The Ghost (Highland Guard 12) (22 page)

Whatever motivated him, it couldn’t continue. Alex was interfering with her job. She hadn’t identified a new target yet—she felt self-conscious every time she spoke with a man at a meal with the way she sensed Alex watching her—and it had taken her two days to pass the message to her contact at the mercery. He had her so jumpy she felt like she was being followed half the time.

But if she needed more reason, which she didn’t, she had it folded up in the purse at her waist to be burned as soon as she returned to her chamber. When she’d returned to the mercery to pick up the silks for her cousin that had been the reason for the first visit, she’d been surprised to be handed a message. Knowing it must be important—Bruce rarely took the risk of contacting her—she’d taken a quick glance before sliding it into her purse. It had been easy to read, as there were only three words. But the meaning—and the warning—was clear:
Beware the Dragon.

She’d always known Bruce had men watching her in case she was ever in trouble, but she hadn’t realized just how closely they were doing so. But someone had obviously seen her with Alex and passed on the information. She winced, almost hearing Lachlan yelling at her for going anywhere near Alex.

Of the members of the Highland Guard, only Raider had been more betrayed by Alex’s defection than her stepfather. The two men were opposite in every way. Lachlan had no rules, and Alex lived by them. From what she’d picked up over the years, it had taken Alex a long time to earn Lachlan’s respect. And the fact that Alex had done so no doubt made Alex’s leaving an added betrayal. Joan suspected that against Lachlan’s inclination he’d come to like the young knight, making that betrayal personal.

Lachlan would be furious to hear that Joan was seen in Alex’s company. If he ever found out Alex had kissed her, he would probably kill him. She paled a little, vowing never to let that happen.

She was nearly to the bridge when she felt the first prickle. Shifting the bundle of linen-wrapped fabric in her arms, she looked up to see him standing like a sentry with no intention of letting her pass.

A flicker of fear that he might be following her again dissipated on seeing his damp hair, and she realized that he’d just come from a wash in the river. He’d been working down there the past few days, and he must have finished for the day. She didn’t know what he’d been doing and hadn’t been inclined to ask, as she was just grateful for the time away from his too-penetrating stare.

Her heart jumped, of course, as it did every time their eyes met. She’d almost grown accustomed to it.

Almost.

But the warm prickle that spread over her skin and the feeling that every one of her senses had just come alive? She didn’t think she would ever get used to that.

Nor would she get used to the golden-god-just-stepped-off-Mount-Olympus good looks and powerful, capable-of-vanquishing-dragons-with-his-bare-hands physique.

She’d never realized that she was so shallow, but it seemed she was susceptible to the superficial appeal of a handsome face and a few muscles. Her eyes scanned the broad shoulders, bulging arms, and rock-hard chest. All right, maybe quite a bit more than a few, but it was no excuse to be as weak-kneed and starry-eyed as a lovesick girl. She was a member of the elite Highland Guard, for goodness’ sake. She might not wield a sword like her brethren, but her job was just as important—maybe even more so.

She had a task—a duty that she’d dedicated her life to and never strayed from since she’d seen her mother in that cage. It was disconcerting to realize how susceptible she was to feminine weakness from which she’d thought herself immune. By all rights, she should be.

Annoyed by her silly reaction to him, she gave him an acknowledging nod and tried to walk around him. No luck. He shifted to block her path, forcing her to reach out and steady herself against that chest she’d just been admiring or risk plowing right into him and probably ending up in a very undignified sprawl on her backside.

“Where’s your escort?” he demanded angrily.

So much for niceties. She dropped her hand from his chest before she was tempted to do something like spread her palm over the steel-hard plane. Holding the package with both hands now, she took a step back to avoid the warm scent of soapy male—in this case myrtle—failing horribly.

“Why would I need an escort when I have you following me?”

“I wasn’t following you.”

She arched a brow.

“This time,” he modified. “Although it appears maybe I should have. You shouldn’t be walking around town alone.”

She tried not to roll her eyes or let her temper spark. But clearly that protective streak of his made him deaf to her wishes. If he were her husband, he’d probably lock her in a tower somewhere. Though the thought was in jest, she couldn’t help but think of her mother. But Alex wasn’t anything like her father . . . was he? How well did she really know him? And how many times had she pointed out that it was none of his business?

“I thank you for your concern, my lord, but I have no need of an escort for a quick trip into town.” She smiled. “Just as I have no need of unsolicited advice from overzealous knights in shining armor.”

The only indication that he’d heard her was the slight quirk of his mouth. “What were you doing?”

She debated repeating that it was none of his business, but realizing that would only make him more curious and harder to shake, she said, “Running an errand for my cousin.”

He eyed the package in her arms. “I presume that is the errand?”

She nodded.

He held out his hand. The standoff lasted about two seconds before Joan acceded to the inevitable and handed it over—but not without a scowl.

He grinned. But gracious in victory, he stepped aside, allowing her to pass. They walked in companionable silence through the gate. She liked him, she realized. Too much. As was becoming more and more evident. He was getting harder and harder to resist. She felt the noose of inevitability tightening around her neck, knowing that if she didn’t do something soon it would be too late.

“From the weight of this bundle,” he said, “I’m going to guess that you and your cousins finally made it
inside
the mercery?”

Normally the jest might have made her smile, but she was feeling too much like a cornered hare. “Why are you doing this, Alex? I’ve told you how I feel.”

The smile fell from his face, and his expression drew hard and impenetrable. “I don’t think you have. I think you lied. What I want to know is why.”

Heat flew to her cheeks. “Your arrogance is truly astounding. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your pride, but I assure you it’s the truth. We would not suit.”

He grabbed her by the arm, and mindful of the people bustling around them, he pulled her around a building—the infirmary, maybe?—before hauling her up against him. “This has nothing to do with my pride, damn it. And we would suit perfectly. You know that as well as I do.”

From the way their bodies practically locked together, she could hardly argue the point. God, he felt incredible. The warm solidness of his chest against her breasts, the strength of his arms wrapped around hers, the hard press of his manhood between her legs and against her stomach . . . everything fit perfectly.

Desire flooded her senses. Her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. She had to stop it. “Is that what this is about?” She moved her hips against him in a way that could not be misinterpreted. She hadn’t counted on having it affect her, however, and the shock of sensation nearly made her knees buckle. Somehow she managed to remember she was trying to get rid of him. “Haven’t you heard? You do not need to court me to bed me. If that’s what it will take to be rid of you, why don’t we just get it over and be done with it? If your room is not convenient, I’m sure we can find an alcove somewhere.”

The possessive flare of anger at the mention of the alcove he’d seen her slip out of with Despenser was so intense it took Alex a moment to realize that she was baiting him. It took an even longer moment for the haze of lust to clear. The feel of her hips circling against him set off dark, primitive instincts he didn’t even know he possessed. He could imagine what it would be like to be inside her, and he wanted it so badly he thought he would go mad.

Why was she doing this, damn it? The reason flickered in her eyes.
She is scared
, he realized. Lashing out like a cornered animal. Trying to shock, anger, and disgust him into forgetting about her.

What she didn’t understand was that it was already too late for that. He could no sooner forget about her than he could forget to breathe. She was his and had been since the moment he’d felt her lips under his. He hadn’t realized how certain he was of that until this very moment, and nothing she could do or say would change it. But she was trying, that much was obvious. What he didn’t know was why.

He shook her arm, forcing her gaze to his. “Why are you talking like this? This is not you.”

The seductive mask slipped from her face, revealing just a hint of the torment underneath. She was so good at hiding her emotions that the fierceness of what he saw—if only for a moment—took him aback.

By the time she looked away, however, her voice was dull and devoid of feeling. “You don’t know me, Alex. You don’t know anything about me.”

He tipped her chin, forcing her eyes to his. Wide set and seductively tilted, they were so blue he thought he might be content to drown in them forever. Christ, what was happening to him? This young girl had him utterly bewitched.

“But I think I do,” he said, tilting her face to his. “Much more than you want me to.”

Her mouth was too close, her lips too inviting, her eyes too full of longing. It was pure instinct to lower his mouth to hers and press her lips in a soft, tender kiss. The fact that it was the middle of the day, that anyone could walk by and see, that his honor had obviously gone to shite, didn’t seem to matter. It was as natural as the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening. As summer turning to fall and winter turning to spring. Nothing could hold it back—or turn it back.

Her lips were so impossibly soft and sweet he ached to taste her deeper. To slide his tongue into her mouth and possess her fully. To force her to acknowledge the force of the passion that burned between them.

But what was between them was more than passion—much more—and the tender, soft brush of his lips over hers, the gentle presses that lingered just long enough to elicit an ache in his chest and sharp yearning for more, proved it.

When she circled her hands around his neck and dissolved against him, surrendering with a sigh of contentment that seemed wrenched from the deepest part of her—the part that couldn’t deny the bond between them any more than he could—Alex knew he’d won.

He lifted his head, keeping his fingers on her chin so she could not look away. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this doesn’t mean something to you.”

She tried to tear her gaze away, but he could see the sheen of tears dampening her lashes. “It doesn’t.”

“Liar,” he replied angrily. “Why are you fighting this so hard? Why do you wish me to think the worst of you? Why are you pretending—?”

She wrenched away, pushing him back with a hard shove fortified by what he thought might be panic. “I’m pretending nothing. Dear God, what must I say to get through to you? Or do you always force yourself upon women who have made it clear that they are not willing?”

She might have slapped his face. The silence that echoed afterward was the same.

It was an unfair accusation to make. They both knew that. But it did not dull the impact or lessen the offense to his honor. He felt the blow to his chest like a swing from a war hammer. It left him cold and stunned, with a dull, hollow ache in his chest.

He had never forced her, and she had never been unwilling. But as he stood there, staring into her wild, tear-glistened eyes, he also knew there was some truth to her words. She might want him physically—and she might even feel something more—but she didn’t want anything to do with him. Did it really matter what her reasons were? They were
her
reasons, and as a knight—as a man who tried to live with honor—shouldn’t he show her the same and respect them?

Every instinct in his body clamored to say no. To pull her into his arms and kiss her until she surrendered to the maddening storm of emotion that had possessed him since the moment she’d fallen into his arms. He could make her his. He could make it so that she could never deny him. He didn’t need experience to know that he could make her pant and beg and scream his name over and over in mindless orgasmic oblivion.

And just how badly he wanted to do that frightened him. He had seen men—brothers, friends—die on the battlefield, seen horrors that no human should be forced to witness, faced overwhelming odds and what should be certain death, faced ten of the best warriors in Christendom as a traitor, and never before had he felt fear like he did now. Because he knew just how close he was to losing himself—or the part of himself that he’d fought so hard to hold on to. The part of himself that had caused him to turn on his friends. The part that always just tried to do what was right.