The Draghar, he brooded. This was the third mention of them he'd encountered. The peculiar phrasing did seem to encompass his actions. The man from the mounts… the bridge that cheats death. But who or what were the Draghar? Were they mayhap some faction of the legendary Tuatha Dé Danaan? Would they return from their mythic hidden places to hunt him now that he'd broken his oath and violated The Compact?
The deeper he dug into tomes that neither he nor Drustan had previously spared a thought for, the more he realized that his clan had forgotten, even abandoned, much of their ancient history. The Keltar library was vast, and in his thirty-three years he'd scarce made a dent in it. There were texts no Keltar had bothered with for centuries, mayhap millennia. There was too much lore for a man to absorb in a single lifetime, and verily, there'd been no need to. Over the aeons, they'd grown careless and content, looking forward not behind. He supposed it was man's way to relinquish the past, to live in the now, unless suddenly the ancient past became critical.
Had they not forgotten so much, he might never have stood in the circle of stones, assuring himself there was no evil in the in-between awaiting him should he use the stones for personal motive. He might never have half-convinced himself that the Tuatha Dé Danaan, a vague race spoken of in vaguer terms, were but a myth, a faetale woven to prevent a Keltar from misusing his power. Not that he'd believed he had been abusing it. He'd not thought of his actions as serving personal motives. Well, not entirely, for was love not the greatest and most noble purpose of all?
She was havering away again.
How best to make her give him some peace?
A predatory smile curved his lips.
He looked up. Raised his eyes from the text and looked at her, deliberately letting all that he was thinking about doing to her—which was everything—show on his face, blaze in his gaze.
She sucked in a soft breath.
Head canted down, he looked at her from beneath his brows. It was the kind of look one warrior might give to another in challenge, or the kind of look a man gave a woman he intended to thoroughly plunder. Slowly, with lazy sensuality, he wet his lower lip. Dropped his gaze from hers, to her lips and back again.
Her eyes grew impossibly round and she swallowed.
He caught his full lower lip with his teeth and slowly released it, then smiled. It was not a smile meant to reassure. It was a smile that promised dark fantasies. Whether she wanted them or not.
"I'll just be in the study," she said faintly, hopping briskly from the sofa and practically running from the room.
Only after she'd left did he make that noise. A long, low growl of anticipation.
Chloe's heart was hammering furiously and she wasn't seeing a darned thing as she pretended to peer at the titles of the books on the shelves in his study.
Heavens, that look! Holy cow!
There he'd sat across from her, looking breathtakingly gorgeous in black from head to toe, his gorgeous midnight hair pulled back from his gorgeous face, essentially ignoring her, then he'd raised his eyes—but not his head—from the text and given her a look of… quintessential sexual heat.
No man had ever looked at Chloe Zanders like that. Like she was some kind of succulent dessert and he was coming off a week-long fast of bread and water.
And his lip—God, when he caught and released that sinfully full lower with his teeth, it made a girl just want to snack on it. For hours.
I do believe the man might be planning to seduce me, she thought wonderingly. Yes, she knew he was a womanizer, and yes, last night he'd seemed flirtatious, but she hadn't taken it seriously. She wasn't exactly the kind of woman that men like him fell all over themselves trying to get to. Chloe was pretty realistic about her looks; she wasn't tall, leggy, model material, that was for sure. Even the Security guys had said she wasn't his type.
But that look…
"He only did it to get you to leave, Zanders," she muttered to herself. "And it worked. You willy-nilly chicken, you."
She was on the verge of stomping back out there and calling his bluff; indeed, had moved back toward the door and was about to step out, when he made a sound.
A sound that made her shiver and dose the door instead.
And lock it.
A hungry animal sound.
Leaning back against the door, Chloe took slow, deep breaths.
She was in way over her head. It was one thing to be held hostage by a criminal. To maybe fantasize about kisses. It was entirely another thing to be seduced by him. The dastardly man was both a thief and a kidnapper, and she dare not forget that.
She had to escape before it was too late. Before she was fabricating reasons, not merely to aid and abet the criminal, but to present him with her virginity on a silver platter.
When Chloe crept from the study half an hour later, the arrogant man actually let her get all the way to the door before he bothered moving. Then he stood slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, and gave her a look of gentle reproof and disappointment.