The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,10
window and her weary arms lifted it over her head, dropping it in place.
Her feet dragging, she moved to the bedside table and picked up the teapot by the handle, then shuffled to the door.
She stepped out into the main hallway of the coaching inn, blinking in the dim light. Her head swiveling, she found the light source—a sconce on the wall in the stairwell. She moved past four doors toward the light.
Just as she dropped her foot to step down onto the first stair, a hand grasped her shoulder.
“You can’t go down there, Laney.” A voice in full growl.
Wes.
Wasn’t it enough that he haunted her dreams?
She heaved an audible sigh and pulled her foot from the stair, turning around to him. Wes half naked, only his dark trousers in place.
Even through bleary eyes she could see he hadn’t softened during the years. His chest, his stomach, cutting lines as hard as ever.
Damn him.
He didn’t drop his hand from her shoulder, instead tugging her back into the hallway and moving around her to stand between her and the stairs.
“It’s the middle of the night, Wes.” She stared at him, her look decidedly above his bare chest. “How did you even know I was out here?”
“I heard your door open.” The growl didn’t ease from the timbre of his voice.
“You heard my door?” Her mouth twitched to the side, incredulous. “Your room is two doors away from mine.”
His left eyebrow cocked. “So?”
She pursed her lips, shaking his hand off her shoulder. “I’m thirsty and need to get some tea.”
“You can wait until morning.”
“You know nothing about what I will or will not wait for.” Her free fingers went to the bridge of her nose, trying to squeeze patience into her brain. “If this is some ridiculous misguided streak of safeguarding, you needn’t bother. I’m a spinster, no man would want me. So I am more than capable of fetching a pot of tea without fear.” Her hand dropped from her face.
“You truly think that?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t want to go down there now, Laney. The only men left are so deep in their cups they won’t know what they’re grabbing until it’s too late.”
“Because I’m too lanky to grab? Because I’m rubbish?” The barbs rolled off her tongue easily, caustic. She’d had years to come to terms with the words that he’d once spewed at her.
His mouth opened, an oncoming sigh evident, but then he clamped his lips shut. “I didn’t just say that.”
“You didn’t need to.” She shrugged. “I recognize perfectly well what I am—you made me understand that when you left years ago. It was kind of you to dissuade me from any illusions I had on the matter.”
“Laney—”
“No.” Her hand flew up and she tried to move past him, squeezing herself between the width of him and the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, I need something to drink.”
At just the moment she thought she was clear of him, his fingers clamped around the back of her elbow. “Stop. Stop for one blasted moment, Laney. I have port in my room.” The irate rumble in his voice spiked again.
She bristled, pulling at her arm. “I’ll take my chances downstairs.”
His hold on her elbow only tightened. “I’m not going to leave you be in this hallway or downstairs.”
The devil take him.
Fiery ire shot down her spine. They both knew she couldn’t physically escape him. All she wanted was a damn cup of tea. And now he was keeping her from that very simple need.
His top lip twitched as he stared down at her. Close—too close. His breath stealing all the air around her. His skin, the fine dusting of dark hair across his chest close to tickling her cheek. He knew exactly what he was doing—manhandling her—but he didn’t opt to let her escape his grasp.
“Truce.” He shook his head, his voice dipping into something she didn’t recognize. Not anger. Not bitterness. “Truce, Laney, for the five minutes it will take to get your throat soothed.”
She didn’t think it possible, but her tongue withered, going drier.
Sucking in a sigh, knowing the idiocy of it, she lifted her shoulders and motioned to his room. She couldn’t manage any words past her parched throat.
He released her, but kept his hand high, ready to snatch her again if needed.
Did he think she was twelve and going to attempt to dash away from him?
Not that she hadn’t considered it for a moment. But she was too exhausted to