The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(77)

But she wasn’t listening. “Those men you were meeting with. The Irishmen. They are warriors for Bruce.” She looked up at him. “You’re planning something.”

He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop,” he said, fear twisting inside him. Why did she have to be so damn smart? “No more questions. Forget about everything you have heard. Forget about me.”

He was shouting—actually shouting.

She gasped, his anger finally seemed to have penetrated. “Is that what you want me to do?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

She lifted her chin and locked her gaze on his. He felt the connection fire between them. She met his gaze, challenging him to deny it. “I can’t do that.”

Damn her. She was the most infuriating, contrary woman he’d ever known. Erik felt as though everything was spinning out of control. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she listened to him. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her as far away as possible. Somewhere safe.

But safe meant away from him.

He stepped away. She would forget about him, just the way he would forget about her. A dull ache throbbed in his chest. “Get some rest. We leave late tomorrow night.”

Her face fell. “But …” Her voice dropped off as if she’d wanted to protest but realized the futility. She looked up at him again. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Normally he wouldn’t have hesitated. When faced with a choice between a passionate liaison and sitting around with his men waiting for night to fall, it wasn’t much of a contest. Even now, standing here, he was fighting to control himself. Her soft, feminine scent rose up to taunt him. His desire for her was not running its course but growing more fierce. He wanted to strip her down naked, wrap her against him, and slide deep inside her. He wanted it so badly, he could picture it—constantly—and the images were driving him mad.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea. It was getting too complicated. His control was taxed to the limit. Tomorrow they would go their separate ways. A clean break would be better. But he was finding it hard to resist the temptation of spending one last day with her. Of touching her. Of watching her face flush with pleasure as he stroked her to mindless oblivion.

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “There will be much to do.” Like sit around and wait.

“Oh,” she said, not masking her disappointment. “I hoped there might be some time after you finish with your men in the morning to show me that cave. If it exists.”

He smiled. Her subtle taunt proved effective persuasion. He was being ridiculous, making too much of this. It was only one more day. “Oh, it exists. I did promise to show you, didn’t I?”

She nodded, a smile hovering at the edge of her mouth. She knew she’d won—not that it had been much of a battle.

“We’ll need to go at low tide. Can you be ready in the morning? Morning to the rest of us, that is.”

She made a face. “Very funny. Just tell me what time.”

With Edward Bruce and Boyd leaving a few hours before dawn, he was going to be up most of the night anyway. “Sunrise?” He chuckled at her horrified expression. “If you don’t want to go …”

“I’ll be ready,” she grumbled.

Unable to resist, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth and took his leave. “It will be worth it,” he promised.

“It had better be, at that ungodly hour.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ellie gazed around at the small underwater palace of rocks, glistening like polished ebony in the murky darkness. “It’s magnificent,” she said in hushed voice.

“I’m glad you approve,” Hawk said, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “I trust it was worth the swim?”

Her mouth twisted, and she pushed a splash of water toward him with her hands. “Wretch. It was convenient of you to leave that part out.”

He shook his thick, wavy hair free of water and flashed her that unrepentant grin of his. “You didn’t ask.”

Ellie had experienced second thoughts—or rather third thoughts, she amended, recalling trying to force herself out of bed before dawn—when she realized they had to swim to the cave. Unlike the last time he’d coerced her into the water, it was not a sunny and warm winter’s day.

They’d left shortly after dawn in a battered-up, old skiff borrowed from one of the local fishermen that was barely big enough to hold the two of them. Despite Hawk’s assurances, Ellie was surprised that the pile of warped, weathered boards could float.

The morning mist was thick and soupy as he rowed them a short distance around the northern tip of the island to a dark outcropping of rock that hid a small cove. He pulled the skiff onto the rocky beach, hiding it from view, and told her she could leave her clothes in the boat.

She’d balked at the idea of getting into that freezing water again but didn’t want to give him an excuse to take her back. This might be the last chance she had to be alone with him. If she was going to find out whether Meg was right, she had to do it now.

So she’d stripped down to her chemise—again—and followed him to what looked like a wall of jagged rocks, but turned out to hide an entrance to the cave.

It had been a little frightening diving into the unknown. But he’d held her hand as they plunged into the dark, icy water, leading her down about five feet through a narrow opening in the rock. When they emerged on the other side, she found herself in a shallow pool, gazing around at a magical oasis of rock. There was just enough light to make out the roughly oblong shape of the dark grotto.