like a pit bull with a bone, suddenly holding her stare. "What happened when you were a teenager?"
Flustered, she tore her gaze away from his and focused it on the table. In the center sat one of those store-bought scented candles that freshened the air, its name no doubt flowery and feminine. And that easily, something inside of her softened, shifted into a calmer focus, her body relaxing in the chair, tension releasing like the gentle escape of air from a balloon. She silently laughed at her screwed-up logic, ridiculously reassured, comforted even, by a freaking candle, as if it made him seem less dangerous. God, maybe she was crazy. The fact that he owned a scented candle didn't make him any less of a threat to her stability. Didn't make him domesticated or tame. He probably just didn't like his kitchen smelling like cigarette smoke.
Pressing one hand to her stomach, holding in the wild spiral of emotions, she said, "What happened to me isn't important. It's what's happening to you that we need to focus on.
There's something...inside of you, Ian. Something that you need to learn to control.
Something that will cause you to be hunted. That's going to put the people you care about in danger."
"I told you before, there's no one I care about."
"I don't believe that," she argued. "I bet there's someone that you're worried about tonight.
Elaina told me there is. And she's in danger from this...this evil that's going to try and hurt you both."
He moved closer, hands braced on the back of the chair, his warm, earthy scent surrounding her, the heavy look in his eyes as sexual as it was angry. "And what makes you think I care about her, or even like her?" A hard, gritty laugh slid past his lips, low and sexy as hell.
"Trust me, little Molly-Do-Right, people like Kendra and me don't need to like the people we have sex with."
"Then why?"
His head tilted to the side. "Why what?"
"If you disliked her so much, why sleep with her?"
For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer as he pushed away from her again, as if she were something not to be trusted that could turn on him at any moment. He grabbed the black T-shirt hanging over the back of a nearby chair, then pulled it over his head, turned and stalked to the cupboard to the right of the sink. Pulling down a short, thick glass and a half-empty bottle of scotch, he splashed the liquor into the bottom of the glass. "You wanna know why I slept with her? Because I liked her body. Liked the fact that she didn't ask for more than I was willing to give. Liked that she kept it light. I don't have to like or care about the women I take to bed," he told her without turning around, voice a gritty rasp of sound. "In fact, I rarely do."
She swallowed the thick feeling in her throat. "I see."
His eyebrows lifted as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Do you?"
Molly nodded. "Emotional safety. You don't get too close. I wonder if Kendra felt the same way, or if she hoped you'd fall in love with her."
Tossing back the dark amber liquor, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Why the hell are we talking about her like she's dead?"
His question startled her, and with it came a nauseating sense of certainty. Molly didn't know why she'd started referring to the woman in the past tense--but she feared the heavy knowledge settling like a sickening bulk of reality in her gut. Her brow broke out with a clammy sheen of sweat and she pressed one hand over her heart, its rhythm rapid and light against her palm. "I warned you something would happen, Ian. I have a horrible feeling that it already has."
He didn't say anything. Just settled his lower back against the counter and stared, probably thinking she was the biggest freak alive.
"Why do you think Elaina picked you?" he rumbled, his deep voice low and rough.
"What?" she asked, caught offguard by the change in topic.
He stared, hard, as if trying to figure out a problem. "Why you?"
"Oh, I don't
Flustered, she tore her gaze away from his and focused it on the table. In the center sat one of those store-bought scented candles that freshened the air, its name no doubt flowery and feminine. And that easily, something inside of her softened, shifted into a calmer focus, her body relaxing in the chair, tension releasing like the gentle escape of air from a balloon. She silently laughed at her screwed-up logic, ridiculously reassured, comforted even, by a freaking candle, as if it made him seem less dangerous. God, maybe she was crazy. The fact that he owned a scented candle didn't make him any less of a threat to her stability. Didn't make him domesticated or tame. He probably just didn't like his kitchen smelling like cigarette smoke.
Pressing one hand to her stomach, holding in the wild spiral of emotions, she said, "What happened to me isn't important. It's what's happening to you that we need to focus on.
There's something...inside of you, Ian. Something that you need to learn to control.
Something that will cause you to be hunted. That's going to put the people you care about in danger."
"I told you before, there's no one I care about."
"I don't believe that," she argued. "I bet there's someone that you're worried about tonight.
Elaina told me there is. And she's in danger from this...this evil that's going to try and hurt you both."
He moved closer, hands braced on the back of the chair, his warm, earthy scent surrounding her, the heavy look in his eyes as sexual as it was angry. "And what makes you think I care about her, or even like her?" A hard, gritty laugh slid past his lips, low and sexy as hell.
"Trust me, little Molly-Do-Right, people like Kendra and me don't need to like the people we have sex with."
"Then why?"
His head tilted to the side. "Why what?"
"If you disliked her so much, why sleep with her?"
For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer as he pushed away from her again, as if she were something not to be trusted that could turn on him at any moment. He grabbed the black T-shirt hanging over the back of a nearby chair, then pulled it over his head, turned and stalked to the cupboard to the right of the sink. Pulling down a short, thick glass and a half-empty bottle of scotch, he splashed the liquor into the bottom of the glass. "You wanna know why I slept with her? Because I liked her body. Liked the fact that she didn't ask for more than I was willing to give. Liked that she kept it light. I don't have to like or care about the women I take to bed," he told her without turning around, voice a gritty rasp of sound. "In fact, I rarely do."
She swallowed the thick feeling in her throat. "I see."
His eyebrows lifted as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Do you?"
Molly nodded. "Emotional safety. You don't get too close. I wonder if Kendra felt the same way, or if she hoped you'd fall in love with her."
Tossing back the dark amber liquor, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Why the hell are we talking about her like she's dead?"
His question startled her, and with it came a nauseating sense of certainty. Molly didn't know why she'd started referring to the woman in the past tense--but she feared the heavy knowledge settling like a sickening bulk of reality in her gut. Her brow broke out with a clammy sheen of sweat and she pressed one hand over her heart, its rhythm rapid and light against her palm. "I warned you something would happen, Ian. I have a horrible feeling that it already has."
He didn't say anything. Just settled his lower back against the counter and stared, probably thinking she was the biggest freak alive.
"Why do you think Elaina picked you?" he rumbled, his deep voice low and rough.
"What?" she asked, caught offguard by the change in topic.
He stared, hard, as if trying to figure out a problem. "Why you?"
"Oh, I don't
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