In the meantime, something had to be done about this burning he felt for her. He’d spent years honing his self-discipline, but this went beyond lust. His stomach rumbled. She’d offered food, and he was near famished. Perhaps he could distract himself from one appetite by feeding the other.
He watched the woods a minute longer and then slipped around to the front door. The smell of food cooking made his stomach growl again as he made his way to the room where she’d told him to clean up. He opened the door and found another shock, this one pleasant. He spent ten minutes pushing buttons and turning knobs until he figured out how to make the water flow out of the wall. He picked up a square cake and sniffed. Flowers. Was this soap? He didn’t relish smelling like a flower, but it was better than mud and sweat. The warm water rolling over his body like a gentle rainfall was an unexpected pleasure, as was the soft cloth he dried himself on.
He dreaded facing her after acting like an animal, but it was that or sleep in the woods, and whatever she was cooking smelled bloody good. After dressing once again in his clean clothes, he followed his nose to the kitchen. At least he thought it was a kitchen. The room was large, with old wooden floors covered by colorful rugs. A big oak table sat in the center. But there were things here he’d never seen in a kitchen, such as a woman in trousers.
She took a container of something that looked like milk out of a tall, white box and reached for a glass, leaving a strip of skin bare at her waist. He could already see every curve of her body. There was a name written on a wee square, right at the top of her arse. Levi Strauss. Was this some sort of family crest? Unusual place to display it.
Her arms were bare, along with most of her shoulders, and if he looked hard enough, he could see the swell of her breasts. Her skin was smooth and creamy, all over, as far as he could tell. And there was a lot of it to see. Did all women dress this way now?
His body started to harden. Damnation. He’d just gotten it down. He shifted his sporran and cleared his throat.
She pulled in a quick breath and turned, thick hair swinging around her shoulders. Their gazes locked and held. It was powerful, this feeling. Did she sense it? A flash of fear showed in her eyes, and he remembered who she might be. If so, she’d do well to fear him. Then he saw the scrape on her cheek and the thin line marring her throat… from his dirk. If her unlikely story was true, he’d come close to killing an innocent woman. If it wasn’t, the next time, he wouldn’t fail.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said, swallowing nervously, forcing a smile.
Whatever else she was, she was brave. Faelan smiled in return, but it felt like a sneer.
“I’m Bree,” she said. “You must be starving.”
He stifled a growl. She had no idea.
***
“I hope you’re not lactose intolerant,” Bree said as Faelan drained his glass of milk without stopping to breathe. He frowned at it, discreetly sniffed, and then wiped a drop from his chin. Milk in his day wouldn’t have been pasteurized or two percent, just straight from the cow.
He stuck his fork in the scrambled eggs and shoveled a bite into his mouth.
“It’s hot—”
His eyes widened. He took a gulp of milk and did it all over again. Burning hot food, cold milk. It sounded like he moaned, but there wasn’t enough room in his mouth for the sound. She studied him as he ate, not surprised he looked even better in daylight. Just her luck. She was avoiding men like poison ivy, and she’d condemned herself to solitary confinement with the sexiest man alive. Or dead?
“So you’ve decided I’m not a ghost?” he asked, smothering a quiet burp behind his napkin.
“I don’t think a ghost could eat this much.” She wasn’t sure about demons.
“My manners aren’t usually so poor, but I don’t recall ever being so hungry.” Faelan glanced at her breasts and knocked a biscuit onto the floor. He picked it up, blew on it, and stuffed half in his mouth. “I haven’t thanked you properly,” he said after he’d swallowed. “For freeing me, the bed, food. I didn’t expect hospitality.” A half smile touched his lips, making her insides twitch like she’d been hit by a stun gun.
He was gorgeous. And his voice. She took a breath and tried to gather her wits. He was a puzzle to solve, not a potential boyfriend. “I couldn’t let you starve.” Or she’d never find out who he was. She’d tried searching for the Connor clan, but her computer wasn’t cooperating.
If she truly believed he had amnesia, she’d mention the name and see if it jogged his memory, but she suspected he knew exactly who he was, and he was trying hard to hide it from her. And if he was the demon, and thought she knew too much, he might kill her and be done with it, which probably made her the stupidest woman alive for bringing him inside, but what kind of historian would toss out a living, breathing, walking history book?
“I’m indebted to you,” he said, spearing a chunk of fresh pineapple with a small knife, popping it in his mouth. “I have nothing. Not even a horse.”
A horse? She bit back a smile. The only payment she wanted was answers. “So you still have no idea who you are or how you got inside the chest?”
He shook his head, his mouth too full to answer.
“You must remember some snippet of something. Children? A wife?” If Alana was his wife, did that kiss count as cheating?
“I wasn’t… I don’t think I was married.” He licked his lips, drawing Bree’s attention to his mouth.
“Brothers? Sisters?”
He shook his head, the movement so small it could have been a tic. If she hadn’t been watching his mouth, she would’ve missed the flicker of anguish that tightened his face.
“We should tell someone. We could put up pictures of you, see if someone recognizes—”
“No.” He banged his glass on the table and leaned forward, his face rigid. “You can’t tell anyone about me. No one.”
