Her eyes widened before she asked, “What do you mean to do?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
Sibyl stiffened to the approximate pliability of a two by four.
“Excuse me?” she whispered angrily. “But my rich and powerful boyfriend is threatening vigilante justice and it’s none of my concern? I beg to differ.”
His hands tightened on her waist and the ice shards in his eyes polarised. “One of them stood in front of me and held a knife to your throat while I was powerless to do a thing. He touched you, and no one touches you, no one but me. He yanked your goddamned hair, the most beautiful hair I’ve seen in my life, using it to cause you pain.” He was using his low, even voice and she knew he was very close to losing control.
Sibyl also knew every minute, every sound, every word, everything he saw and experienced last night was seared into his memory. She knew it at his words. And last night for brief moments in time, Colin Morgan had been powerless. Men like Colin were not used to being powerless and it dawned on Sibyl, belatedly, that he did not like it.
At all.
He continued, “I’m going to find them, have a chat with them to express how unhappy the events of last night made me and then I’ll turn them over to the proper authorities.”
“You won’t hurt them?” Sibyl asked quietly, hoping the lowering of her tone would soothe him.
It didn’t.
“Are you asking for mercy for a man who put a knife to your throat and has you wound up so tight you fly through the house in a panic when I do something innocent and absolutely normal, like leave you alone in bed?” he demanded in exasperation.
Putting it that way, she had to admit, it sounded rather silly.
She decided she better stop talking.
He sighed an enormously patient sigh before saying, “I promise I won’t hurt them…” She began to smile, “unduly.” Her smile turned to a frown.
“You frighten me when you’re like this,” she told him and his face shifted but he did not relent.
“I’m trying to make it so you’ll never be frightened again,” Colin explained.
“But –”
He cut her off to inform her, “I’m going to do this, Sibyl, whether you like it or not, so I suggest you accept it because it’s going to happen.”
She blinked at his words and his tone then muttered, “You’re ruthless.”
At her comment, he leaned closer and his hands slid over her bottom and then suddenly down to grasp the backs of her thighs, lifting her up. She gave a shocked gasp and had to clamp her thighs around his h*ps and hastily grab his shoulders for support as he carried her to the desk.
“Yes,” he agreed amiably, all his mood gone, “I am.”
He settled her bottom on the desk and Bran scattered. Colin kept himself determinedly positioned between her legs as he tilted her chin up with one hand and his other hand drew lazy circle on the top of her thigh.
“Now, what shall I do about your morning mood?” he asked conversationally, gently rubbing his thumb across her lower lip.
“I take it we’re done talking,” she guessed.
“Oh, we’re definitely done talking,” he stated, his voice sexy low and she knew what that meant and she also knew, acutely how it made her belly feel.
“My family –” she started to say but his lips took hers in a slow, soft, mind-numbing kiss.
When he was done, against her lips he murmured, “For a daughter born of Mags, you’re amazingly prissy.”
Her eyes flared. “I am not prissy.”
“Prove it,” he dared on a whisper.
“You aren’t going to goad me into –”