House Of Shadows. Jen Christie

hands stilled and fell to her side. The rag dropped to the floor.

      He stared at her long and hard, his shoulders squared, and he took great, heaving breaths.

      She wasn’t sure how to react. She was too afraid to say anything, to reveal anything at all. Perhaps he hadn’t caught up with her.

      But one look at his face told her he had, indeed. More than caught up with her, she realized, noticing the angry set of his lips. He’d spoken with her.

      In three strides, he crossed the room. She barely had time to gather her breath before he loomed over her, his beautiful, angry features hovering right above her face. “What trickery are you up to, Penny?”

      He knew. It was over. A horrid wrenching twisted in her gut, but something else was there, too, some wild, fluttery, panicked sensation. A painful feeling of loss and shame. She didn’t want him to think badly of her. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I never intended...”

      He shook his head slowly. “The conversation I just had with that woman,” he said, walking around her. “And the things I’ve learned about you.” He stopped, leaned forward and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his strange eyes. Angry eyes that seemed to swirl with dark colors. “It seems you weren’t honest with me, were you?”

      “No,” she whispered, too flustered to come to any self-defense of her behavior. She felt the hole that she’d dug widening beneath her feet, and the blackness threatening to swallow her up. If only she could look away from his eyes, but his hand at her chin was no longer gentle. It held her tight.

      “What game you play, I don’t know,” he said. “But you will not win it. This I guarantee you—you will not win it. You came and looked me in the eyes, and deceived me.” He leaned close. She smelled the woods on him and the scent of summer blooms. “I know your secret. And I wager there are even more to find out, and, trust me, I’ll find every single one.”

      Penrose knew what he was talking about. He was talking about her. About the blonde. “Please, you’re scaring me,” she said. Her words came out too soft, too weak. “Where did she go?” she asked him.

      His chest pressed against hers, and he made no accommodation for her at all. She was forced to hold her breath. He said, “Do you care where she went? Do you really care as long as she’s not here?” He stepped even closer, forcing her tighter against the table. “And why is she here, Penny? Do you know that?”

      “I needed a job,” she whispered her confession. Her eyes met his, imploring him to have sympathy. “I was hungry. I didn’t know...” Her voice trailed off.

      “She gave me the impression you knew a great many things, Penny. And that you weren’t so innocent, that you committed a crime against her, and now she suffers for it,” he said. “Her words, not mine.”

      His demeanor was decidedly very, very different, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Mrs. Capshaw be damned to hell. “I’ll leave,” she whispered.

      He chuckled, and the threat behind it gave her shivers. “You’ll do no such thing. You made your bed—now you’ll lie in it.” Lifting her chin higher, he leaned closer until his lips touched her ear. “Or you can lie in mine, if you prefer,” he said. “In fact, she mentioned something of the sort.”

      Not one word came to her lips. Not one. She could only breathe, but even that was a struggle—little gasps that caused her breasts to push against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered.

      “Are you?” With his other hand, he traced up the side of her torso. Higher and higher, skimming over her breast, her shoulders, until his long fingers caressed the back of her neck and edged into her upswept hair.

      Yes, his demeanor had changed so very much. Whatever the woman had said, she unleashed a new man in Carrick.

      Penrose closed her eyes, unsure if this was even real. But her body told her it was real, very real, for it throbbed with life and feeling.

      With his other hand, he traced a thumb over her lips, and she whimpered.

      “Perhaps she wasn’t lying.” His voice, now at her ear, smooth and cajoling, seemed to be speaking right into her soul. “Are you afraid of me?” His voice was so, so low.

      With his thumb on her lips, she couldn’t speak. She shook her head no. But she was trapped and could only stand there, enduring the feel of him.

      He removed his thumb. “Let me repeat my question. Are you afraid?”

      She couldn’t keep lying to him. Oh, she wanted to, but her pounding heart wouldn’t let her think of an excuse. “Yes,” she said, nodding. It was everything about him. His sharp, strange beauty. His odd ways. The way he frightened her.

      But it was too late to say anything. His fingers guided her to look at him and then his mouth descended onto hers, deceptively soft.

      She stilled, hardly believing what was happening. But it was happening.

      He drew her closer, enveloping her, holding her against him. His kiss turned hard and demanding. Anger lurked underneath. She knew it from the way his lips slashed, hot and accusing, over hers.

      It wasn’t merely anger. It was more than that. Something almost dangerous. Seductive.

      Sinking, melting, she surrendered to the feeling. He tugged at her lips, coaxing her mouth to open and then his tongue thrust inside, claiming her. Triumphant.

      Heat spread between her legs. An odd sound escaped her mouth, and a shiver swept over her. Her whole body shook from it, surprising her.

      Her reaction seemed to inflame Carrick. A rumble came from his throat, and his kiss grew bolder, hungrier. All night long, his touch had been measured and precise. Incremental. Now it turned wild. Uncontrolled. His hands swept up her skirt hungrily, grabbing fistfuls of fabric, digging for her body beneath. When he found it, he growled and pressed against her, and she felt his hardness through the folds of her skirt. It made a pulse of pleasure beat between her legs.

      From deep inside, an unrestrained, breathy shudder swept over her body. She whimpered and pressed farther into his kiss, overwhelmed with wanting him.

      He stilled. Through her dress, she felt his hands clench angrily. “Dammit,” he said harshly. “I can’t do this.” He stepped away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said, avoiding her gaze, already turning away from her. “It’s too damned complicated. More than that. God, it’s so much more than that.”

      Reaching out and putting a hand on his chest, she leaned up and tried to kiss him. “Please.” She didn’t want it to stop.

      “You are young and foolish,” he said in a measured voice.

      Taken aback, she stared at him hard before she said, “And you have no heart.”

      “Now you know the truth of it. My real affliction. Let’s get back to work and forget this ever happened.”