Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,51

the predator within.

“Oh, she don’t mind blue bloods,” Will muttered, snatching the bit of brick mid-air. “One might say she prefers ‘em.”

Their eyes met, Barrons frowning. “I don’t--”

“Lena,” Will clarified, glancing up again. Nobody else wore bloody printed yellow cotton here. Nor did they have a penchant for scrambling about on the roof. Though he’d have thought her more likely to swoon at Barrons’s bloody feet than heave a rock at him.

Barrons obviously thought the same. “Why would she throw something at me?”

“Don’t know. Maybe the rookery’s rubbin’ off on her.” His fist clenched around the brick. “But I’ll deal with it.”

“Maybe I should?”

Will shook his head. “Don’t go stirrin’ the anthill when you only just got invited back in. I’ll have a chat with her, find out what’s going on in that pretty little head o’ hers.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Besides, you ought to get goin’. Them in the City will be stirrin’ now. Wouldn’t do to have anybody guess where you been spendin’ your afternoon.”

“No,” Barrons agreed softly. “It wouldn’t.” He nodded. “My thanks. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Then he turned and strode down the street, leaving Will with a pretty little problem to deal with.

No avoiding her now.

2

Lena heard footsteps in the hallway and snatched up a book as she dove toward the daybed. Tearing the novel open, she tried to rearrange her skirts and look like she was enthralled in the story as the door opened.

She’d expected Honoria, but as the silence stretched out, thick and heavy, her skin prickling under the weight of another’s eyes, she knew immediately who it was.

Will.

Lena’s breath caught and she lifted her gaze slowly. Will leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his broad chest, biceps flexing tight beneath his dusty grey shirt and his eyes narrowed to slits as he observed her. Golden sparks danced in his irises, a hint of the wolf within. Never unleashed, but always riding just beneath the surface. A hint that violence could spill out of this man without a second’s warning and sweep away everything in his path.

Dangerous. Predatory. So large that he almost loomed over her. It had frightened and unnerved her at first, because she wasn’t used to men like that, but it also fascinated her.

And she didn’t know why.

She’d always preferred a handsomer sort of man. Dressed in exquisite tailoring with smooth, manicured hands and charm to spare. Will was the polar opposite to that. He didn’t give a damn what he looked like or wore, his hands bore the calluses of hard work and he and charm were only vaguely acquainted.

Still, his presence always left her feeling breathless. And she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what those callus-roughened hands would feel like on her skin. What the rasp of stubble on his jaw would taste like against her lips. A dangerous wondering, for it wasn’t at all the remote, flirtatious feelings she usually associated with men.

No. It spoke of dark nights and smooth sheets, of the whisper of skin on skin and all sorts of things that she wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Will,” she said, her voice embarrassingly husky. “You’re up and about early.”

He pushed himself upright, his fist curled around something. Lena froze as he rolled a piece of brick across the broad palm of his hand and then tossed it lightly in the air.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “Decided to take a walk.”

Those sleepy, dangerous eyes watched her through narrowed lids. Just waiting for her to incriminate herself as he caught the piece of brick.

“I see.” She cleared her throat and closed the book gently, smoothing the cover. It was upside down. Holding her hand over the title to hide that fact, she glanced up at him beneath her lashes and unleashed the full force of her smile on him.

That always seemed to do the trick.

Will shifted, shutting the door behind him. As usual, he dropped his gaze and ignored her, a slight frown tightening his forehead as he prowled the room.

The closed door was unusual. And he hadn’t fled at the sight of the smile. Lena’s lips stiffened. Trouble.

“Never knew you had such a good throwin’ arm on you,” he said, almost conversationally. Another casual toss of the brick piece.

“I don’t,” she lied with a straight face. “What do you speak of?”

Another dangerous glance her way. “The problem with yellow is that it’s visible from quite a distance. Ain’t no one else wear yellow around here.”

He’d seen her. Lena swallowed.