So why had he revealed them to her?
And why now?
Struggling to clear her tangled thoughts, Regan forced a breath past her tight throat, her gaze shifting to the rippling water.
“Aren’t you supposed to hang some sort of sign if you intend to shower in a coed cave?”
There was a rustle, and covertly glancing out the corner of her eye, Regan watched Jagr tug on a pair of faded jeans, pulling up the zipper but leaving the button undone.
Yow.
Her mouth went dry. And it had nothing to do with his scars.
Did all men have such large…man parts?
And were they supposed to make a woman pant like a hound in heat?
“How do you feel?” he demanded, prowling until he stood directly before her.
“Headache, dry mouth, hair from hell.” With effort, she lifted her head to meet his guarded gaze. “How long was I out?”
“You lost a day.”
Frustration simmered deep in her gut. At this rate she would be signed up for AARP by the time she managed to track down Culligan.
“Crap. I remember crashing out of the RV and being attacked by that cur…then everything’s a blank.”
“The human.” His tone was clipped, icy. “She hit you with a spell.”
“Bitch. Is she dead?”
“No. You managed to injure the cur, but they both escaped.”
Regan grimaced. She didn’t have to ask to know that Jagr had chosen to carry her to safety rather than slaughter the cur and witch. Or even to capture them so they could be questioned.
The knowledge should have infuriated her.
She didn’t need his protection. She certainly hadn’t asked for it.
But she wasn’t infuriated.
She was stupidly pleased. As if she wanted to have someone concerned for her welfare.
Dangerous, Regan. Very, very dangerous.
As dangerous as wanting to run her hands over the scarred skin of his chest to prove they did nothing to lessen his fierce beauty.
Her tongue had touched her dry lips when she abruptly realized she had been staring at that wide, delicious chest for far too long. Wrenching her gaze back to his eyes, she felt a blush stain her cheeks.
“I…wonder what a witch would be doing with a pack of curs…”
“No,” he rudely interrupted, stepping close enough so that she was forced to tilt back her head.
“What?”
“That’s not what you’re wondering. Is it?” His voice was cool, detached. “If you want to know, just ask.”
With a start of astonishment, Regan realized that Jagr had mistakenly assumed her preoccupation with his scars was crass curiosity. Not…fascination.