He felt her relax into him and gladly took on more of her weight. His body pleasantly reacted to her full br**sts pressed against his chest but what she said next chased away all evidence of the heat she was producing.
“I know. It gives me headaches sometimes, pulls at my scalp.”
Christ, he was an ass.
He felt his body become fixed, his hands freezing in position as they held the weight of her hair. Then he dropped it and buried his face in her neck as he pulled her closer with his arms tightly wrapped around her. She smelled of something he could not name, a complex flowery scent that was both delicate and alluring.
At that moment he could barely stand himself and couldn’t imagine how she could.
“I’m rescinding one of the rules,” he murmured against her neck, his voice to his own ears strangely hoarse.
It was her turn to go still. “What?”
He lifted his head and looked down at her. “You can wear your hair however you want,” he told her quietly and watched in sheer fascination as her hazel eyes melted liquid to sherry within an instant.
Then before she could respond, he announced, “We’re going to bed.”
* * * * *
It was much later, indeed it was the dead of night when Colin heard the phone ringing.
When he woke he was surprised to feel that Sibyl was snuggled against his side, her legs tangled with his. Until that night she always pulled away and slept with her back to him. Now, her arm was resting on his chest, crooked so that her elbow was at his stomach and her hand was dead centre. Her head was on his shoulder and he could feel soft tendrils of her hair everywhere.
He shifted slowly as he felt her stir, reached out to grab the phone and put it to his ear.
Before Colin could speak, he heard a man’s voice say, “Next time I shoot, it won’t be the dog and it won’t be a tranquilliser. Tonight’s your last night with her. Tomorrow, you say good-bye and you won’t see Sibyl Godwin again.”
Then the phone went dead in his hand.
He lay stock-still as the unfamiliar and immensely uncomfortable sensation of dread chased through his body, this feeling fleeting, being replaced by anger.
He felt Sibyl’s head lift from his shoulder. “Colin?”
Her voice was husky with sleep and his arm, which was wrapped around her with his hand resting on her hip, tightened reflexively.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Wrong number,” Colin lied as he replaced the phone, forcing his body to relax.
Then he remembered.
It’s the dark soul, Mrs. Byrne had said and Colin’s body went back to tight.
Sibyl’s hand moved from his chest to encircle his waist and she pressed her soft, warmth closer to his side.
“Are you cold?” Her voice was still husky and without waiting for an answer, her hand moved to pull the covers up over her shoulder and his chest. Then it returned to its place around his waist as her weight settled into him and he knew she was again sleeping.
She was already responding to him, he knew.
This was very good, he knew.
But if indeed he was Royce Morgan’s reincarnation, he was never meant to have her.
Though, he did have her in a way that Royce had never had Beatrice, there was something missing. Something that made Colin uncomfortable, something that he and Sibyl needed to find before the curse of star-crossed lovers was lifted if it even existed.
No one ever knew who killed Royce and Beatrice Morgan or why.
The theory was it was an enemy of Royce’s. He’d made many of them with his exploits and successes on a variety of bloody battlefields.