“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.”
Jillian pushed past him, retreating once again to the safety of her chambers.
CHAPTER 5
THE MOMENT JILLIAN OPENED HER EYES THE NEXT morning, she panicked. Had he left because she’d been so hateful?
He’s supposed to leave, she reminded herself grimly. She wanted him to leave. Didn’t she? Her brow furrowed as she pondered the illogical duality of her feelings. As far back as she could recall, she’d always suffered this vacillation where Grimm was concerned: hating him one moment, adoring him the next, but always wanting him near. If he hadn’t been so unkind to her she would have consistently adored him, but he’d made it painfully clear that her adoration was the last thing he wanted. And that obviously hadn’t changed. From the first moment she’d met Grimm Roderick, she’d been hopelessly drawn to him. But after years of being brushed away, ignored, and finally abandoned, she’d given up her childhood fantasies.
Or had she? Perhaps that was precisely her fear: Now that he was back she would make the same mistakes again and behave like an adolescent fool over the magnificent warrior he had become.
Dressing quickly, she snatched up her slippers and hastened for the Greathall. As she entered the room, she halted abruptly. “Oh, my,” she murmured. Somehow she’d managed to forget there were three men in her home, so consumed had she been with thoughts of Grimm. They gathered near the fire, while several maids cleared dozens of platters and dishes from the massive table centered in the Greathall. Yesterday, safe behind the balustrade, Jillian had been struck by how tall and broad the three of them were. Today, standing only a few feet from them, she felt like a dwarf willow in a forest of mighty oaks. Each man stood at least a foot taller than she did. It was downright intimidating to a woman who was not easily intimidated. Her gaze wandered from one man to the next.