Roman leaned back against the pine railing, occasionally taking a drag on his cigarette.
With Kate it might work.
She had a hidden sensitive side, but she definitely possessed her father’s volatile temper, too. Making her angry was easy, but could he convince her to turn that anger toward Threader long enough for her to forget about their past and to trust him? Long enough for him to keep her alive?
“D’Amato!”
Chapter Four
The shriek of rage came from inside. Its intensity rocked the porch rafters, causing Roman to flinch. It had taken her less time than he thought to work through the events from the previous night. His lips twitched with amusement. He should’ve known.
He field-stripped the cigarette, then stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck just as another scream, this one sounding more like a screech, rent the air. He stepped inside.
She stormed down the stairs barefoot and wearing only a jersey. A Scottish warrior princess. Regal. Graceful.
Lethal.
“Hungry, Doc?” he asked smoothly, suffering her glare with equanimity before entering the kitchen.
A search of the cupboards the night before had revealed filter packets containing coffee and some canned corned-beef hash. He started the coffee first, knowing it would be his greatest ally.
“You drugged me.” The accusation jabbed at him from the doorway behind.
“Yes, I did,” he answered, deliberately keeping his voice calm. “Want some breakfast?” Opening the can of hash, he dumped the contents into the sizzling frying pan.
He heard the sharp intake, felt the pause as she absorbed the shock of his admission.
“You, you—”
The anger was back. Good. Roman shut off the burner and counted to two before turning around to face her.
She clenched her fists to her sides, but he knew it was only because he wasn’t close enough for her to take a swing.
“You deceitful, two-faced…” Her eyes blinked with unshed tears. “Jerk.”
Christ, he hated tears. He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “Tell me, is that a scientific fact or just your everyday off-the-cuff hypothesis?”
“Oh, it’s fact, all right.” Her gray eyes turned into finely etched diamonds of white fire at his tone, evaporating the tears. “You actually thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” She spat out the words before her gaze skimmed the counters.
“I wouldn’t have cleared the kitchen of all possible projectiles last night if I’d thought that. So you might as well stop looking.”
She glared at him, her hostility palpable.
Kate hadn’t realized she’d been searching for something to throw until he’d pointed it out, but the idea held tremendous appeal. If she had a knife right now, she would gladly aim for his heart.
She’d been on overdrive since she’d awakened with the strange feeling of being watched nagging at her subconscious. She’d lain there for a while, letting an unfamiliar dullness clear from her mind. Almost immediately the events of the past twenty-four hours came rushing back. The frantic call from Marcus. The destruction of her work and her desperate flight to the safest place she knew. The difficult hike to the cabin after ditching her car.
The fear. The fatigue.
Roman’s unexpected arrival.
Quickly, the facts formed into a well-developed theory. The slurred speech. The dizziness. The bitter-tasting soup. Stunned, all she could do was lie there. Roman was a lowlife, but he would never sink that far into the bowels of deceit.
But he had. He’d just admitted it, and the hurt made her strike back.
“Don’t tell me you have to drug your women now.” Giving up on the weapon search, she propped one shoulder against the doorjamb, her body stiff, her voice dripping with acid.
The muscle in his jaw flickered, telling her she’d scored a hit. But he didn’t respond to the barb. Too bad.
“Was it good for you?” she taunted, not willing to let it go. She watched with satisfaction as his eyes burned amber and his body grew tense. “I mean, it was basically the same for me,” she continued, ignoring the warning signals. “Forgettable.”
He gave her a long look that showed how close he was to unleashing his anger, but his voice remained silky smooth, the sound chilling her to her marrow. “Do you want me to prove you’re lying?”
She managed to keep the fury and humiliation out of her voice, just. “What I want is for you to tell me why you found it necessary to drug me.” Her balled fist hit the counter.
He shrugged with indifference, somehow leaving Kate with a vague feeling it was partially feigned. “You needed it. I told you last night you looked like hell.”
“Your concern for me is touching, but it’s coming just a tad too late for me to believe it’s sincere.”
“It’s sincere,” he said, the words low and even.
For a moment she almost believed him. Then suddenly he relaxed with an easy smile and turned his attention back to cooking the food.
Kate let the air out of her lungs with a huff. “The last time I checked my driver’s license, I was a grown woman, D’Amato. I can take care of myself.”
He laughed. “Why don’t you pour us some brew?”
“Why don’t you go straight to—”
The sputtering of the coffee machine cut off her retort. For the first time she smelled the tantalizing aroma coming from the far corner. Her throat constricted.
And he knew it. Without looking up from the stove, he said, “Go on. Your brother stocked the kind you both like. Brazilian.”
Addiction won over indignation. Grudgingly, Kate reached into the cupboard above the coffeemaker for a mug, and then poured coffee to the rim.
He could damn well get his own.
Taking a sip, she released a sigh of unadulterated pleasure.
Perfect.
“I’m surprised you didn’t make me drink first.” Startled, she glanced up to find him watching her, his eyebrows raised in a mockingly polite question.
She’d always hated it when he gave her that superior, all-knowing look. “The thought crossed my mind,” she bluffed, irritated because the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “But even you wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“So you’re beginning to believe that I did it for your own good?” He reached around her to grab another mug from the cupboard, brushing against her shoulder and effectively locking her between his arms. Kate, startled by the contact, turned, inadvertently placing her face inches away from his granitelike chest. She could smell his scent, feel the warmth of his body.
There was a jagged, raised scar just under his right shoulder. She focused on that, trying to clear her head. From a rock-climbing accident, he’d told her once. The whiteness of the scar stood out against the otherwise tanned skin of his chest. A chest covered with a thick pelt of crisp, sable hair. Hair tapered into a thin line, down his flat, muscled stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling deeply.
“Drop something, babe?”
Jolted out of her trance, she jerked her head up in confusion, catching his chin.
His grunt of pain had her scooting around him and resuming her place in the doorway, somehow feeling safer with the exit at her back.