So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)(54)

“Who’s going to know?”

A chill skittered down her back. Her grip tightened on the latch, but she didn’t turn it.

“I was working on something. Would you like to see it?”

Blast him. Did he know her weakness was an insatiable curiosity? She glanced over her shoulder. “Ye’re inventing something?”

He nodded and motioned toward the back of the room. “I’m making a windmill. Want to see it?” He walked out of view.

She followed slowly, stopping at the back corner of the bed. So this was his cabin. A long worktable was covered with papers, tools, and metal parts. Paned glass windows stretched along the upper half of the back wall. The bottom half was filled with dressers and bookcases. Another large window ran across the side of the room. Beneath it was a long window seat, padded with blue velvet cushions that matched the curtains around his bed.

He stopped in front of his latest invention and gave the blades a whirl. “I’m going to install it at the top of the foremast. The plan is to transfer the power of the wind to a machine.”

She stepped closer. “What kind of machine?”

He shrugged, bringing her attention back to his broad shoulders. “I’m not sure yet. I’m considering a machine that could wash dirty clothes.”

She snorted, then covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

He gave her an annoyed look. “It could also do sheets and towels.”

A chuckle escaped her mouth.

He arched a brow. “You find it amusing that I run a clean ship?”

“I didn’t realize pirates could be so tidy.” She grinned. “I thought you were planning some sort of awesome war machine, a powerful weapon that would strike terror into the hearts of yer enemies.”

“I don’t need a weapon for that. I am the weapon.”

Her breath caught. Good goddesses, he looked like a weapon. But she shouldn’t let him intimidate her. She affected a shudder. “Oh, I’m scared.”

He took a step toward her, his eyes gleaming. “You should be.”

She moved back. “Aye, the tidy pirate might capture me and wash my clothes.”

His mouth twitched. “I’d have to remove them first.”

Another flash of lightning lit the room. The air between them felt charged, as if some sort of energy was sizzling between them.

“I should be going.” She turned toward the door.

“Why do you react so badly whenever we touch?”

She halted with a jerk. “I-I don’t know what ye’re—” When he grabbed her arm, a shock went through her. A surge of grief and despair so overwhelming, it made her knees buckle.

“Brigitta! Dammit.” He swept her up in his arms.

She was in another place. A dark room. Chilly and dank. A cellar? She was trapped there with a young Rupert, trapped in his mind, living his terror. It was cold, but he didn’t dare light a fire, for someone might discover him and turn him over to the soldiers who hunted him day and night. It was dark but he didn’t dare use a candle, for someone might notice the light through the window.

So afraid. So bereft. So lonely. It made her heart ache for him.

Rupert, how did ye survive?

“Brigitta,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

Her eyes flickered open. Goodness, she was lying on his bed. Had he put her here?

He was standing next to the bed, frowning. “What is it that I’m doing to you? How can I make it stop?”

“’Tis nothing. I’m fine.” She scrambled out of bed and lunged toward the door.

“You’re not fine.” He slammed a hand against the door to keep her from opening it. “Tell me!” When she didn’t answer, he planted his other hand on the door with her trapped in between. “I can touch other women without harming them, so why do—”

“Then touch them.” She turned to glare at him.

“I don’t want to.” He moved closer till their bodies were a few inches apart. “What happens when we touch? Does it cause you pain?”

She shook her head. The pain was all his.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes met his, and the intensity of his gaze took her breath away.

“I want to touch you.” His gaze dropped to her mouth for a few heated seconds before returning to her eyes. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

He was the one who was hurting. Lonely and bereft. Her heart filled with a need to comfort him, to hold him and tell the young boy inside him that he wasn’t alone.

“May I touch you?”

She nodded, then braced herself mentally for another vision. But when his fingertips stroked her cheek, she saw nothing. She stared him, surprised for a moment, then a wave of emotion hit her so hard, it flattened her against the door.

Yearning. He wanted her.

She inhaled sharply as her heart lurched into a rapid pace. This was no young boy in need of comfort. This was a powerful, grown man, and he wanted her something fierce.

His eyes narrowed. “You felt something. What was it?”

She turned her face away. “Nothing.”

“Brigitta.” His fingers skimmed down her neck to her shoulder as he leaned toward her. The tip of his nose brushed across her cheek, and she felt his warm breath and the slightest touch of his lips. He paused by her ear and whispered, “You’re lying.”