't believe you," she said.
"Then what do you believe?"
She wasn't ready for that question. She shook her head, blindly, and pushed away from the counter, moving past him, careful not to touch him. But the long, flowing skirts brushed against his legs, and the scent of her lingered in the air, and the taste of her clung to his mouth. And he stood alone in the darkened kitchen for a very long time, remembering.
CHAPTER 7
« ^ »
"I need your help."
Cassidy looked up from the transcripts she was reading. Sean stood in the doorway, dressed in his favorite Irish wool suit, the one he wore for funerals and weddings. He looked glum, and Cass felt a clutching of nervousness in the pit of her stomach.
"Anything."
Sean grinned. "Don't be so rash, darling. Your da would have your soul if he could, and well you know it."
She considered it. She'd once thought so, flung those very words at him when she'd escaped from his overwhelming presence. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I'm stronger now."
"Strong enough to stand up to me?
He allowed himself the luxury of a faint smile. "I don't usually underestimate you," he said.
"You aren't answering me. You did that on purpose, didn't you? To rattle me. To see what kind of reaction you could get from me. You like playing with people, teasing them, frightening them…"
"Do I frighten you, Cassidy?" he interrupted her.
"Yes."
He had to give her credit for her honesty. He wanted to frighten her. He wanted to scare her half to death, and he wanted her to want him anyway. Be willing to do anything for him. "Do you think I'm going to take a butcher knife to you?"
"Did you take a butcher knife to your pregnant wife?"
"Sooner or later I'll answer that question. And I don't think you're going to like what I say."
"Then don't tell me."
"Stop asking."
She bit her lip, biting back the words she no doubt wanted to fling at his head. Her lips were still damp and reddened from his mouth, and he wanted her again, more powerfully than before. "What do you want from me?" she asked with a trace of desperation.
He let his glance slide down her strong, lush body, slowly, then raised his eyes to hers. "What makes you think I want something from you?"
"I'm not a total idiot, even if I act like one on occasions."
"I haven't seen you act like an idiot recently."
"Try five minutes ago. Kissing you in the kitchen was not a particularly smart move."
"Should you have kissed me in the bedroom?" he countered smoothly. "And actually, I didn't notice you doing any of the kissing. Granted, you didn't slap my face and screech 'how dare you?' like an outraged virgin, but I wasn't aware of any enthusiastic participation." It was a lie. He'd felt her response, in a thousand tiny, yearning ways. But she wouldn't know that.
The color on her cheeks deepened. "What do you want from me?" she persisted.
For such a tall, womanly creature she suddenly reminded him of a child. A defiant tomboy, facing her worst nightmare, with fists clenched, trembling, determined not to show it. Maybe that's exactly what he was. The thing every woman feared. A spiritual vampire, ready to drain her of everything for his own survival.
He reached out a hand, waiting to see whether she'd try to duck. She held her ground, but he could see the muscle clench at the base of her jaw, as his long fingers brushed the side of her cheek. "Maybe just a taste of innocence," he murmured.
"I'm not innocent."
He wanted to laugh. "Compared to me you are."
"Compared to you, anyone is."
"Perhaps." He let his fingers play across her lips, and they were soft, faintly clinging. "Perhaps I want to bring you down to my level. Corrupt you, destroy you, and then murder you." He spoke the words lightly, softly, and it took a moment for her eyes to grow cold with fear, for her mouth to tighten, for her to take a step away from him.
"I don't believe you," she said.
"Then what do you believe?"
She wasn't ready for that question. She shook her head, blindly, and pushed away from the counter, moving past him, careful not to touch him. But the long, flowing skirts brushed against his legs, and the scent of her lingered in the air, and the taste of her clung to his mouth. And he stood alone in the darkened kitchen for a very long time, remembering.
CHAPTER 7
« ^ »
"I need your help."
Cassidy looked up from the transcripts she was reading. Sean stood in the doorway, dressed in his favorite Irish wool suit, the one he wore for funerals and weddings. He looked glum, and Cass felt a clutching of nervousness in the pit of her stomach.
"Anything."
Sean grinned. "Don't be so rash, darling. Your da would have your soul if he could, and well you know it."
She considered it. She'd once thought so, flung those very words at him when she'd escaped from his overwhelming presence. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I'm stronger now."
"Strong enough to stand up to me?
Similar Books
