The sheer intensity of her reaction made her shake her head in horrified denial.
“Of course not.”
His jaw tightened at her blunt refusal.
“Don’t worry, little witch, as I said earlier, as much as I hunger for the taste of you, I’m not going to risk making this permanent.”
Ridiculously, Sally was instantly offended by his equally blunt response.
“Good,” she snapped. “Because I can’t think of a worse fate.”
Roke swallowed a growl as he watched Sally surge to her feet and jerkily move across the room.
The woman was a menace.
One minute she was looking at him as if she wanted him to devour her and the next she was acting as if he’d crawled from beneath a rock.
Was it any wonder he didn’t know if he wanted to shake some sense into her or jerk her off her feet and wrap those slender legs around his waist so he could plunge deep into her body?
Still seething, he frowned in confusion when she came to a halt in front of a blank wall. It was only when he noticed the charred darkness that marred the wood that he was struck by a sudden pang of regret.
“Damn.” He shoved frustrated fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”
“Think about what?”
“This cottage holds nothing but nightmares for you.” He grimaced. “It’s no wonder you can’t relax.”
She slowly turned, her expression oddly puzzled.
“You’re right, I can’t relax,” she muttered. “But, it’s not the memories that bother me.”
He stiffened, assuming she was once again insulting him. It was, after all, her favorite pastime.
“I’m not leaving.”
She absently shook her head. “For once, it’s not you either.”
He moved to stand directly in front of her. “Tell me.”
“I am . . .” She struggled for the words. “Not really sure.”
He placed a hand on her forehead, sensing her barely leashed unease.
“Are you ill?”
“No.”
“Talk to me, Sally,” he urged.
“It’s difficult to explain.” She furrowed her brow. “I didn’t even realize I was being affected until you said something.”
He tensed, his senses on full alert as he caught the scent of her subtle fear.
“Affected how?”
“It feels like there’s been a change in the air.” Her fingers absently stroked the mating mark that he’d exposed when he’d shoved up her sleeve. It was a habit he’d formed himself. Comfort? Confusion? Usually it was a combination of both. “Something that’s nagging at me.”
He forced himself to concentrate on her concern. “How do you feel it?”