[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
to whomever I want."
Damn it. Cian clamped his teeth over an impatient oath
and willed frustration aside. Another argument would only
delay them further. He needed to get answers, get her out of
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here, before his evil desires clawed their way free. "This is
important, Miranda. He would have scars on his wrists. Big
ugly scars that go all the way around and span the backs of
his hands."
"Take a piece of your own advice—go home." She threw
her hands in the air and started for the archway that led back
into her bookstore.
"Stop." Harsher than he intended, the order came out
strong, slicing through the air with the authority afforded to a
five-star general. While he inwardly cringed, however,
Miranda abruptly halted.
She turned around, murder glinting in her narrowed gaze.
"You have no right to tell me what to do. Now get out, before
I call the cops."
Cian heaved a sigh and shoved a hand through his hair.
"You're right."
He could tell she hadn't been prepared for him to agree.
Her eyes widened. For a millisecond, her mouth formed a
surprised "O." Then she shook her head, the longer lengths of
her hair dancing against her cheeks. She tucked one thick
chunk of blond behind her ear. "Where do you get off? You
kick me out like yesterday's trash and waltz in here
demanding to know if your competition has inquired about a
book. You're crazy."
"Yes." He supposed he was a little nuts. Okay, a whole lot
of nuts. He couldn't think straight long enough to sound
intelligent in his own mind, let alone to someone else. "But I
need to know."
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"Fine, if it will make you leave, yes, there was a man in
here about forty-five minutes ago, asking for any first-hand
accounts we had about the Celts. He talked to Susan, not
me."
Alarm turned his pulse frantic. He reached for Miranda
again, this time catching her by the fingers. Holding firmly, he
took a step closer, minimizing the distance between them.
"And she told him...?"
"Nothing." Miranda pulled on her hand.
Cian refused to let go. His fingers locked her in place,
denying her the ability to run. "Are you sure she didn't tell
him anything?"
"She can't. She doesn't know I have them. Now will you
please let me go?"
Guilt sucker-punched him, the knowledge of what he was
about to do more burden than he knew how to embrace. He
had spent his life trying to maintain the balance of light and
dark, or positive and negative. The few occasions doing so
that infringed on someone else's freedoms had never been
easy to accept...or forget. Knowing he was about to strip
Miranda of her choices, that he couldn't explain the danger
that awaited her, would haunt him to the end of his days.
He gave her a sad, distracted, shake of his head and
tightened his grip until his fingers pressed against bone.
"You're coming with me."
As he strode to the entryway, Miranda shrieked, "What?
Where?"
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"To Scotland. Call it a vacation. Call it celebrating my
birthday. Call it whatever you want, but we're leaving tonight.
Susan has a key, right?"
Miranda's nails dug into the flesh on the back of his hand.
"Let me go, Cian. I swear to God I'll scream."
Pain pricked his skin. The biting stings aroused the
dangerous part of his being. For one terrifying moment, all he
knew was the swift, and potent, need to kill. He whirled on
Miranda, striding into her space so purposefully she
scrambled backward until her back hit the wall. Eyes wide,
she stared. He knew then she saw what he wanted so
desperately to keep from her. That she witnessed the dark
hunger eating away at his soul.
And to Cian's surprise, Miranda didn't shrink away in fear.
Surprise etched into wide round pupils, but she didn't yelp.
Didn't catch her breath. She stared, that startled light slowly
assuming overtones of compassion.
Beneath the pity he didn't want, nor did he deserve,
understanding sifted into her delicate features. Her voice
lowered to a faint whisper. "You meant it didn't you? The bit
about protecting me—you're in trouble, aren't you?"
The question smacked into him, zapping through his
hateful thoughts and pulling him back to the reality of their
circumstances. With a wary glance around the shop, he gave
her a clipped nod.
"That's why you wanted me to leave. Why you couldn't
promise you'd come back."
He couldn't lie to her, and her assumptions were so close
to the truth it shamed him. Again, he nodded, tugging on her
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hand once more. They needed to leave this place. Drandar
had been here once. If he'd heard much more than the tail
end of Cian's conversation with Rhiannon, Miranda was in real
danger. Not just the possibility. Actual moments between life
and death. He sighed. "So are you, Miranda. Now get the
manuscript and come with me."
"Let me tell Susan—"
"Get the damned manuscript," he growled.
She shot him a defiant glare, but stopped fighting against
his tight hold on her wrist. "It's under the cash register."
He released her hand and slid his palm to the small of her
back, guiding her across the open floor to the center island
and the antique brass register. Her hips swayed beneath his
fingertips, the slide of her skin an enticement to his libido. He
loved touching her. Loved the power and strength in her
muscles that her petite body disguised. Treasured the
absolute trust she gave so willingly when he least deserved it.
He also felt the anger that lurked just beneath her
composed exterior. For whatever reason, she had conceded,
but he didn't fool himself into believing her acceptance went
beneath the surface. Miranda wouldn't be satisfied with empty
explanations once they crossed the threshold to the bright
sunlight outside.
Cian prepared for the inevitable confrontation. It would
come. It was only a matter of how soon.
[Back to Table of Contents]
101
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
Chapter Eleven
"I'm still waiting." Miranda glanced out her peripheral
vision at Cian's tight profile. The muscles in his jaw worked,
he tightened his hands on the steering wheel, and
begrudgingly dipped his head in a slow nod.
Twenty miles, and he'd done nothing to explain why he'd
dragged her out of the shop, or just what kind of danger he
was in. Let alone what she faced. She'd chewed on the inside
of her cheek so long she tasted the faint tang of blood.
"I know."
"Then maybe you better get to talking," she ground out
tightly. "If I'm in danger, I have a right to understand the
threat."
Again, he nodded long and slow. His heavy sigh filled the
quiet car. "We have eight minutes till we get to my house.
We'll talk about it there."
Eight more minutes of torture. She dug her fingers into the
passenger door's handgrip. Worry tempered her initial fury,
but it also compounded the headache that had set in once
she'd managed to curb her morning tears. Things like this
only ever happened in movies. Someone found an old book, a
hidden gospel, notes on buried treasure, and suddenly the
world turned into chaos. Her life, until Cian had entered it and
turned it topsy-turvy, was calm and quiet. She ran an antique
bookstore, for God's sake. It wasn't as if she had rowdy
clientele or guarded State secrets.
102
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As if he understood her agitation, Cian reached across the
center console and placed his hand over hers. Strong fingers [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
to whomever I want."
Damn it. Cian clamped his teeth over an impatient oath
and willed frustration aside. Another argument would only
delay them further. He needed to get answers, get her out of
97
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
here, before his evil desires clawed their way free. "This is
important, Miranda. He would have scars on his wrists. Big
ugly scars that go all the way around and span the backs of
his hands."
"Take a piece of your own advice—go home." She threw
her hands in the air and started for the archway that led back
into her bookstore.
"Stop." Harsher than he intended, the order came out
strong, slicing through the air with the authority afforded to a
five-star general. While he inwardly cringed, however,
Miranda abruptly halted.
She turned around, murder glinting in her narrowed gaze.
"You have no right to tell me what to do. Now get out, before
I call the cops."
Cian heaved a sigh and shoved a hand through his hair.
"You're right."
He could tell she hadn't been prepared for him to agree.
Her eyes widened. For a millisecond, her mouth formed a
surprised "O." Then she shook her head, the longer lengths of
her hair dancing against her cheeks. She tucked one thick
chunk of blond behind her ear. "Where do you get off? You
kick me out like yesterday's trash and waltz in here
demanding to know if your competition has inquired about a
book. You're crazy."
"Yes." He supposed he was a little nuts. Okay, a whole lot
of nuts. He couldn't think straight long enough to sound
intelligent in his own mind, let alone to someone else. "But I
need to know."
98
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
"Fine, if it will make you leave, yes, there was a man in
here about forty-five minutes ago, asking for any first-hand
accounts we had about the Celts. He talked to Susan, not
me."
Alarm turned his pulse frantic. He reached for Miranda
again, this time catching her by the fingers. Holding firmly, he
took a step closer, minimizing the distance between them.
"And she told him...?"
"Nothing." Miranda pulled on her hand.
Cian refused to let go. His fingers locked her in place,
denying her the ability to run. "Are you sure she didn't tell
him anything?"
"She can't. She doesn't know I have them. Now will you
please let me go?"
Guilt sucker-punched him, the knowledge of what he was
about to do more burden than he knew how to embrace. He
had spent his life trying to maintain the balance of light and
dark, or positive and negative. The few occasions doing so
that infringed on someone else's freedoms had never been
easy to accept...or forget. Knowing he was about to strip
Miranda of her choices, that he couldn't explain the danger
that awaited her, would haunt him to the end of his days.
He gave her a sad, distracted, shake of his head and
tightened his grip until his fingers pressed against bone.
"You're coming with me."
As he strode to the entryway, Miranda shrieked, "What?
Where?"
99
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
"To Scotland. Call it a vacation. Call it celebrating my
birthday. Call it whatever you want, but we're leaving tonight.
Susan has a key, right?"
Miranda's nails dug into the flesh on the back of his hand.
"Let me go, Cian. I swear to God I'll scream."
Pain pricked his skin. The biting stings aroused the
dangerous part of his being. For one terrifying moment, all he
knew was the swift, and potent, need to kill. He whirled on
Miranda, striding into her space so purposefully she
scrambled backward until her back hit the wall. Eyes wide,
she stared. He knew then she saw what he wanted so
desperately to keep from her. That she witnessed the dark
hunger eating away at his soul.
And to Cian's surprise, Miranda didn't shrink away in fear.
Surprise etched into wide round pupils, but she didn't yelp.
Didn't catch her breath. She stared, that startled light slowly
assuming overtones of compassion.
Beneath the pity he didn't want, nor did he deserve,
understanding sifted into her delicate features. Her voice
lowered to a faint whisper. "You meant it didn't you? The bit
about protecting me—you're in trouble, aren't you?"
The question smacked into him, zapping through his
hateful thoughts and pulling him back to the reality of their
circumstances. With a wary glance around the shop, he gave
her a clipped nod.
"That's why you wanted me to leave. Why you couldn't
promise you'd come back."
He couldn't lie to her, and her assumptions were so close
to the truth it shamed him. Again, he nodded, tugging on her
100
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
hand once more. They needed to leave this place. Drandar
had been here once. If he'd heard much more than the tail
end of Cian's conversation with Rhiannon, Miranda was in real
danger. Not just the possibility. Actual moments between life
and death. He sighed. "So are you, Miranda. Now get the
manuscript and come with me."
"Let me tell Susan—"
"Get the damned manuscript," he growled.
She shot him a defiant glare, but stopped fighting against
his tight hold on her wrist. "It's under the cash register."
He released her hand and slid his palm to the small of her
back, guiding her across the open floor to the center island
and the antique brass register. Her hips swayed beneath his
fingertips, the slide of her skin an enticement to his libido. He
loved touching her. Loved the power and strength in her
muscles that her petite body disguised. Treasured the
absolute trust she gave so willingly when he least deserved it.
He also felt the anger that lurked just beneath her
composed exterior. For whatever reason, she had conceded,
but he didn't fool himself into believing her acceptance went
beneath the surface. Miranda wouldn't be satisfied with empty
explanations once they crossed the threshold to the bright
sunlight outside.
Cian prepared for the inevitable confrontation. It would
come. It was only a matter of how soon.
[Back to Table of Contents]
101
Cursed to Kill
by Claire Ashgrove
Chapter Eleven
"I'm still waiting." Miranda glanced out her peripheral
vision at Cian's tight profile. The muscles in his jaw worked,
he tightened his hands on the steering wheel, and
begrudgingly dipped his head in a slow nod.
Twenty miles, and he'd done nothing to explain why he'd
dragged her out of the shop, or just what kind of danger he
was in. Let alone what she faced. She'd chewed on the inside
of her cheek so long she tasted the faint tang of blood.
"I know."
"Then maybe you better get to talking," she ground out
tightly. "If I'm in danger, I have a right to understand the
threat."
Again, he nodded long and slow. His heavy sigh filled the
quiet car. "We have eight minutes till we get to my house.
We'll talk about it there."
Eight more minutes of torture. She dug her fingers into the
passenger door's handgrip. Worry tempered her initial fury,
but it also compounded the headache that had set in once
she'd managed to curb her morning tears. Things like this
only ever happened in movies. Someone found an old book, a
hidden gospel, notes on buried treasure, and suddenly the
world turned into chaos. Her life, until Cian had entered it and
turned it topsy-turvy, was calm and quiet. She ran an antique
bookstore, for God's sake. It wasn't as if she had rowdy
clientele or guarded State secrets.
102
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by Claire Ashgrove
As if he understood her agitation, Cian reached across the
center console and placed his hand over hers. Strong fingers [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]