Dark Seduction. Brenda Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ was to struggle and she began to squirm, grasping his arms to wrench them off. She wished she had spike heels on so she could jam one into his booted foot. Her bare legs came into contact with his thighs and she froze. His legs were absolutely bare, as well. Claire inhaled harshly.

      He spoke, jerking on her with his thick arm, and she did not have to understand his language to know he was telling her to be still. And as he pulled her closer, she felt him stiffen against her backside.

      Claire froze. Her captor was aroused, shockingly so. The sensation of a great, hard length pressed against her was terrifying—and electrifying, too. “Let me go,” she gasped desperately. And two words blazed across her mind: pleasure crime.

      She felt his grip tighten in surprise. Then he said, “Put yer weapon down, lass.”

      He spoke English, but there was no mistaking the exaggerated Scottish accent. Claire wet her lips, too dazed to even try to consider what that meant. “Please. I won’t run. Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

      To her relief, he relaxed his hold. “Put the weapon down, be a good lass.” As he spoke, she felt his stubble against her jaw, his breath feathering her ear.

      Her mind went blank, and she could only think of the powerful pulse pounding against her. Something terrible was happening, and Claire didn’t know what to do. Her body had begun to tighten and thrum. Was this how those women died in the middle of the night? Did they become dazed and confused—and aroused? She dropped the gun and it clattered onto the floor but did not go off. “Please.”

      “Dinna scream,” he said softly. “I willna hurt ye, lass. I need yer help.”

      Claire somehow nodded. When he removed his arm, she ran to the other side of the hall, whirling and slamming her back against the wall to face him. And she cried out.

      She had expected anything but the masculine perfection facing her. He was a towering man, at least six inches taller than she was and hugely muscular. His hair was as black as midnight, his skin bronzed, but he had shockingly pale eyes. They were trained upon her with unnerving intensity.

      He seemed just as surprised by the sight of her as she was by him.

      She shivered. God, he was handsome. A slightly crooked nose, perhaps broken once, achingly high cheekbones and a brutally strong jaw gave him the look of powerful hero. A scar bisected one black brow and another formed a crescent on one cheek. They merely added to the appearance that this man was battle-hardened, experienced and far too strong for anyone’s good.

      But he was a loon. He had to be, because he was wearing clothing she instantly recognized—a midthigh, mustardcolored linen tunic, which was belted, and over that, covering one shoulder, a blue-and-black-plaid mantle pinned with a gold brooch. He wore knee-high, heavily worn, cuffed leather boots, and a huge sword was sheathed on his left side, the hilt sparkling with paste jewels. He was costumed as a medieval Highlander!

      He looked like the real deal. He had the bulging arms that could have wielded a huge broadsword effortlessly in the kind of battle one read about in a history book. And whoever had made his costume had done their research. His leine looked authentic, as if it had been dyed with saffron, and that blue-and-black mantle looked hand-loomed. She had to look at his strong thighs again, where his muscles bulged, thighs that looked rock hard from years of riding horses and running hills. Her gaze crept upward to the short skirt of the leine, where a rigid raised line remained. Claire realized she was ogling him, perspiration running in a stream between her breasts and thighs. She was breathless, but that was because she was afraid of him.

      And then she saw that his eyes had lowered to her legs. She blushed.

      He lifted his unmistakably heated gaze to hers. “I didna think to see ye again, lass.”

      Claire’s eyes widened.

      His smile became seductive. “I dinna like me women t’ vanish in the night.”

      He was most definitely mad, she thought. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We haven’t met.”

      “I be insulted, lass, that ye didna recall the event.” But his satisfied smile never wavered and he kept glancing at her legs and her tiny, midriff-baring tank top. “What manner o’ dress is that?”

      Her color increased and she felt it. She prayed he was not one of those pleasure-seeking murderers. “I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted, shaking. “This is a bookshop. You must be on your way to a costume party. It’s not here!” She had to appease this man at all costs and she had to get him to leave her store.

      “Dinna be afraid, lass. Temptation ye may be, but I have other matters on me mind. I need yer help. I need the page.”

      She exhaled now loudly, but not in relief. She didn’t want to be alone with this man. Her mind raced. “Come back tomorrow.” She forced a smile and it felt sickly. “We’re closed. I can help you tomorrow.”

      He sent her another seductive smile, clearly used to charming women to his way—and his bed. “I canna return on the morrow, lass.” And he murmured, “Ye wanna help me, lass, ye do. Leave the fear. It dinna serve ye well. Ye can trust me.”

      His soft tone sent a spiral of desire through her. No man had ever looked at her in such a manner or spoken so seductively, much less a man like this. Claire could not look away from his gaze. The wild pounding of her heart eased. Some of her fear receded. Claire actually wanted to believe him, to trust him. He smiled at her knowingly.

      “Ye’ll help me, lass, an’ send me on me way.”

      For one moment, she was going to agree, but her mind was screaming at her oddly, confusing her. Then the sirens of a fire engine blared on the street outside, passing in front of her shop. He jumped, turning toward the door, and she came to her senses. She was covered in sweat now. She had been about to do all that he asked!

      “No.”

      He started.

      “My assistant will help you tomorrow.” She swallowed. She was as firm as she could be and it felt like a huge feat. She wiped her bangs from her eyes, her hand trembling. It was as if he had almost hypnotized her. She avoided his gaze now. “If it’s important, you’ll come back. Now, please leave. As you can see, I have some cleaning up to do—and you are likely late for your party.” She wished her voice hadn’t cracked with the terrible tension and fear filling her.

      He did not move, and it was very hard to tell if he was annoyed, angry or surprised. “I canna leave without the page,” he finally said, and there was no mistaking his stubbornness then.

      Claire glanced at the Beretta, which lay on the floor in the hall about an equal distance from them. She wondered if she could seize it and force him out.

      “Dinna think to try,” he advised, his tone soft.

      She stiffened, knowing she could not best this man and that it would be dangerous to attempt to do so. He didn’t seem to be violent, but he was obviously a nut. She’d help him if that would get him to leave. “Fine. I doubt I have what you are looking for, but go ahead, tell me what you want.” She glanced very briefly at his face and when she took in his hard beauty again, her heart did a double somersault.

      A look of triumph flitted through his eyes. “Ancient wisdom was given to the shamans of Dalriada long ago an’ put in three books. The СКАЧАТЬ