Dark Summer

'They taught me well.' She was watching Marrok turn on his heel and go back to the porch. 'I believe Marrok is pissed off with our Mr. Lincoln. I'll have to take my turn at him.' Her pace quickened as she left Devon and went toward Lincoln.

Devon had no desire to tag along behind Bridget. The woman had her own agenda, and Devon would end up standing around and observing. She had done enough of that for the past few days. She wanted to initiate, not witness.

And she didn't want to go up the steps to the porch, where Marrok was standing. He had turned and was watching her.

The porch lights shone on his dark hair and highlighted his high cheekbones, but his eyes and the hollows of his face were in shadow. His stance was straight, unmoving, almost wary.

Her own response was instinctive, her body tensing. She hadn't been away long enough, dammit. She was right back where she was when she had left him. Well, she couldn't stand here like a doe caught in the headlights.

She slowly climbed the steps. 'Bridget said she thought you'd quarreled with Lincoln. Is he staying?'

'So he tells me. Unless I decide to toss him out.' He paused. 'Are you staying?'

'Yes.' She tried to smile. 'Though Bridget pulled out all the stops trying to convince me to go to Sarah's. Even a psychic premonition about my impending doom.'

'That doesn't amuse me.'

'Me, either.' She gazed at Bridget and Lincoln talking beside the car. 'Particularly since I believe she meant it.'

'Then go back to Sarah's.'

She shook her head.

Marrok muttered an oath as he took a step closer. 'Stop being stubborn. You can't help. Leave here.'

She could feel the warmth of his body though he wasn't touching her. Dear God, she was starting to shake. 'I'm not going to repeat myself. Back off, Marrok.'

He went still, his gaze on her face. 'Verbally or physically?' he asked softly. 'I'll shut up. I don't want to talk anyway.'

He was close enough now that his eyes were out of shadow, and she could see the glitter, the dark softness. And his mouth…

She should move away from him. She could feel heat tingle through her, and her body was readying.

She didn't move.

'Come on,' he murmured. 'I'll find us a place. Though it will have to be fast. I'm about to-'

'No.' What was she saying? Yes. Yes. Don't say that word, or she'd be lost.

She saw his hands clench into fists at his sides. 'Why? You want it. Is it because I'm a half-breed?'

Her eyes widened in shock. 'Don't be stupid. And insulting. Where did that come from?'

'Twenty years ago.' His lips twisted. 'It just tumbled out. I thought I'd gotten over it. You never know what poison lingers, do you?'

'No.' She felt a surge of sympathy so strong it was like a tidal wave. How many scars did Marrok have from that ugly childhood? She wanted to reach out, touch him, comfort him. 'You probably got the best of both worlds by being a half-breed. They say mutts are the smartest, most loyal dogs. It's probably the same thing.'

'Oh.' He looked startled, then smiled slowly. 'Only you would make that comparison. I know you're trying to kiss and make it better, but calling me a mutt is a strange way to go about it.'

'I guess it is.' Something had changed, she realized. The sexuality had not ebbed away, but there was now a tenderness, a gentleness, a humor, that had insinuated itself into the whirlwind of eroticism. 'But it's true.'

'And you're defending me the way you're going to defend my dogs of summer. They're worth it. I'm not sure I am.'

'If you expect me to say anything else to expand your ego, you're going to be disappointed.'

'No, calling me a mutt is compliment enough.' He shook his head. 'But you've spoiled what might have been a promising start to seduction. You were close. If I'd pushed just a little harder…'

If he'd pushed harder, she would probably have been in his bed tonight, she thought. She was still hot and aching and empty.

'Me, too,' he said softly and she knew he had read that unspoken response. 'But I can't go on the attack now. I'd be wondering if you were still trying to heal my misspent youth.'

Disappointment.

'Look at me.' He was holding her eyes. 'It's just the beginning. Once you think about it, you're going to run away. You'll change your mind. I just hope you change it back pretty damn quick. You may not be backing off because I'm a half-breed, but I'm still too wild for you. So I'll be ready to go crazy by the time we come together. But I can wait… if you can.'

She couldn't look away from him. There was too much there, passion, humor, understanding. Emotions were swirling around her, around them.

LINCOLN GAVE A LOW WHISTLE, HIS gaze on something beyond Bridget's shoulder. 'Well, what do you know…?'

Bridget looked over her shoulder.

No.

She stiffened and swung around to face Marrok and Devon. The electric tension between them was palpable. You could almost see it, smell it, warm your hands at the heat. They weren't touching, but they didn't need to touch. The bond was there, waiting only for the final melding. She had never seen Marrok and Devon together, and it came as a shock. It was too strong, too primitive, too earthy.

Lincoln was chuckling. 'What do you bet he kicks his faithful Ned out of his room tonight?'

'Maybe.' Didn't Lincoln see anything but the obvious? she wondered. If he didn't, she wasn't going to call his attention to what was coming through to her.

'Or maybe our savage won't wait to get her into bed. Bed may be too civilized for him.'

Malice. Let Lincoln be as malicious as he wished. It might keep him focused on the sexual side of the scene before them. Because she was seeing something much more dangerous between Marrok and Devon, tentative, fragile, but more frightening than any sexual bond.

Shit.

'HELLO, MARROK.' BRIDGET BOUNDED up the porch steps. 'I guess Devon told you I struck out?'

Devon shook her head to clear it. The atmosphere had been so intense between Marrok and her that it was hard to be jarred out of it by the intrusion.

Marrok didn't look at Bridget. 'I expected it. I'll handle it from now on.'

'No, we've got it worked out,' Bridget said. 'She'll work with me. She thinks I need to be watched.' She called to Lincoln, who was coming up the steps, 'Your fault. She believes I'm your mole.'

'Why would she think that?' Lincoln asked. 'We're all friends, working together.' He turned to Devon. 'But I applaud the decision. You're safer with Bridget than Marrok. Though you'd be much better off going home and getting away from both of them.' He shrugged. 'And it would do no good to tell you that I'm your best bet of all.' He moved toward the door. 'So I think I'll go inside and make a few calls to London. Good night all.'

Lincoln had the right idea, Devon thought wearily. Just walk away and avoid all this tension. 'And I'm going to bed.' She turned away. She was tired of the guarded interplay among all of them. She wanted her life clear and simple again.

She almost laughed at the thought. The moments before Bridget had run up the steps and interrupted them had been neither clear nor simple. It had been like being caught in a tropic windstorm, hot, dizzying, robbing her of breath, and bending her, leading her. She should be grateful that Bridget had broken the spell.

She wasn't grateful. She wanted it back. She wanted him back.

Crazy. All the more reason to get away from here and rebuild her defenses.

She opened the screen door. 'Come to think of it, I have to call Nick. I'll see you in the morning.'

She didn't wait for a reply but escaped into the house. Escape was the right word. She had been so calm and clear when she'd faced Marrok earlier. Even when she'd left him and gone down to the barn, she hadn't felt this ragged. It was those last moments that had been so hard. She'd had to fight both the desire to let him take her to bed and the intense sympathy that had made her want to hold him, soothe him, make