Page 20

A memory tugged at him. When he was but a boy of twelve summers, he was out riding his favorite horse, Aengus.

He’d fallen, and the beast wouldn’t let him back on.

The creature just kept teasing him—Aidan would get close, Aengus would shimmy away, neighing and blowing.

The game went on until Aidan came face-to-face with a stranger who thought Aidan was trying to steal his cattle.

Aidan had taken a sword to his lower back, and the scar sat just below his waistline.

Talk about stranger danger. His childhood had been one long lesson in staying alive.

He sighed. In his recent adulthood, he had gone soft.

He knew it, and a part of him was grateful for it.

A small part, to be sure—he often craved the adventure of his youth.

Though the world around him was full of marvels, Aidan’s ennui with people grew with each passing year.

Most of them were so focused on money and fame they forgot that the true measure of a man’s worth was in his clan, in his connections with his past.

His brother would laugh his arse off if he were ever privy to Aidan’s thoughts.

When they last saw each other, Aidan thrived on battle and vanquishing enemies. Stealing cattle from other clans so his could eat, protecting Nick and Bri with his life, volunteering for any and all missions.

About two years after he arrived in the future, Aidan accepted that he most likely would never get back to his former life, so he sought what adventures he could find.

Now his vanquishing took place in the antiquities and real estate markets.

It was a lot less bloody and filled his coffers more than any battle ever had, yet it left his soul empty .

Pushing his thoughts aside, he threw open the door and stopped short. Sitting on his bed was the lovely Emma, looking both nervous and bold at the same time.

“Needing something, lass?” he drawled, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. When his towel slipped a notch, he didn’t bother to hitch it back up.

She blinked, her gaze moving from the top of his towel up his arms, over his chest, and finally to his eyes. He felt every bit of her stare, as evidenced by the towel hanging even more precariously over his hips.

She held up a first-aid kit and stuttered, “I, um, thought you might need this.”

“And you wanted to deliver it in person?”

“I thought you would dress in the bathroom,” she said lamely.

He did smile then. It wasn’t a kind smile, or even a welcoming one. It was wolfish, and he could tell she knew it. She swallowed, her throat working, and Aidan took a step toward her. She didn’t move, and he raised a brow in challenge.

She raised one back.

Emma Perkins surprised him at every turn, and he’d never felt more alive.

Her gaze zeroed in on his chest, and he just barely refrained from puffing it out to show off a little. The laugh that burst from her lips indicated she’d caught that small flex of his pecs.

“Now that you have me here, ready and willing to be fussed over, what are you going to do about it?” he asked. He advanced toward her slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, which were still fixed on his chest.

“What happened?” she asked, and he glanced down at the red scratch.

“A tiny, insignificant knife. Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. He reached the edge of the bed, and her face was level with his hips. The towel hung low, only staying on by the grace of the fates.

“A tiny knife?”

Aidan saw the worry in her eyes as she rose, alarmed. He pried the kit from her arms, opened it, and pulled out the antibiotic cream. “Aye.”

“Reilly’s knife?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay. Not Reilly’s knife.”

Her face lost some of its color, and Aidan handed her the cream silently. A surge of protectiveness crashed over him as he watched the realization dawn on her…the danger was real and he was involved. He knew there wasn’t any point in lying about it.

“Did—was it Ben? Did he try to kill you?” she finally asked.

“He tried something. If it was an attempt on my life, it was the weakest one yet.”

“Do you often have attempts on your life?” she breathed, her eyes wide with worry.

“Not anymore,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to leave again, Emmaline. I’m sorry.”

“He told you I’m his, then?” she asked. She unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the cream onto her fingers. “That he owns me, and that he’s promised to kill me?”

“Something to that effect, aye.”

“Grand,” she replied softly, her brows knitting together in concentration as she gently touched her shaking fingertips to his chest.

Electricity jolted through him at her touch, and his muscles jumped. She pulled her hand back quickly.

“It hurts?”

He shook his head, unable—unwilling—to explain his reaction. She began to smooth the cream over his chest more carefully .

Her feather-light touch drove him to the brink of his restraint.

Emma carefully rubbed it into his skin before capping the tube and holding up her hand. “I need to wipe this off.”

Slowly, giving her time to tell him no, he pulled the towel from around his waist and gently wiped her hand, dragging the soft cotton over the back of her hand, through her fingers, and over her palm.

She shuddered and closed her eyes.

He raised her other hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, inhaling her scent. Fresh. Clean.

His.

“This is madness,” he said, his voice raw. “Tell me to go to hell, Emmaline.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He kissed her palm, then took her mouth in a long, deep kiss that seared him straight to his soul.

She traced his biceps, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, and tangled her fingers into his hair. He groaned into her mouth as she pressed herself against him, her body soft, pliant, and completely at his mercy.

Soft, pliant… and completely vulnerable .

The thought was like a bucket of cold water; he broke the kiss and took in her flushed face, lush lips, and dreamy expression.

“Emma,” he started.

“No,” she said in a low voice.

He felt the stab of disappointment deep and tried to tell himself it was for the best.

“If I only get this one chance,” she said, “this only chance to have you, to see what this is between us…I want it.”

His heart thudded heavily against his chest. He saw honesty in her eyes, and he knew he would deny her nothing.

His lips met hers again, and he vowed to make it the best day—and night—of her life.

With what he and Reilly had planned, it might be all they could have.