The Last of His Kind(5)

By: Doris O Connor


"You can't leave. Where will you go? Besides you're not well enough. Don't worry. I'm not going to delve into your private affairs. I'm sure I don't want to know why you washed up with a dart in your side, and I bet you wouldn't tell me anyway." She advanced on him whilst she spoke and put her hands on his chest. A tingle went up her arms, and she swallowed her moan of surprise. His pecs tightened under her hands, as though he too had felt that odd jolt of electricity. She risked a peep up at his face and immediately wished she hadn't. He looked murderous, and she swallowed nervously.

"Just tell me you're not wanted for murder or something, and you can stay in the spare bedroom, until you're fully recovered. You can't leave like this. I won't let you."

His humorless laugh trembled through her.

"You won't let me? Do you really think you could stop me?"

She let her hand trail down the hair-roughened expanse of his chest, skimmed across the ridges of his abdomen and grazed her fingernails along his injury. He sucked in a breath and went rigid, and she smiled up at him.

"You can barely stand. Now cut the macho bullshit, and let me take care of you. I certainly don't need you sniffing your last on my carpet. Blood stains are a devil to get out, and the local cop sniffs round my skirts enough without having to explain where you came from."

His mouth kicked up into the ghost of a smile at her little speech.

"Brave words from someone so little, but you have no idea who you're dealing with, ceannbeag."

She shivered in response to the quietly spoken words that held an edge of steel, and sent awareness of the man strumming through her body. Moisture pooled between her legs, and her breasts ached, her nipples stiff points against the fabric of her tee. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze to the floor, lest he read her desire in her eyes. As it was he leant closer into her, his erection nudging her thigh, and Penelope's brain went to mush as her legs turned to jelly. Never before had she had such an immediate reaction to a man, and right now, she couldn't have cared less if he was an axe murderer. He rubbed one calloused thumb across her bottom lip and murmured to himself in that guttural language he had used before. It made his voice deepen, and Penelope's stomach dropped in response. That accent was sexy as hell.

He released her and sank down heavily onto her floral settee, and amusement replaced Penelope's arousal. He looked so out of place sprawled along that piece of furniture, the afghan barely hiding the massive cock she'd glimpsed that morning. He let his head fall back and growled low in his throat.

Penelope's heart thudded painfully against her cheekbone, and she put a tentative hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up again, damn it. Let me call a doctor. I've done what I can with my mother's herbal recipes, but that wound of yours will need seeing to."

The growl intensified, and he shook his head so vehemently the settee shook.

"I'll be fine. I just need to rest. I can't leave the Loch."

"Why not?" She had to ask. "You're under house arrest or something?"

He raised his head, and Penelope lost herself in the intensity of his golden gaze when he opened his eyes. A genuine smile crossed his features briefly, and Penelope forgot to breathe. Jesus, that smile was devastating. As quickly as it appeared it was gone again.

"Something like that. You would never believe me, even if I told you, ceannbeag."

"Try me!"





Chapter Three





Oh it was tempting, so very tempting. The little human almost vibrated in outrage, clearly intent on proving him wrong. Hands on hips she tried to stare him down, and when he didn't respond, she rolled her eyes and stomped her feet in frustration. He couldn't help it; he laughed.

"What is so damn funny?"

She wrapped her arms around herself and stalked away from him, once again muttering to herself.

"As endearing as that habit of talking to yourself is, I can hear you. If you want to insult me, you'll have to try harder. And for the record, there is nothing wrong with the way you look, and the glasses are cute."

She swung round again as if to say something, and then bit her lip. Her vulnerability raised his protective instincts, and he sighed. A sigh that brought her straight back to him, her eyes narrowed and her face worried as she ran a tentative hand along the swollen line of his hip, where the poison still festered. He knew his skin there was changing to the scales of his true self in an effort to heal, and her frown deepened.

"This is getting infected. If you can't leave, then we'll have to call you a doctor. I don't think my mother's brew will help with this, and besides I'm almost out of it."

"Would that be the awful concoction you poured down me earlier?"

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