As she moved forward, a voice floated out of the darkness behind her. "Pardon, lass, but could you tell me where I might find the buttery? We've run short of whisky and there's not a maid about."
Jillian froze in mid-step, momentarily robbed of speech. How could all the maids disappear and that man appear the very instant she decided to sneak from her chambers?
"I asked you to leave, Grimm Roderick. What are you still doing here?" she said coolly.
"Is that you, Jillian?" He stepped closer, peering through the shadows.
"Have so many other women at Caithness demanded you depart that you're suffering confusion about my identity?" she asked sweetly, plunging her shaking hands into the folds of her cloak.
"I didn't recognize you beneath your hood until I heard you speak, and as to the women, you know how the women around here felt about me. I assume nothing has changed."
Jillian almost choked. He was as arrogant as he'd always been. She pushed her hood back irritably. The women had fallen all over him when he'd fostered here, lured by his dark, dangerous looks, muscled body, and absolute indifference. Maids had thrown themselves at his feet, visiting ladies had offered him jewels and lodgings. It had been revolting to watch. "Well, you are older," she parried weakly. "And you know as a man gets older his good looks can suffer."
Grimm's mouth turned faintly upward as he stepped forward into the flickering light thrown off by a wall torch. Tiny lines at the corners of his eyes were whiter than his Highland-tanned face. If anything, it made him more beautiful.
"You are older too." He studied her through narrowed eyes.
"It's not nice to chide a woman about her age. I am not an old maid."
"I didn't say you were," he said mildly. "The years have made you a lovely woman."
"And?" Jillian demanded.
"And what?"
"Well, go ahead. Don't leave me hanging, waiting for the nasty thing you're going to say. Just say it and get it over with."
"What nasty thing?"
"Grimm Roderick, you have never said a single nice thing to me in all my life. So don't start faking it now."
Grimm's mouth twisted up at one corner, and Jillian realized that he still hated to smile. He fought it, begrudged it, and rarely did one ever break the confines of his eternal self-control. Such a waste, for he was even more handsome when he smiled, if that was possible.
He moved closer.
"Stop right there!"
Grimm ignored her command, continuing his approach.
"I said stop"
"Or you'll do what, Jillian?" His voice was smooth and amused. He cocked his head at a lazy angle and folded his arms across his chest.
"Why, I'll…" She belatedly acknowledged there wasn't much of anything she could do to prevent him from going anywhere he wished to go, in any manner he wished to go there. He was twice her size, and she'd never be his physical match. The only weapon she'd ever had against him was her sharp tongue, honed to a razor edge by years of defensive practice on this man.
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Tell me, lass, what will you do?"
Jillian made no reply, mesmerized by the intersection of his arms, the golden slopes of muscle flexing at his slightest movement. She had a sudden vision of his hard body stretched full length above hers, his lips curving, not with his customary infuriating condescension but with passion.
He sauntered nearer, until he stood mere inches from her. She swallowed hard and clasped her hands inside her cloak.
He lowered his head toward hers.
Jillian could not have moved if the stone walls of the corridor had started crumbling around her. If the floor had suddenly ruptured beneath her feet, she would have hung suspended on dreamy clouds of fantasy. Mesmerized, she stared up into his brilliant eyes, fascinated by the silky dark lashes, the smooth tan of his skin, the aquiline, arrogant nose, the sensual curved lips, the cleft in his chin. He leaned closer, his breath fanning her cheek. Was he going to kiss her? Could it be Grimm Roderick might actually kiss her? Had he truly responded to her da's summons—for her? Her knees felt weak. He cleared his throat, and she trembled with anticipation. What would he do? Would he ask her permission?
"So where, milady, pray tell, is the buttery?" His lips brushed her ear. "I believe this ridiculous conversation began by my saying we're out of whisky and there's not a maid about. Whisky, lass," he repeated in a voice oddly roughened. "We men need a drink. Ten minutes have passed and I'm no closer to finding it."
Kiss her, indeed. When pine martens curled up on the hearth like sleepy cats. Jillian glared at him. "One thing has not changed, Grimm Roderick, and don't you ever forget it. I still hate you."