The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,12
to leave. To hell with the storm. But then he caught another whiff of her earthy-spicy scent, and his body refused to move from the seat.
A crash of thunder made them both flinch. “God, the weather’s in rare form tonight,” she murmured.
“This is nothing compared to Maine during a good summer storm.”
“Oh?”
“My first internship was at a wildlife preserve in Maine. Stormed practically the entire time I was there. We had to bail out our tent with a coffee can the last night.”
Thunder boomed again. “I think we might be in for a repeat performance,” she said over the rain beating on the tent canvas. He thought he saw her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind being here for a while.”
He stared at her across the table. Did he?
She got up and pulled a blanket from the foot of her cot, then draped it over her shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t want me to find a dry shirt for you? If we don’t get you out of that stuff—”
Whatever she was, she had a way with words. He broke into a grin. “What’s it gonna take to get you to quit asking me to take my clothes off?”
She jerked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, iron-faced. He marshaled his expression into order, but it was too late to stop the visuals playing in his head of both of them shedding their clothes. It was a bitch, and it was unfair as hell, but Sara Markham had a body that could start a four-alarm fire. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat. “I’m all right. Sit down.”
A few seconds passed, then she dropped back into her chair and snatched up her beer bottle.
He watched her for a while. Her body—all woman, all distracting—started sucking up more and more of his attention. It had been too damn long.
He leaned forward and propped his uninjured elbow on the table. “So now that you know something personal about me, what about you? What are those necklaces all about?”
She went white. Her hand flew to her throat as if she hadn’t realized she was wearing any jewelry, then fell away again. “They, er— They’re from my father.”
“What’s that stone thing?”
“I don’t—”
“You don’t want to get into it, I got you.” He pushed his water bottle away. Already frustrated with the argument between his mind and body, he angled his head toward the door. “Should I leave? Because everything I say seems to set you off.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He couldn’t make himself ask what he really wanted to know. Instead, he said, “Since yesterday, you’ve been looking at me like I’m going to attack you. What is it with you? It’s like you completely detest human contact.”
“I’m not the one who came out here by himself. What in the name of all that’s holy made you decide to go on a dangerous research project alone?”
“Dangerous? They’re birds, not man-eating lions.”
She shot out of her chair and the blanket fell away. “Rock climbing, you idiot! What possessed you to do that alone?”
He surged up, boiling with hostility fueled by his suspicion of her. “What are you, my mother?”
“You are totally out of your mind!” She took a step toward him, face flushed, her gaze snapping sparks. “You could have been killed up there, and no one would have known a thing about it. Do you realize what would have happened if I hadn’t—” She stopped short and clamped her mouth shut.
This is it, Waverly. He stalked toward her until they stood nose to nose. His pulse hammered. He wanted like hell for her to admit what she was, even as his body begged her not to. “What? Hadn’t what? Tell me!”
She trembled. Wayward strands of rain-damp hair fell across her rose-red cheeks. A pulse pounded rapid-fire in the hollow of her throat.
His self-control snapped. He lunged forward, thrust the fingers of his good hand into her hair, and kissed her.
She whimpered once, terror in the sound, and then the selkie came to life. The wild thing. Whatever she was, oh, God, he didn’t care. His blood crashed through his veins like whitewater as she kissed him back. Her arms came around him, and when she brushed his bad shoulder, shoots of agony lanced through him. I don’t care, I don’t care. He growled at the pain, at everything in his screwed-up past.
She tasted like heaven. The spicy scent of her washed over him and his body went into mutiny. With a need