jeans.
“I thought you said your name was Kara?” He held out the flyer; a picture of Kelly dressed for kickboxing stared back at them.
“I did.” She reached for the paper again, but he simply slid closer, his arm extended over her head, less than an inch separating them now.
“Then this is…?”
He was too close. His chest brushed her breasts, and his breath moved her hair as he lowered his face back toward her neck.
“Then this is…?” he whispered against her ear.
A shiver darted up her spine. “My sister,” she replied, the words coming out rough and sharp.
He pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes, his own gaze intense. “You’re a twin? An identical twin?”
Kara pressed her sweat-dampened palms against her jeans, and tried to ignore the rapid beat of her heart. Afraid or excited? She’d lost track of her own emotions. Did it matter? However he affected her, she had to escape. She had to act strong. “That’s right. Wouldn’t want to break up a pair, would you?” Another very Kelly-ish question.
He stepped back until there were a few feet separating them. “A pair,” he murmured. “Is it possible?” He stared at her again, his gaze wandering from her still bare feet to the top of her head. Kara felt another ripple of awareness, but when his gaze snapped back to her face, his eyes held nothing but cool analysis.
He turned again, striding toward the door at the back of the room.
Kara frowned at his dismissal. “What about me?”
He paused, placing his hand on the door frame in front of him, then slowly pushed himself back around to face her. “Yes, what about you?”
His gaze pierced her, pinning her to the door. Regretting the impulsive question that drew his attention back to her, Kara clamped her teeth onto her lower lip.
“She’s lost?” He held the flyer toward her.
Kara nodded, her reply barely more than a whisper. “For a week.”
“Not dead?”
The word sounded harsh, callous. Kara’s chin jerked upward and she shook her head with a short definite motion. No, Kelly wasn’t dead. She didn’t know where she was, but she was alive — Kara could feel her.
“Can you find her?” he asked.
Kara blinked back the dampness that threatened to form in her eyes. “I…haven’t.”
“Maybe…” he folded the flyer up and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans “…you haven’t been looking in the right places.”
Kara took a step forward, a seed of hope fluttering to life in her chest. “You mean, you’ll help? You’ll help me try to find Kelly?”
“No.” Not bothering to give her another glance, he disappeared behind the door.
The blood drained from Kara’s face, and her knees bent beneath her. Retreating before she sagged to the floor, she rested her head against the wood door. What was she thinking? Why would he help her, and why would she want him to? She didn’t even know him.
Her tormentor emerged from the back room, a flannel shirt in his hand. He shoved his arms into the sleeves and began sliding buttons into place. Even disheartened by his refusal, her traitorous gaze zeroed in on the disappearing muscles of his chest.
He rolled up his sleeves, leaving his toned forearms bare.
“I won’t try.”
Kara rolled her eyes to the ceiling, counting the log beams to keep from screaming her frustration. She was pathetic, leaping at the first hint someone might help her, and now what? He was going to lord her idiocy over her?
“I will find her.”
Kara’s gaze dropped to see him spin on one bare heel and stride into the kitchen.
Risk finished placing the last platter on the table and nodded for Kara to join him. She hesitated, hands gripping the top of her chair, anxiety wafting off her like mist off the sea.
“You eat like this all the time?” Her gaze darted over the plates of meat arranged on the table’s top.
“Not all the time.” When he was on a hunt he didn’t eat at all. He could go days, even weeks without eating, but when he was preparing for a hunt, like now, he ate and he ate well.
And that was what he intended to do right now. Let the female fend for herself. Giving her one last impatient glance, he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“You have anything less…red?” she asked, a crack in her voice.
He frowned. “It’s cooked.”
“Barely,” she mumbled. Then, gesturing toward the refrigerator, she continued, “No, I mean like something green or yellow. You know, fruits, vegetables?”
Picking up a fork, he speared a slice of venison. “Prey eats plants.”
The mist of emotion around her thickened to a cloud. Cursing silently, he lay down his fork, the venison still on it. “Eat,” he commanded.
Something flickered in her eyes — not her power — fear; the scent hit him squarely in the face. Damn. Gripping the edge of the table, he fought the need to press her against the wall; to bury his nose in her hair; to control, dominate and conquer.
Why was the urge so strong? Fear and anger always pulled at him, but he had learned to manage his reaction. But with this bit of a witch, the tug on him was more intense than any he had ever experienced. Heat glowed to life behind his eyes and his nostrils flared. He dropped his gaze to the tabletop. He had to get her calmed down.
Taking a deep breath, he willed his body to relax then looked up, his teeth bared in what he hoped was a nonintimidating manner. “There might be bread and peanut butter.” He pointed to a drawer near the sink.
Chewing on her lower lip, she nodded.
With her facing the refrigerator, he studied her. She was attractive enough for a witch — small, rounded buttocks, legs long for her height, and hair with just enough curl to tempt his fingers to weave deep into its depths. His cock twitched at the thought. Disturbed by his body’s betrayal, he adjusted on the hard chair.
He had to focus on the hunt. If the tales of twin witches were true, Kara and her sister could be invaluable to him. Perhaps even powerful enough to free him from Lusse forever. But if he hoped to find her sister and use their magic to break Lusse’s hold, he couldn’t be getting sidetracked every few minutes by the alluring scent of her overactive emotions or the equally alluring sight of her rounded buttocks.
He had to get her calm and himself focused. Concentrate on the need to find the missing sister not the desire to take this one.
He avoided looking at her again until she had returned, a loaf of sourdough bread in her hand. “You want some?” she asked.
Risk stared at the white slice in front of him. He mainly kept bread to lure animals to his traps. He glanced up at her heart-shaped face. The scent of fear had faded again, but anxiety still clung to her.
She watched him, eyes huge, the hand holding the bread quavering ever so slightly.
Have to keep her calm. Brows lowered, he took the bread.
A breath he hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her lips in a huff. Then pulling out the chair across from him, she collapsed on the seat.
“So, you’re really going to help me find my sister?” she murmured, the slice of bread pressed to her lips.
His gaze on his plate, he nodded.
She stuck a knife into the jar and spread a slow zigzag of peanut butter onto the bread. “How…” Her lower lip disappeared in her mouth again. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.” He picked up the carving knife, whacked the leg off a roasted duck and felt her pull back.
