Labyrinth (20 page)

“In the hallway,” Colin said.

She swung her gaze onto him. “What?”

He crossed the room and stopped in front of her.
“The sconce isna' meant for the bedchamber. ‘Tis too bright a light.”

He gently disengaged the wrought iron from her grasp and brushed past her. Margot turned as he disappeared into the hallway. Her pulse jumped. If he didn’t’ come back—she took a step forward,
then
halted.

“Stupid,” she muttered.

Colin reappeared in the doorway. “How is it you are here again?”

Cat’s twisted expression when she’d entered Margot’s room rose in memory, her low, insistent chant. Margot shivered. An unexpected longing surfaced for home, for the swing on her front porch, the evening breeze that invariably brought relief from the oppressive summer
heat,
and lightning bugs that glittered in the loud darkness of night.

Fatigue washed over Margot. She couldn’t help a glance at the bed. How wonderful it would be to slip between quilt and sheets and close her eyes. Recollection of the four dead women hit like ice water. Was this how they had felt before they’d slipped into Colin Morrison’s bed? But what if that was the key, the desire to sleep, to abandon the hunt, release the anger she’d fed on these last four years? She crossed to the bed and stroked the quilt. Colin had made love to her in this bed and she hadn’t ended up dead.

He appeared at her side.

She lifted her gaze to his face. “You made love to me in this bed.”

“Nay.”

The short answer reminded her of his retort the first time she’d seen him, and she couldn’t prevent a tired smile. “I remember well, and it was very pleasant.”

“‘Tis no' love.”

A startling prick stabbed at her heart.
“All right.
Fucked me, then.”

His brown eyes hardened, but the hint of cruelty so obvious in the photo was absent. That wasn’t surprising. She had created a kinder, gentler version of the man. But why soften his expression only to create those gruesome bodies?

“Why you?” she asked.

He gave a low laugh, deep, masculine…sad. Desire rippled through Margot and settled between her legs with an intensity that conjured an erotic picture of her lying flat on the bed as Colin lowered
himself
onto her. His thick, hard cock would play at the opening of her channel with teasing thrusts that would drive her wild until she seized his hips and pulled him deep inside. Margot startled from the vision, heart pounding with all the power of a stallion’s hooves on hard ground.

How could she want this man so badly when four women lay dead only doors away? The answer was too simple and brought a twinge of nausea and guilt. Because Colin Morrison was a manifestation of Cat; sexual perfection in the flesh, the Black Widow at its finest. Gooseflesh raced up Margot’s arms.
How fitting that Cat had stumbled across a castle inhabited by the ghost of a cold-blooded killer.

“Birds of a feather,” Margot murmured.

“What?” he said.

She focused on him.
“You and Cat both murderers.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. He seized her shoulders and shoved her backwards into the stone wall. Margot shoved both arms upward, her forearms making contact with his forearms, breaking his hold. She grabbed his arm and spun, shoving him face first against the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

In a blur of her surroundings, Margot found herself face down on the carpet, the air knocked out of her lungs, Colin straddling her hips. She sucked in a harsh breath and bucked against the powerful arms that pinned her shoulders to the floor.

He leaned close, his breath hot against her face, and whispered, “I, too, studied
Da Dorus X Anma
. No' many women have the aptitude to master
The Twelve Doors of the Soul
. Even fewer have the ability to surprise me.”

Margot tensed for another hard buck, but his thighs tightened painfully around her ribs.

“I am no murderer,” he hissed.

“You have one helluva way of proving your innocence,” she wheezed.

He muttered something unintelligible and shoved to his feet. Margot rolled onto her back and looked straight up at him.

He still straddled her, stance wide on each side of her hips. Her heart jumped at the thought of him lowering onto his knees, then lifting his kilt so that the rod she’d had her lips wrapped around in previous dreams would bob in front of her mouth.

“Fuck,” she cursed.

“Fine language for a lady.”

She jerked her gaze to his face. His thin lipped expression mirrored the disapproval in his voice. She gave a harsh laugh. “Then you’d love my thoughts. I want to fuck you so badly it hurts.”

Displeasure turned to contempt. “Mayhap ‘tis not me you want?”

Margot dropped her eyes to his boot-clad calves and trailed her gaze upward past the hint of thighs visible below plaided kilt to the bulge that would be a full blown tent pole in another two minutes. She propped up on one elbow and slipped a hand under the wool. Warm flesh tensed beneath her fingers as she traced circles up his inner thigh. The bulge pressed more heavily against the kilt and her body tingled with the anticipation of wrapping fingers around the thick rod.

The upper edge of her palm grazed his balls and he dragged in a breath. Margot gently cupped the sack and leaned forward until her face was a hair’s breath from his shaft. While running fingers across his balls, she carefully nipped through the wool at the crown with her teeth.

“By God,” he hissed.

Margot lifted her gaze to his face. He stared, eyes dark with desire. Butterflies danced across the inside of her stomach. The man knew how to look at a woman—and she didn’t want that look to end. Still fondling his sack, she reached with her free hand and slipped a dress and bra strap from her shoulder until her breast pushed free of the cup. She lifted the kilt. Thick cock jutted from a dark patch of hair. Her breath caught. He was even more magnificent than she remembered.

She scooted closer, forcing a slow, teasing movement, until her breast contacted the velvety soft tip. She moved in a circular motion against him and the pearly pre-cum coated her pink bud. He groaned. Musky, male scent wafted up to her. Her nipples tightened harder.

Margot stuffed the hem of his kilt into his belt. She hesitated at sight of the driftwood badge buckle. How had she known of the crest? She would answer that question—someday. Margot released his balls and, with slow deliberation, wrapped her fingers around his tool. He pulsed in her grasp. She leaned forward and touched the cap to her nipple. With her free hand, she yanked the other dress strap and bra strap down, and cupped her swollen breast.

He clasped each side of her head. Margot lifted her gaze to his face. A current of desire moved in his eyes as he thrust gently against her breast. Her clit tightened in delicious pleasure. This time she would find full release and put an end to this strange succession of dreams. Her heart wrenched. This would be the last time she saw this man, her version of Castle Morrison’s Don Juan ghost.

Chapter Twenty

Margot released his cock and grasped his arm, pulling him down to her. He dropped onto one knee. They stared, her heart pounding as she lifted a hand and ran the back of her fingers along his cheek. Light stubble scratched her knuckles. She leaned forward, touched a cheek to his, and rubbed her smooth skin against the stubble. Margot closed her eyes and choked back the tightness in her throat. The devil was in the details. Memory of this dream would remain with her far longer than many real life memories. She shivered and pulled back. He stared, the whirlpools in his eyes now soft swirls.

Margot inhaled his masculine scent. “I’ve never experienced a dream like this.”

Shock registered on his face and he seized her shoulders.

She tensed. “We’re not starting this again.”

“Ye believe this to be a dream?”

“Unless I want to end up in the psyche ward at County General, that’s how I see it.”

In on fluid movement, he rose and swung his leg over her. “By God, is that how he has been accomplishing it?”

"Accomplishing what?"

“You must leave immediately or you will find yourself dead like your sisters gone before you.”

Margot tensed. “By sisters…you mean the women in those other rooms.”

“You have seen them?”

She pulled bra and dress straps over her shoulders heedless of the discomfort when one lace cup scraped a sensitive nipple.

She rose. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Margot scanned the room. How could she get out of this dream? Colin started toward her. She jerked her attention onto him. The storm had reentered his eyes.

She took a step back. “Whoa, there, sugar. Dream or no dream, you won’t surprise me a second time.”

He halted. “You little fool, this is no dream.”

“Maybe not for you, but for me, yes.”

“You have been here thrice. How is that possible in a dream?”

“Thrice?”
She snorted a laugh. ”Where the hell did I come up with that one? And it’s not
thrice
. You forgot the time you nearly fucked me against that wall.” She nodded toward the left wall, adding, “Though I can’t much blame you, that
wasn’t
your best performance.”

His eyes blazed. “
Thalla mhic
na
galla
. The bastard had ye in his clutches. How is it possible you escaped? By God, how—why—have you returned?”

“It’s not how I return, but how I wake up.”

“You must leave and get as far away from Castle Morrison as possible.”

“As far away from Cat as possible,” she amended.

“What?”

“Your twin on the outside world.”

“On the
outside world
?”
His hands balled into fists at his side. ”What new black magick is this?”

“A black magic as old as the first man to stand upright.”

She had to leave Castle Morrison. Donny would understand. Maybe that’s what she’d been trying to tell herself; this was a lose/lose situation. She would make sure McNeil stayed on top of Bree Cullen’s disappearance. They’d get Cat one way or another.

Desire hit like an electric jolt and tightened the juncture between her legs. Her head snapped in Colin’s direction with such force her neck gave a small crack. She winced. He stared as if torn between paddling her ass and throwing her on the bed to fuck her. The ass paddling might be worth getting his cock between her legs.

Margot started toward him. “We’re going to do this.”

He frowned as if not understanding. The man clearly hadn’t expected the direct approach. She halted in front of him and reached for his arm. He backed up.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a case of shyness. I’d say we’ve gotten to know one another quite well.” She reached for him again.

He
retreated
another step. “Ye know nothing of me.”

Margot allowed her hand to drop back to her side. “Your mother is Ainslee Morrison and you were born November tenth. Your family was Templars.”