Edge of Danger (11 page)

 
Soft, fragrant, and still fucking
closed
to him.

 
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her white teeth embedded in her lower lip as she lay without moving. Twisting the small lemon between his long, elegant fingers, Gabriel inhaled the sharp citrus smell, but it did little to blot out the fragrance of her.

 
Jesus. He was insane to have brought her here. He’d never felt such lust in his life and he had a pretty good idea of why. Which only made a bad situation a whole shitload worse.

 
“You can open your eyes now, Doctor.” He’d tried bringing her to orgasm one last time in the lab earlier. As frightened as she’d been, as confused as her rising libido had made her, she’d still managed to deny herself. And him.

 
He was out of choices.

 
Gabriel loathed having his hand forced. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want this woman any-fucking-where
near
him. Yet here she was. Sprawled out on his carpet. Easily within reach. Everything about her was profoundly sensual, calling to him on every level.

 
He’d be fine, he assured himself, as long as he didn’t touch her. Unfortunately, that was what his beleaguered brain was insisting he do. “I know you’re conscious, Doctor. Open your eyes or I’ll have my friend here tip a jug of ice water over you.”

 
“Christ, Gabriel. Is this really necessary?”

 
He sent a warning glance in Sebastian’s general direction. “My question exactly. Eyes, Doctor. Now.”

 
Both eyes shot open to spear him at ankle level. Still dazed, she frowned, letting her gaze climb his legs and continue all the way up to his face. “What did you do to me, you sick bastard?”

 
“Much as I relish nicknames,” Gabriel told her dryly, “my real name is Gabriel Edge.”

 
“Sick bastard works for me.” She struggled to sit up, but her eyes lost focus and she slumped back to the carpet. He knew the room was spinning for her. Reentry could take its toll.

 
“Stay put. I wouldn’t get up too fast if I were you,” he warned, a day late and a dollar short.

 
Interesting how she fought the dizziness and nausea, rejected it, used her will to overcome it. Reluctantly fascinated, he watched her forcibly relax her body as she concentrated on deep breathing to regain her equilibrium, using all her concentration to accomplish it.

 
That damned willpower of hers had landed her here in Montana, miles away from her lab and inches from him. The sooner she gave in, the sooner he’d send her back home.

 
The sooner the better.

 
Foolishly tenacious, she started up for a second time, then realized she wasn’t going to make it, and rested her head back on the carpet as she tried to stop the room from spinning.

 
“Jesus,” Sebastian rose from his seat on the other side of the long refectory table, which ran the length of the room. “Help the poor woman up off the damn floor why don’t you?”

 
“She’s fine where she is for now. If you want her up, feel free to help her yourself.” Gabriel tossed the lemon from hand to hand. “My recommendation is for her to lie there for about half an hour and then take a nice long nap. She’ll feel better in a couple of hours.” With any luck, an hour after that she’d be sick again because he’d have teleported her back to her lab. Mission accomplished.

 
“Man, that’s cold.”

 
Her breathing was a little erratic, and her eyes were closed again. She was listening to every word. “May I remind you,” he told Sebastian tersely, “this is not a situation of my own choosing?”

 
“And may I remind
you,
T-FLAC operatives rarely get to pick and choose their own missions. Especially you guys in the psycho unit.”

 
“
Psi.
And I’m neither.”

 
“Excuse me. You psi/spec ops guys are all touchy.”

 
“Deal with it.”

 
Gabriel might have known she wasn’t going to lie there as instructed. She managed to sit up, her jean-clad legs curled beside her curvy ass for ballast. She looked like a mermaid. Lorelei calling some dimwitted suitor to his death. He shook his head at his own idiocy.

 
If he could make her climax, get the intel she was storing in that agile little brain of hers
out
of that brain, he could have her back at the lab before she could cry uncle. He shot Sebastian a hard look. “Get lost.”

 
Oblivious to his motivation for getting rid of his only witness, Dr. Cahill cradled her head in both hands. “You drugged me,” her voice was muffled. She lowered her hands to shoot him a venomous look over her fingers. “Didn’t you?”

 
He should tell her yes. A pat answer that would require no explanation, unlike teleportation, which would. “No.”

 
“Liar.”

 
Sebastian, who hadn’t moved from his seat, grinned. “Wait till you hear the truth. That’ll really make your head spin,” he told her helpfully.

 
Big brown eyes narrowed, but she didn’t turn to look at Sebastian. She had her gaze fixed on Gabriel. “Who’s your accomplice?”

 
“Sebastian Tremayne. Don’t try getting u—Damn it, woman. I told you to
stay put.
” Gabriel sidestepped her grasping hands as she tried to use his legs for purchase. The thousands of hours of swordplay paid off in many ways, he thought, well out of reach. His quick footwork was legend. But despite the extra few feet he’d put between them, his heart raced and his pulse beat a frantic rhythm at her nearness. The overwhelming urgency to touch her, to claim her, might well drive him insane.

 
It was as if, by bringing her here to Edridge Castle, he’d unleashed a form of powerful magnetic current that drew him to her no matter how hard he resisted. The only way to get rid of this need, this fucking—pun intended—urgency, was to get the intel he required and get her out of his sight.

 
He knew, bone-deep, that if he so much as touched this woman he’d never want to stop. He couldn’t permit his compulsion to possess her to overcome his good sense. He didn’t need to touch her to get what he needed.

 
Unfortunately, common sense was being overridden by his libido. As he had in the lab, he wondered if her fine skin was soft to the touch. Not that he’d ever know. He was never going to feel it. Never get that close. Sunlight slanted through the stained-glass windows, gilding her flesh as she used the edge of the sideboard as leverage and wobbled to her feet.

 
Her gaze was slightly unfocused as she struggled to find her equilibrium. Sebastian, who’d come around the table, stepped in and grabbed her arm to steady her as she swayed on those ridiculously sexy, foolishly high, “fuck me yesterday, today, and tomorrow” red sandals.

 
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm about her slender shoulders, supporting most of her weight with his body, and shot Gabriel a hard look. “You really are a bastard, Edge. What do you want me to do with her?”

 
Oh, Gabriel had a raft of ideas concerning things
he’d
like to do to Eden Cahill. The stronger the temptation to touch her, the stronger his resolve. He wasn’t going to do any of them.
Ever.
The family curse was just that. A curse.

 
“Take her upstairs for now.”

 
“Two flights? No way in hell. She’s your guest. Beam her up or something.”

 
“The correct term is teleport,” Gabriel informed him. And doing it so soon again would likely kill her. He didn’t want her dead. “This isn’t the Starship
Enterprise.
If you don’t want to take her upstairs, prop her against something. Leave her right there. She’ll feel better soon enough. Then she can take herself upstairs.”

 
“E-excuse me?” If her voice hadn’t been quite so reedy she would have sounded indignant. “I’m right he—oh!” Big brown eyes lost their focus. Her knees buckled. And while Sebastian fumbled with her dead weight, she threw up.

 
Gabriel gave his friend an evil smile. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

 
MacBain came up beside Gabriel, barely sparing a glance at Sebastian and his problem. “I’ve prepared a chamber for Dr. Cahill on the second floor.”

 
He shot his butler a look of horror.
His
floor? No frigging way. “Here.” He turned to toss a priceless, sixteenth-century tapestry table runner at Sebastian. Beside him MacBain whimpered. “Use this to clean up, then give her a few sips of whiskey. Put her in the east wing,” he addressed MacBain, his eyes on Dr. Cahill.

 
Christ, her face was pale. Eyes closed, she was sitting on the floor again, back propped up against the far end of the sideboard while Sebastian dealt with the mess.

 
She still had on her shoes. Sandals. Fire engine red. Mere straps across her pale slender feet with her bright pink polished toes and sexy little black toe ring. His jaw hurt with the burning desire to lavish attention on her extremely pretty toes.

 
The woman had just ignominiously thrown up. He should feel sympathy, aversion, something,
anything,
other than lust, shouldn’t he? Apparently it didn’t matter. Christ. He scrubbed a hand roughly across his jaw.

 
God. How soon could he get rid of her?

 
Soon enough to allay the maddening sexual intensity that was clouding his judgment?

 
Beside him, MacBain cleared his throat. His white hair, mustache, and eyebrows made him look stately. He had the temperament necessary to run a large household with a steel hand, and the slyness of a weasel when it came to manipulating people for their own good.

 
He was a gentleman’s gentleman, and had been with Gabriel for more than twenty years, after first being in the service of Gabriel’s father. There was little he didn’t know, and didn’t interfere with, in the Edge family. Sometimes that was great, other times, like now, it was a pain in Gabriel’s ass.

 
The old man cleared his throat again. Loudly.

 
Gabriel shot him a brief glance. “Now what?” A few more sips of his prized whiskey should put the roses back in her cheeks.

 
“There is nothing
in
the east wing, sir.”

 
Gabriel frowned. Was she pulling that face at his aged single malt? “Then I suggest you
put
something there,” he told MacPain. Yes, by damn. She
was
shoving the glass away.