If You Desire - Cole Kresley (книга регистрации .TXT) 📗

And now, why would he tell her? The closeness they'd shared was gone.

"So, Hugh, what do youtruly do? You're not a businessman. Unless a nefarious import attacked your face?"

He raised his eyebrows at that. She was such a curious female, and one who had an infuriating habit of deducing and then deciding fixedly on her own theories. That could help him now. "Knowing you, you've worked out a theory as to what I am."

She put her hand out, palm up, motioning for him to give her his hand. Before he even had time to think better of it, he'd reached across the table. She captured his hand in hers, then ran the soft pads of her fingers over the calloused, scarred skin of his palm. Such a simple touch, but she made it sensual.

Glancing up, she met his eyes. "I believe you're a mercenary."

She was getting close.

"Is that what you do?" Increasing the pressure, she ran her forefinger down the center of his palm, then back up.

His voice was rough when he asked, "What makes you think that?"

"It make sense. Father said you'd just come from travels with your brother Courtland on the Continent. Court is a known soldier of fortune—we've all heard of him wreaking havoc down there with a band of Highlanders. You must be one of them."

Hughhad been in Andorra riding with his brother's men, but he'd only been there to help Court. They'd fought the Orden de Rechazado—the Order of the Disavowed, a band of fanatical assassins bent on killing Court and Annalia.

"That would be how you cut your face," Jane continued, with a feathery brush over the back of his hand. "And that's how you saved up some money."

Somemoney? Hugh had turned his earnings into wealth with meticulous planning and calculated speculation. He was rich by anyone's standards, with a grand seaside estate in Scotland. Her words sparked another first for Hugh—the unfamiliar need to boast, to impress her. Which was purposeless. "Why do you no' believe I work in your father's business?"

"Hugh, I'm not a complete imbecile." She tapped her finger against the worst scar on the back of his hand. "Look at your hands. And look at how muscular and fit you are. You did not hone a physique like that by working incommerce ."

He checked a flush of pleasure at her inadvertent compliment and said, "I get outdoors a lot."

"I've been to pugilist matches with my cousins." Her wee hands worked his into a fist, and she studied it before meeting his gaze once more. "I know what those fighters are capable of, yet after I saw the way you hit Freddie, I'd put you up against them with stacked odds."

Another roundabout compliment. He thought. "I had two brothers. I received a lot of practice. You ken that I used to fight with Ethan more hours than no'."

Of course, she was aware he was being evasive, but he knew that was only making her dig in her heels. "Father covered for your career as a mercenary, didn't he?" She released his hand abruptly. "The youngest son gone bad would be met with a clucked tongue and a head shake. But two brothers? That would start to affect Ethan's reputation, and he has a title."

Ethan's reputation? She had no idea. How such a cold-blooded bastard could somehow keep his deeds secret amazed Hugh. Especially since Ethan had never bothered to try to. Still, he only shrugged.

She leaned back. "Hugh MacCarrick, the mercenary. Unless you want to offer another explanation."

"No, no' at all."Take that one, lass, and run with it.

"What do mercenaries do?"

"Mercenaries fight for money—professional soldiers."

"Have you gotten to travel all over the world?" she asked, her tone suddenly wistful.

"No' to many places you'd want to tour."

"It must be exciting at times." When he said nothing, she admitted, "I've always wanted to travel to exotic places. Quin has promised again and again to take Claudia and me on a grand adventure, but he's always so busy."

Quin, take them traveling? Only if the two lasses wanted a tour of the world's upscale brothels.

"Do you ever get scared?" she asked. "During the fighting?"

Hugh's objective was to avoid fighting. "Even if I did, men doona admit to things like that."

"So you've been in wars? How many people have you killed?"

He ignored her question. "You're no' eating, though you told me you were famished."

"I am." At his look, she amended, "I'm eating distilled grapes. Answer me, won't you?"

"I have no' kept a count." Grey had taught him that. He'd said,One day, Scot, you'll wake up, and you won't be anything more than that number.

"Whatdid happen to your face?"

She would bring that up again. She was pale and perfect in her silk.

When Grey had begun sinking farther into the abyss, he'd loved to remind Hugh how far out of reach a woman like her was for a man like Hugh—a man with a beaten, pained body that made him feel so damn old and weary, a man who was awkward in social situations.

A man who'd crossed a line from which there was no going back.

"I was cut by falling rocks." After he'd exploded a mountaintop to blow up the Rechazado camp—while they were still in it. "There was an accident." True, he hadn'tmeant to be in the way of a shower of slate.

Hugh had killed thirty Rechazados, dead in an instant.

She has no idea what kind of man sits across from her.

"On the job?" She looked as if she was truly curious about him. But it wasn't genuine interest. She only delved to gather what Hugh refused to give her—andonly because he'd refused. Jane loved nothing more than fighting for something she wanted.

He took a drink of wine, remembering that he was the fool who'd encouraged that drive.

Once, when she was fifteen, Hugh and a grumbling Court had taken her to a nearby archery tournament. When the other female contestants discovered that she'd entered, none would compete against her.

Hugh had seen the sharp disappointment in her eyes, a glimpse of a vulnerability that was so rarely seen. It had torn at him, and he'd found himself telling her under his breath, "Challenge the men, lass."

She'd brought a bloody medal home.

It hadn't been her first—there was a reason the women knew they'd be trounced—but Jane had stared at it as though it were, as if with that one came realization. She'd clutched it in two hands and met his gaze. "I wantmore ."

"You've the skill for it," he'd said, hedging, saddened. He'd known there weren't many more for a young lass to go out and fight for—no matter how badly sheneeded that fight….

"That's why you don't want to be married?" she asked. "Your job would prevent it."

"Jane, why is it that I'm always the one being interrogated?"

"At least tell me where we're going."

"If I'd told you this morning, would you have told Bidworth?"

"No," she said quickly, then admitted, "Well, I might have. But Freddie wouldn't have told a soul."

"Then no, I will no' tell you." When she opened her mouth to argue, he made his voice like steel. "No more questions."

She sighed, glancing around the room, visibly restless. She didn't seem to notice when her wrap slid from her smooth, pale shoulder, while every muscle in his body tensed. The thin nightdress beneath clung to her breast, and he found he couldn't drag his riveted gaze from it. The material was so stark against her fair skin, and he imagined brushing the silk down her shoulders, letting it whisper over her nipples and slide down her lithe body. He exhaled a breath and hoped it sounded exasperated instead of enthralled. "Put your wrap back on."

She glanced down with a frown, then studied his reaction. "I need to leave it off. Because it's warm in here, and I can'task you to crack a window."

"Put it back on."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You stared at my breasts so much in the coach today, you should appreciate when more of them is displayed."