Page 43 of Shadow's Edge (Night Prowler 1)
“Which is exactly where they are,” he replied, soft as silk.
She stared daggers at him. “Don’t play games with me, Leander, please. Putting aside for a moment the logistics of how my entire wardrobe arrived here overnight, just tell me why it’s here and who the rest of this stuff belongs to.”
It was incredible to her that although he didn’t move or twitch a single muscle as he leaned casually against the door, he still managed to exude a current of rapacious action, like a bubble that engulfed everything around him.
Yet today there was dark tension beneath his veneer of effortless elegance, a hint of something she’d not seen before. Worry?
“I thought you would need a more extensive wardrobe than you brought with you, so,” he shrugged, the picture of cool composure, “I asked Morgan to find a few things for you. She loves fashion and she loves to shop, as you may have noticed.”
Jenna’s palms went clammy, but she was determined not to let him see her rising panic. She might be a coward, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him in on that little fact. “How generous. But that was hardly necessary, seeing how I’ll be leaving in a few days. To go home.”
He slowly raised his eyebrows.
“My actual home,” she clarified, breathing steadily against the blood surging through her veins. “Where I live.”
Something feral glimmered in his eyes but subsided as his smile deepened, bringing out a dimple in his cheek. “I hope everything fits. Though I must admit,” he murmured, letting his gaze drift over the clinging silk of her dressing gown, “I quite enjoy this particular ensemble.”
And there it was again, the thing that always sprang up between them, the warmth and the pull. In spite of her best efforts to the contrary, there was no ignoring or dimming the desire that rocked between them. Now that she’d tasted him, now that she’d felt the taut, muscled weight of his body above hers, she had only to look at his gently curving lips to feel something scorch through her stomach.
Now she knew what he could do for her, and so did the beast clawing under her skin.
She stilled a moment, concentrating on the throbbing pulse of heat between them, trying with lasered focus to make it disappear.
“I hate to interrupt your contemplation of my shirt,” he said, bemused. “I’m sure it has all manner of interesting stains upon it, as I’ve been up the entire night trying to—”
“You can’t keep me here,” Jenna enunciated, each word clear and exaggerated as she squared off to face him. “You can’t keep me against my will.”
“Against your will? Are you here against your will?” he inquired gently. “Because I believe it was you who asked me to bring you here. Demanded it, in fact.”
Blood flushed deeper into her cheeks, but she didn’t allow herself any other reaction. “Like a cat, toying with its prey,” she said quietly. “Playing with a half-dead mouse until it bores of the game and devours it whole.”
“What a charming opinion you have of me,” he said, unruffled. “Though I assure you, I have no immediate plans to devour you. And you, my dear, are no half-dead mouse.”
He smiled that dangerous, languid smile, taking in her look of black fury. “No, you’re something more treacherous than that, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Something that could charm the birds right out of the trees with the bat of an eyelash, even with those eyes of frost.”
“Whatever I am, I’m nothing like you,” she shot back.
His smile faded. “Yes, love, I’m afraid you are,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re exactly like me.”
They stared at each other, tension aching between them, until a loud rumble interrupted the silence. Jenna’s stomach, growling with hunger.
“Forgive me,” Leander said, pushing from t
he doorjamb to stand erect. “You haven’t eaten. Why don’t you dress and join me for breakfast?”
“Do I really have a choice?”
He turned with a suppressed smile and walked to her bedroom door. “I’ll be waiting just outside,” he said. “Take your time.” The door closed behind him with a soft click.
The room they dined in was elaborate, like everything else in this place, festooned with colorful hanging tapestries on one long wall and a gallery of gilt-framed portraits lit from above along the opposite. There was china edged in gold, crystal glasses filled with freshly squeezed orange juice, baskets of sugar-dusted pastries and raspberry scones, a platter mounded with red grapes and razor-thin slices of creamy Camembert that melted on her fingertips.
There was enough food to feed a small army, yet there were only three of them at the table.
The woman who sat across from Jenna stared demurely down into her bone china teacup, her delicate hand fluttering around her throat like an agitated butterfly as she watched the steam curl up like tiny fingers from the hot oolong. Though it was first thing in the morning, she wore pearls and a gown of ivory satin piped with intricate gold stitching that sparkled under the light thrown from above. Her hair was blackest ebony threaded with silver, pulled away from her fine-boned face. A few loose tendrils curled around her cheekbones as if they refused to be tamed.
She appeared a rare and precious bauble, just removed from a locked vault.
“Leander tells me you are a connoisseur of fine wines, Jenna,” she said softly, lifting her lashes to look at Jenna above the rim of her raised teacup. She took a delicate sip and set the flowered cup back onto a matching saucer, her gentle gaze lingering on Jenna. Her eyes were a paler, cooler green than either of her brothers’.
