Page 15

Clearly, she was losing her mind.

Syrie stopped pacing to sit on her bed, her legs weakened at the very thought of how she’d behaved downstairs. Dark Elf? How could she have said such a thing about Gino? Where had such an idea even come from, let alone the words themselves that had popped out of her mouth? It was as if another person had taken over her body and spoken for her. Some wild and fearless person, determined to right the wrongs that had just occurred.

If her bizarre behavior alone wasn’t enough, what about her reaction to Patrick MacDowylt?

She flopped back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, her hands rising to cover her heated cheeks.

By all that was holy, just looking at that man downstairs had set her adrift, lost in the sea of his eyes. It had done something to her insides that she couldn’t begin to explain. It was as if some invisible force had pulled her to him and stripped her of her will to resist, very like the little black-and-white kissing dog magnets Ellen kept in her kitchen window.

Syrie’s hand drifted down her neck and across her breasts to come to a rest on her stomach, as if she almost expected to find a similar magnet affixed to her body.

And when he’d touched her?

As she thought about it, a shiver ran down her spine, leaving a trail of little bumps and raised hairs all along her arms and legs.

Her hand had fit into his palm as if it were meant to be there. The memory of his lips hovering over the back of her hand heightened her physical reaction even now. His skin had barely brushed against hers, his warm breath feathering over her when he’d lifted her hand to his lips, and yet there was no denying that the feel of him had ignited a desire in her, like an old fire, never fully extinguished. Like a memory of an old lover.

What a ridiculous line of thought! Pure indulgence in fantasy. It wasn’t as if she had any memory of ever having met Patrick before, let alone any memory of having been his lover.

Not that she had any memories of anything before.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up to sit and scrubbed her hands over her face, but it did little good. Even with her eyes tightly closed, she could still see him, gazing down at her, his eyes filled with emotions she couldn’t easily identify. Self-confidence? Likely. Arrogance? Absolutely. Desire? Possession? She could almost swear she’d seen those as well.

Or was she simply imagining those last two to cover for her own feelings?

She refused to allow herself to wander too far down that particular path. Her whole reaction to her friend’s cousin had been beyond unreasonable, sending her scurrying up to her room to hide for far too long. She should have been downstairs hours ago helping to clean up after their guests left rather than pacing the length of her bedroom, berating herself for her bizarre behavior. She hadn’t any reason to be cowering up here for the whole evening. She wasn’t the one who’d behaved abominably.

Well, except for the Dark Elf comment.

Even that probably could be explained away. She hadn’t been herself. She’d allowed the newcomer to upset her. Perhaps it was the violence that had shaken her so that she’d pulled something out of some book she’d read when she spoke. She certainly hadn’t made any sense. And poor Gino. He was so offended, he might never speak to her again.

As for her bizarre reaction to Patrick, there could be a million reasons for it. Perhaps he resembled someone she’d known before. Perhaps his arrival had triggered some bit of latent memory.

“Or perhaps,” she said as she rose to stand. “Perhaps he’s just an arrogant brute who set off all my warning signals to keep my distance.”

That was much more likely than anything else she’d considered. No wonder Ellen and Rosella had been worried about telling her he would be staying here for a while. Rosella must have told Ellen how very uncivilized her cousin was and they’d both had concerns about how she would react to him.

“Well, they needn’t worry anymore.”

It wasn’t like she was some delicate young thing. She’d show them that his presence had absolutely no effect on her. Just a quick washcloth over her still-heated face and she’d go back downstairs to help clean up after the party. And, as far as Patrick MacDowylt was concerned, she’d simply keep her distance and ignore the big Scot, putting him out of her thoughts completely.

“I so swear,” she whispered, bolstering her determination.

That determination, along with her vow, lasted for approximately the five seconds it took for her to open the bathroom door and step into a billowing cloud of steam. As the steam cleared, she spotted the man she’d vowed to ignore, standing beside the shower he’d apparently just finished using, gloriously naked and absolutely impossible to ignore.

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Syrie demanded, her voice cracking just enough to ruin any real display of indignation.

Patrick had heard the door open and the gasp that had followed. He had forced himself to pretend he hadn’t noticed as he waited for the long seconds to pass before she spoke.

“I think it’s called showering,” he said as he cast a single glance in her direction, keeping his body angled slightly away from her. “Though I was led to believe it was an activity conducted in private.”

She actually sputtered as she stood in the doorway, forcing him to bite into his inner cheek to keep a smile from reaching his face. There were few pleasures as great as seeing Syrie flustered.

“You arrogant piece of—” She stopped speaking abruptly, obviously gathering her senses, the sound of her breath coming in erratic little puffs. “I know what you’re doing. What I want to know is why you’re doing it in my bathroom.”

“Our bathroom,” he corrected. “My bedchamber is through that door, so I was told we’re to share. You’ve a problem with that, do you?”

“A very big problem,” she muttered, but not quietly enough that he couldn’t hear. “In that case, the least you could do is to lock the door when you’re using this room.”

“I’ve no need for locks.” He turned to face her as he spoke, careful to ensure that the towel he held draped artfully down the center of his body. “I’ve naught to hide.”

Her cheeks bloomed a mottled red as she quickly snapped her eyes up to meet his gaze. But not quickly enough that he failed to see where they had been focused before.

“This is not going to work,” she said, backing out of the room and slamming the door shut. “And make sure you lock the damn door from now on!”

Another moment passed and he heard a second door slam. Clearly, she had left her bedchamber. Knowing Syrie, she’d likely be headed out to find someone to demand that he be moved to another room. The Fae might have stripped her memories, but they hadn’t been able to take away the fiery spirit that drove the woman.

“Thank the Goddess,” he murmured as he moved back into his own bedchamber.

From the beginning a fear had lurked in his heart that Syrie’s punishment might have somehow changed who she was. The very idea had gnawed at his innards like some starving animal.

Before Syrie, no woman had ever made him regret his lot in life. In his world, the third son of a powerful man such as his father rarely had the same choices as his older brothers. Patrick had long settled for the solitary path the Fates had woven for him. He was right hand to his older brother, the laird, content to spend his days defending and protecting his people. Though he counted himself lucky that his life was as good as it was, he was a realist. He had no home other than that which his brother provided, and no income or means to support a family. A man in his position could hardly expect any woman to cast her lot with his.

Not that he’d met any worth pining over.

Not until Syrie had entered his life.

From the first moment she’d crossed his path, he’d felt a strange attraction to her. In his experience, women were docile creatures, devoid of personality other than the drive to find a suitable husband.

But not Syrie.

Syrie was like fire raging through a dry forest. She had her own set of priorities and ideas as to how things should be done, and she never hesitated to voice her views. No one could hold her own in a duel of words like Syrie. He might not always agree with her, but he always admired her tenacity and fearlessness.

And her temper.

Memories of her face coloring with the heat of a good argument brought a smile to his lips.

It was that temper that kept her from being perfect. That and her stubborn nature, always so positive that she was right in every argument.

Those were the things he loved most in her. He’d loved them in her even before he’d known how beautiful she was. They were what made her Syrie.

Now, being near her, seeing that all he loved in her was unchanged, for the first time, he felt sure he had more than just a chance at success.

There was nothing his Syrie loved more than putting an arrogant male in his place. Without a doubt, there was no man alive who could be more deserving of being put in his place than he. Especially not if that was what it would take to hold Syrie’s attention.

And once he had her attention? The smile on his face broadened. Why, then it was only a matter of time until he could capture her heart.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Syrie, but I can’t move him anywhere else. The room next to yours was the only unoccupied room I had left.”

Ellen might be saying she was sorry, but she didn’t look at all sorry to Syrie. If anything, she looked rather pleased with herself.

“Maybe I could change rooms with one of the new girls on the third floor?”

She had to ask, even though she had a good idea of what the answer would be. The fact that Ellen was shaking her head before Syrie had even finished speaking was clue enough.

“Those girls only moved in here so that they could be next door to each other. They’ve apparently been best friends since kindergarten, so I don’t see that as even a remote possibility. You’ll just have to make do with things as they are for the time being.”

Make do. Syrie gritted her teeth to keep from snorting. How was she supposed to make do with a naked god hanging out in her bathroom?

“Fine,” she said grumpily, flouncing down on the sofa next to Ellen. “But will you at least tell him he has to lock the door when he’s in there?”

Ellen’s smile spread, and Syrie could almost swear her friend was biting her lips together.

“I will,” Ellen said after a moment, reaching across to pat Syrie’s hand, obviously struggling to maintain her composure. “He’s really not all that bad. Maybe you should try to get to know him better. Maybe if you make an effort to see more of him.”

See more of him?

“After our little bathroom encounter, I’m pretty sure there isn’t much of him I haven’t already seen.”

And what she had seen was no doubt going to be enough to keep her dreams filled for days. Weeks. Months. His image was burned into the backside of her eyelids even now. Water droplets glistening on his skin, his long, dark hair plastered to shoulders that appeared to have been sculpted by some master artisan. No, that wasn’t a scene she was likely to forget anytime soon.

“So, what do you think?” Ellen asked, looking at her expectantly.

Uh-oh. She must have missed something during her little sojourn into Patrick-land.

“Think?” she asked, hoping Ellen would repeat whatever she’d said before.

“Come on,” Ellen wheedled. “It will be fun. For both of us. Robert can be so direct sometimes when it’s just the two of us. But if you’re along, he’ll agree to spend some time just hanging out. Say yes. As a special favor for me.”

“Of course,” Syrie agreed. As if she would ever deny her friend any request. “When is this?”

And please, by all that was holy, repeat what it was she’d just agreed to.

“Wonderful!” Ellen said, clapping her hands together. “Robert will be here tomorrow afternoon and then the four of us can head down to Boulder. We can run my errands and then walk around Pearl Street and see all the strange people Danny told me are gathering there. Oh! And we’ll plan on dinner out before coming home, too. We’ll have such a good time. I just know it!”

The four of us?

Oh, great. Syrie should have guessed from the look on Ellen’s face that she was cooking up something like that. A whole afternoon and evening with Patrick. And a long car ride, too. It took everything she had not to groan aloud.

After that encounter in the bathroom, she had no idea how she’d ever be able to look the man in the eyes again, let alone be trapped in a car with him.

“Fine,” Syrie said, standing up to go back to her room. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get there?”

She could handle their being with Patrick in a group of four people. Ellen and Robert would be enough of a buffer. It was only the car ride down that really concerned her.

“About an hour and a half,” Ellen answered. “Robert’s a stickler about obeying the speed limits.”

Syrie leaned down to give her friend a quick hug and then headed back upstairs, praying her neighbor was tucked away in his room for the night. Right now, all she wanted was to escape to the privacy of her own room, where there was no possibility of bumping into Patrick again.

Something told her she’d need all the alone time she could get to prepare herself for being trapped in that small metal box with him only a few feet away from her for over an hour.

It would, without question, be one of the longest, most uncomfortable hours of her life.