Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(20)

She just stood there staring at him.

He could overpower her in a second. She was not a small woman but he was clearly fit, definitely tall and obviously far, far stronger than she. Lacybourne was just on the outskirts of town and surrounded by forest therefore no one would hear her if she shouted. Ice Princess Tamara, she doubted, would come to her aid and Mrs. Byrne would be no help at all but would undoubtedly try, and maybe get herself harmed in the process.

And therefore Sibyl had no choice and she hated that.

“Okay,” she gave in, feeling deep embarrassment that her voice sounded shaky. “Turn around.”

He again didn’t speak, he also didn’t turn.

She waited a moment, realising that his manners did not extend to allowing her a modicum of privacy and, with a strangled sound, she turned herself, presenting her back to him.

She’d never been so humiliated in her entire life. She felt hot, shameful tears spring to her eyes and could do nothing to stop them, though she used every bit of her willpower not to make a sound.

As quickly as she could, she whipped off her t-shirt and pulled the pyjama top over her head, not bothering to take off her bra. She undid the zip on her skirt in the back and pulled it down, hooking her fingers in her tights as she did so (careful to leave her panties in place), stepping out of both pieces of clothing at the same time and dropping them on her t-shirt.

She whirled around again.

“Happy now?” she asked, but didn’t look at him, hiding behind a curtain of hair because she didn’t want him to see the tears on her cheeks.

His answer was to lean forward and whip back the covers of the bed.

Bran lifted his head in ill humour, his yellow eyes indicating his unhappiness at having his slumber disturbed.

Mallory, exhausted from the evening’s escapades, was lying on his side on the floor, his arms and legs sprawled out in front of him, completely unperturbed by this new horror.

Sibyl thought with dismay that her mother had been wrong about the cat.

She clambered into the bed, doing her best to keep her back to him and, when she lay down, he whipped the covers over her. She curled into a little ball, pressed her face into the pillows and it didn’t dawn on her as she did this that he was actually pulling the covers high up her shoulder and then tucking them tight around her.

She hoped he would go now that he had his way but he didn’t. Instead, she felt his warm hand heavy at her neck and her entire body got tight.

Then slowly, even gently, he pulled her hair away.

Then his mouth was at her ear. “You should know that tears don’t work with me.” His voice was as smooth as velvet and completely cold.

She shivered.

She had no idea why he was informing her of this fact but it sounded like he was instructing her. Instructing her in a way that it seemed he felt she needed this information for their future relationship to go much smoother.

Like they had a future relationship!

Not on her life!

(Or his.)

She pressed her head deeper into the pillows, her humiliation complete, wondering in which of her former lives she did something so terrible that her karma included this awful night. She must have been a serial killer in a past life.

“I thought you might like to know, I have the keys to your car as well.” His voice was still at her ear, still quiet, but it seemed to vibrate throughout her system.

“You’re a pig,” she whispered and this comment caused him to laugh softly.

He had, she thought with extreme annoyance, a very handsome laugh.

If she was a violent woman, she would have lashed out. Instead, more tears came up the back of her throat and she choked them down with effort.

Finally, he left the room and the minute the door closed she threw back the covers with such fury that even Mallory woke from his exhausted doggie slumber.

She alighted from the bed and ignored the dizzy feeling her quick movements caused.

She was going to put her clothes back on, she was going to go get Mrs. Byrne, she was going to explain that no volunteer role was worth this and she was damn well going to walk home (if she had to, he didn’t say he took Mrs. Byrne’s keys).

But when she looked she found her clothes were gone.

Colin Morgan had taken them.

She collapsed back into the bed, wondering if she could press charges when this was all over, and holding onto her rage because it was the only thing that stopped her from crying.

And it was the only thing that stopped her from thinking, however dictatorially it came about, she was far more comfortable in his pyjama top, under the covers and in the soft sheets of the bed.

And the room was infinitely warmer.

* * * * *

She finally slept but woke early. The days were still short, the sun not yet fully up in the sky.

She woke because Mallory desperately needed a comfort break and was telling her so by shoving his cold, wet nose in her face.

She had no moment of panic at her unfamiliar surroundings then the events of the night before that were burned into her memory surfaced but she still touched her hand to her aching head in hopes that it was all a very bad dream.

It wasn’t.

She had to take her dog outside. She certainly didn’t want to explain a doggie accident to Colin Morgan and likely the rugs on the floor were irreplaceable.

Sibyl got out of bed and then she and Mallory, with Bran at their heels (the cat probably thinking that breakfast would soon be coming) carefully wended their way through the house.