taller one turned, shielding the shorter man as the lights swept past. Bree searched the tree line again, but the men were gone. A quick movement below the window caught her attention, a flash of black hair and a face looking up at her from the courtyard. She jumped behind the curtain. When she looked again, he wasn’t there. She bolted out of her room and ran into a wall. Male. “Faelan, I think someone followed us—”
“Pardon me.” The unfamiliar voice rolled over her like thick caramel. Bree looked up into the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, even darker than Faelan’s. Long, raven hair framed a pale face so compelling, so beautiful, so incredible… she stared at him, mesmerized, like a bug caught in a spider web, waiting to be sucked dry.
“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“My loss,” he said, a seductive smile on his lips. Something danced in his eyes—knowledge, wisdom, sex—and she felt like she’d been thoroughly seduced. “I’ll try not to disturb you. I don’t sleep well at night.”
She blinked, and he was across the hall, opening his door.
Too late. She was already disturbed.
Chapter 18
Bree stood, feet rooted to the floor, until his door closed. He couldn’t be the man from the courtyard. That had been seconds ago. Had he followed them? He didn’t look like a demon, but neither did Russell. Bree ran to Faelan’s door and burst inside without knocking. There was a bump and a muttered curse.
She shut the door, speechless, the strange neighbor forgotten. Faelan wore jeans and nothing else. His chest was bare, except for his talisman and tattoos, damp hair held back with the leather strap she’d seen in his sporran, exposing a jaw line that made her knees tremble. Behind his ear, she could see the small tattoo she’d glimpsed in the Jacuzzi. A fresh white bandage added a vulnerable touch, making the combination deadly.
“I heard voices,” he said, holding his nose.
“I ran into one of the other guests. Did the door hit your nose?”
He nodded.
“Sorry. It’s not bleeding.”
He rubbed his finger under it and frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I ran into the guy across the hall. I’d just seen someone outside my window, and it startled me.”
Faelan picked up his dagger from the bed. “Wait here,” he said, and eased into the hall, his steps as soft as a panther’s. He paused outside the stranger’s door, sniffing the air. Moving to the next door, he ran his hands over it and lingered there, a faraway look on his face. Frowning, he entered Bree’s room, emerging minutes later. “I didn’t see anyone,” he said, after shutting his door. “Or smell anything, though I’m not sure I could after hitting my nose.” He touched it gingerly.
“Sorry. I’m just jumpy. It’s not every day you find out you almost married a demon.”
Faelan put his dagger on the table. “Do you want to stay awhile?” He cleared his throat and studied his toes. “Sleep here, if you want.”
Staying with him was a bad idea, but hanging out with a warrior who had a talisman capable of blasting a demon into nonexistence was preferable to going back to her room with only her imagination for company. She nodded. “I was coming to see you anyway. I figured we could talk.”
“Talk?”
“It might help to talk about your sister. Talking helps. Men don’t usually know that. They have to be prodded into these cleansing conversations.”
“Then prod away. We have much to discuss anyway. Please, sit down.”
His room was similar to hers, but painted a soft blue with a queen-sized four-poster bed, mahogany tallboy, chest of drawers, and an old roll-top desk. Antique pictures covered the walls, but no little dark-haired girls to remind him of the sister he’d lost. The lamp beside the bed cast a warm soothing glow.
Then, she did a stupid thing. She moved past the only chair in the room, a wingback, and sat on the end of the bed with her legs folded under her, in a skirt that didn’t reach her knees when she was standing.
Faelan glanced at the chair before joining her, settling at the top of the bed. He crossed his ankles and leaned against black and cream toile pillows, his bare feet almost touching hers. Bree swallowed and gave him a quick once-over, thighs stretching the fabric of his jeans, the faint trail of hair low on his stomach, hard abs, and finally the tattoos on his chest, dancing under the lamp’s glow. This was a mistake, but it was too late to leave.
“I see Mrs. Edwards gave you a bandage.” Other than opening his old wound, he appeared unscathed.
“Told her I’d bumped into a tree. Not quite a lie,” he said, dragging his gaze from Bree’s legs.
Bree tugged at her skirt, wishing she’d sat in the chair.
“I won’t take advantage of you,” he said, watching her squirm. “Not that I blame you. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
“You didn’t take advantage of me before.” If he apologized again, she’d hit him over the head.
“Maybe I’m trying to convince myself.” He folded his arms against his chest, biceps bulging. “I’ll keep my hands right here,” he said, tucking them under his armpits, eyes twinkling. “We could ask Mrs. Edwards for a brush.”
“A brush?” Had she forgotten to comb her hair? She ran her hands over her head, feeling her damp ponytail.
“If I get out of line, you can hit me with it like you hit Grog.”
“Oh, a broom.” He didn’t use many Scottish words, but when he did, it was utterly charming.
“That’s a sight I’ll never forget, no matter how hard I try. I don’t know who was more surprised, Grog or me.” He shook his head. “Having a woman try to rescue me is an experience I don’t relish. And not one I’d care to repeat. You live up to your name, I’ll say that. You are a disturbance.”
“I’m disturbing?”
