the letter back into the journal and stuck
it in his desk.
Bronte rolled but didn’t open her eyes. He’d hoped
she would come to. Not only was the clock ticking, but he found
that he missed her, which was far more dangerous than the threat of
time.
It irked him knowing that his livelihood, the
livelihood of his heritage, rested in her hands. She wanted no part
of this. In her defense, he guessed she had every right to hate
him. If only she knew the link that bound them…
Maybe he should just take the risk and tell her of
the past. Would she understand then?
Shaking his head, he tore his fingers through his
hair in frustration. She must come to the reality of the situation
on her own, seeing for herself that they were chosen for one
another, to reproduce. He’d waited many years, a lifetime it’d
seemed, for this treasured moment. Now he had to make things right.
He had to plant his seed, a child, before his heritage died because
of his mistake—because of their mistake. She was the one, he was certain. He ran his hungry gaze over her. Her
hair was darker, her eyes lighter, skin paler and her body
thinner…but it was her .
One thing he knew, he’d never make the
emotional sacrifice twice.
But was it in his control?
Bronte’s moan pulled his mind from his dreary
thoughts. He stood up and crossed the room to the side of the bed,
sitting at her hip. His heart skipped a beat as her eyes fluttered,
and then her lids flew open. A frantic expression washed over her
face, but when her gaze connected with his, she seemed to
relax—some. She brought her hands up and pressed her fingertips to
her temples. “I have a headache.” Her voice was scruffy.
“I thought you would.” He reached for the glass on
the nightstand and held it out for her.
She sat up and stared at the glass of green liquid,
her pert nose wrinkled. “What the hell is that? And why are you
handing it to me?”
“This is beet root and fresh herbs mixed with a
touch of scotch. And it’s obvious why I’m handing it to you.”
“I’ve made a conscious choice in life to never drink
or eat anything that looks like it’s been regurgitated by a
dog.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
“Then you drink it.”
“But I don’t have a headache. And I wasn’t drugged
by an old witch.” He should have known she wouldn’t have lost her
stubborn streak.
Her eyes opened wider and her hands dropped to her
lap. “So it wasn’t a dream?” One corner of her mouth slipped
downward.
He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. However, you’ve
been asleep for two days so I’m sure you’ve had enough time to
dream.” He took her left hand and placed the glass against her
palm. “Trust me, this stuff will work wonders inside of your body,
but spilling it will only attract bugs, creatures and other
non-human beings. It’s a bitch to get it off your skin.”
Her eyes slanted. “Are you being serious?”
“Deadly serious.” He sighed. “And your headache will
last until you cure it. So come now. Drink it like a good
girl.”
She snarled in disapproval, but she didn’t argue
this time and brought the glass to her lips. One long drink and she
pushed it back at him. “I can’t. It’s horrid. Like ass.”
He lifted a brow. “Like ass?”
“It’s an expression.”
“Well, then. Bottom’s up.” He couldn’t keep from
laughing.
She eyed him in irritation. “Not funny.”
“Ahh, not in the slightest?” he asked. She shook her
head. He felt a bit sorry for her. “Alright then. I can’t have the
lady drinking ass.” He pulled open the nightstand drawer and
grabbed a small white bottle. He popped the lid, shook out two
tablets and handed them to her.
She took them. “What are these?”
He read the bottle, “Pain and fever reducer.
Acetaminophen.”
“This will work?” Relief spread over her
features.
“Yes, it will,” he answered. “I guess. I prefer the
green stuff.”
The pills were almost to her mouth when she
it in his desk.
Bronte rolled but didn’t open her eyes. He’d hoped
she would come to. Not only was the clock ticking, but he found
that he missed her, which was far more dangerous than the threat of
time.
It irked him knowing that his livelihood, the
livelihood of his heritage, rested in her hands. She wanted no part
of this. In her defense, he guessed she had every right to hate
him. If only she knew the link that bound them…
Maybe he should just take the risk and tell her of
the past. Would she understand then?
Shaking his head, he tore his fingers through his
hair in frustration. She must come to the reality of the situation
on her own, seeing for herself that they were chosen for one
another, to reproduce. He’d waited many years, a lifetime it’d
seemed, for this treasured moment. Now he had to make things right.
He had to plant his seed, a child, before his heritage died because
of his mistake—because of their mistake. She was the one, he was certain. He ran his hungry gaze over her. Her
hair was darker, her eyes lighter, skin paler and her body
thinner…but it was her .
One thing he knew, he’d never make the
emotional sacrifice twice.
But was it in his control?
Bronte’s moan pulled his mind from his dreary
thoughts. He stood up and crossed the room to the side of the bed,
sitting at her hip. His heart skipped a beat as her eyes fluttered,
and then her lids flew open. A frantic expression washed over her
face, but when her gaze connected with his, she seemed to
relax—some. She brought her hands up and pressed her fingertips to
her temples. “I have a headache.” Her voice was scruffy.
“I thought you would.” He reached for the glass on
the nightstand and held it out for her.
She sat up and stared at the glass of green liquid,
her pert nose wrinkled. “What the hell is that? And why are you
handing it to me?”
“This is beet root and fresh herbs mixed with a
touch of scotch. And it’s obvious why I’m handing it to you.”
“I’ve made a conscious choice in life to never drink
or eat anything that looks like it’s been regurgitated by a
dog.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
“Then you drink it.”
“But I don’t have a headache. And I wasn’t drugged
by an old witch.” He should have known she wouldn’t have lost her
stubborn streak.
Her eyes opened wider and her hands dropped to her
lap. “So it wasn’t a dream?” One corner of her mouth slipped
downward.
He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. However, you’ve
been asleep for two days so I’m sure you’ve had enough time to
dream.” He took her left hand and placed the glass against her
palm. “Trust me, this stuff will work wonders inside of your body,
but spilling it will only attract bugs, creatures and other
non-human beings. It’s a bitch to get it off your skin.”
Her eyes slanted. “Are you being serious?”
“Deadly serious.” He sighed. “And your headache will
last until you cure it. So come now. Drink it like a good
girl.”
She snarled in disapproval, but she didn’t argue
this time and brought the glass to her lips. One long drink and she
pushed it back at him. “I can’t. It’s horrid. Like ass.”
He lifted a brow. “Like ass?”
“It’s an expression.”
“Well, then. Bottom’s up.” He couldn’t keep from
laughing.
She eyed him in irritation. “Not funny.”
“Ahh, not in the slightest?” he asked. She shook her
head. He felt a bit sorry for her. “Alright then. I can’t have the
lady drinking ass.” He pulled open the nightstand drawer and
grabbed a small white bottle. He popped the lid, shook out two
tablets and handed them to her.
She took them. “What are these?”
He read the bottle, “Pain and fever reducer.
Acetaminophen.”
“This will work?” Relief spread over her
features.
“Yes, it will,” he answered. “I guess. I prefer the
green stuff.”
The pills were almost to her mouth when she
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