The Steam Room

At last they stopped, eyeing one another in a standoff. “You’re damn good,” he said. “I see Duncan has trained you well.”

Duncan taught her most of what she knew about hand-to-hand combat. She wished she had listened to his protest, to Gareth’s protest, and not come on this trip in an attempt to salvage her friendship with Tavin.

Lucien dropped his hands from his defensive stance and raked his gaze up and down her body. “This isn’t working. Unless one of us goes in for the kill, this will never end.” He lifted his chin. “I propose we play for le mutande.”

Rhiannon had not relaxed her stance, but his proposition caught her by surprise. Had she heard him right? “Underwear?”

“Ah, mi amore, your Italian has improved tremendously.” His smile was too cocky by half. “When I procure your underwear, which I noticed are made of a very sexy pale green satin and lace, then you will come with me. If you manage to get to mine, then I will give you the keys to the car and you may abandon me here.”

She wrinkled her nose at his ridiculous proposition. He was wearing jeans, and she had on a dress. Obviously, this put him in a better position to win. “I don’t want to get anywhere near your underwear, Lucien.” Well, that was a lie, but she wished it wasn’t. “What makes you think I would ever agree to such a stupid idea?”

That smile wouldn’t go away. If it was possible, it grew. “You have no choice. We cannot kill each other, or even seriously injure one another. There is no alternative, bella donna.”

Not falling for his terms of endearment, she scowled at him. “That’s not exactly fair, you know. You’re wearing jeans, and I’m not.”

Lucien shrugged. “I guess you should have worn something less revealing. Of course, then you’d lose Prince Charming’s attention. He always was a sucker for a gorgeous face and a hot body, but then, so are you.”

There might have been a compliment in there somewhere, but she wasn’t about to go digging for it. “Your handkerchief,” she said at last. “If I snag the handkerchief you always have in your pocket, you let me go free.”

In response, Lucien tugged the neatly folded square from the front pocket of his jeans. Some habits hadn’t changed. Rhiannon watched in exasperation as he shoved it down the front of his pants. “Handkerchief it is.” He assumed an offensive stance.

Fighting with such a clear goal was easier for Rhiannon. Soon, she straddled Lucien’s chest, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees, dangling his handkerchief over his face.

His lips curved in response. The gesture and the danger gathering force around the fury inside him chilled Rhiannon.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked. Even though she had the upper hand, her voice trembled the tiniest bit on the last two words.

Mimicking Tavin’s brogue, Lucien said, “I’d enjoy it ever so much more if you would scoot down a wee bit. Feel free to wiggle as much as you want.”

Rhiannon’s jaw dropped. Before he fell under Lucrezia’s control, Lucien had never said anything suggestive or irreverent. He opened this door with a comment he made when he thought she was a hallucination. She kicked the door off its hinges appearing to him in that short skirt and barely-there halter. If he had been any other man, and he hadn’t used a Scottish accent, she would have thought he was flirting. Well, more than flirting. She knew an invitation when she heard one.

Lucien took advantage of her shock to flip her over. Now he was on top of her and her underwear was gone. Unlike in the car, he wasn’t exactly holding her down. He pinned her with his weight, but she had plenty of room to maneuver.

“Come on,” he cajoled, his brown eyes dark with emotion. “You spent two years fucking Tavin and you have the nerve to be shocked at something as mild as that?”

Tavin had been far more explicit in his requests, but she expected that from him. From the first day she’d met him, he hadn’t bothered to hide his attraction from her. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

As she searched his eyes, they lightened, reminding her of the charming, mysterious man she met on her nineteenth birthday, the man with whom she had fallen in love. The words caught on the hope in her throat, twisting with trepidation. “Are you...Are you going to take me to Lucrezia?”

“What do you think?” His voice was soft, barely a whisper. The fury in him vanished, replaced by something tender. She wanted so badly to believe his feelings, but he had fooled her before.

She didn’t know what to think. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Never.” The word was spoken with a quiet conviction that terrified her. Other Giovanna Hunters, the extraction team he had trained specifically to go after her, were no doubt out looking for them. It was a matter of time before they were discovered. She might be able to hold off Lucien, but adding more Hunters to the mix did not bode well for a successful escape.

He’d invaded her dreams repeatedly to tell her he was coming for her. Her throat constricted painfully. She gulped air to hold back the tears. 

“Will you watch when she tortures me, Lucien? Will you ask her to lock me in a solid titanium cell so that you won’t have to share the pain?”

“My English is good, Rhiannon, but I don’t understand your questions.”

She didn’t want to look at him, but she couldn’t look away. She didn’t bother to try to analyze what he was feeling because he was too good at misleading her. “You’re going to turn me over to Lucrezia.”

One brow lifted. “I am?”

“Aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

She wanted to hit him. Despite everything, a seed of hope grew in her. Why were simple words so hard for him to say?