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Even my growing serenity couldn’t prevent a deluge of shock when my swelling subsided. The ugly bruising faded along with the pain, as if… My jaw slackened. Were my bones repairing themselves?
Well, of course a berserker possessed a magic elixir capable of eliciting supernatural healing. But, considering Iwas the woman Callen held responsible for the demise of his brother, shouldn’t he let me suffer? And why hadn’t he healed, say, his brother after their death match? Or did the magic elixir only work on non-life-threatening injuries?
“Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you,” I cried, sagging against the comforter. I either rolled with this experience, or I freaked out and gave myself away. “I will be forever grateful.”
“Stay off your foot until morning, and you’ll be fine.” His expression remained impassive. He rubbed the gel into my sore calf, asking, “You feel better?”
“Much.” Hmm, he gave good massage. “Almost like new.”
“No more gangrene?”
Did I detect a thread of amusement? “You tell me, Dr. Bruce,” I replied with a lot of sass and a deep blush.
“I’d rather hear you explain the daft T-shirts, yoga pants, and cozy mystery novels about suspicious gravekeepers.” He never ceased working my muscles.
He wanted to have a casual conversation about my B and E while I fought moan after moan of delight? “What, um, are you doing home so early?” I asked instead of answering, a skill I’d learned from him.
“I realized you required supervision.” He paused to twist the signet ring. “If we’re not discussing the office, we’ll discuss my room.”
Obviously, he wasn’t as upset as I’d assumed. I relaxed a little. “Am I in trouble for invading your inner sanctum?” I asked, hooking a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You removed the door.” His eyes narrowed. “You are most definitely in trouble.”
My brow furrowed. Despite his fierce expression and the twinge of defensiveness in his tone, proving,yes, he’d come home early to see me, he almost seemed to be, well, teasing me right back. My plan was working! “I’ll take my licks, but the woman who gave me the tools did nothing wrong. She deserves zero punishment.”
His fantastical fingers stopped, and he held my stare, his baby blues smoldering with intensity. Studying me. Probing. “Agreed. She did nothing wrong. And you will definitely take your licks.”
I gulped. Did he have to be so handsome while threatening me? Or smell so tempting? The scent of peat smoke, rainfall, and midnight fantasies consumed my awareness. Then, perhaps, a more accurate description for midnight fantasy was pinewood.
Biting my tongue to stop a moan, I forced my gaze off his face. Again I caught him toying with the signet ring. What did that piece of jewelry mean to him? “Can we go riding tomorrow?” Might as try.
“Nay.” A pause, then, “Since when does Isobel Cam—Bruce,” he corrected with clenched teeth, “care about the wellbeing of others?”
What could I do but shrug? “It’s a surprise to me, too.” I hurried to change the subject. “Do you happen to know what’s on today’s menu?” My empty, bottomless pit of a stomach rumbled. “I’m starved.”
Frowning, he stood. “I’ll send someone up with sustenance.”
A protest nearly spilled from my tongue. I wasn’t ready for him to go. Because I knew. He wouldn’t be coming back.
Disappointment struck, but I shook it off. “Dessert wouldn’t be amiss, either.” What? I’d decided to be myself, remember? Myself liked cakes. And cookies. And pies. And chocolate.
One of Callen’s dark brows winged up. “Dessert is forgood girls who attend clan meetings and don’t break every bone in their foot.” With that bit of sexy dialogue hanging between us, he adjusted his tie and strode from the room, leaving me alone and reeling.
I looked to my precious Thora and muttered, “Maybe it’s the tea, but I think I’m in trouble. Callen Bruce is novel worthy. He’s a warrior-rogue, plain and simple.” My fictional kryptonite. But the problem was, he wasn’t fictional. He was very real, and immortal, and married…and becoming more of a temptation every time I neared him.
True to his word,Callen sent a servant with a tray of food. The most amazing sandwich with crusty bread, peppered bacon, herbed butter, melted cheese, and a thick layer of strawberry jam, paired with a bowl of velvety potato soup. Not to mention the dessert. Yep, he sent one. A beautiful arrangement of honey, whisky, oats, cream, and raspberries.
I devoured every crumb. I obeyed his edict, too, staying off my feet until the next morning. Easy to do since the elixir lured me into a dream haze.
My cheeks heated as I recalled the details of said dream. Me, dark-haired, dark-eyed Elizabeth, drinking champagne and twirling about in Isobel’s wedding dress, singing like a fairy-tale princess and conversing with invisible animals while Callen watched with a scowl.
As sunlight filled the room, I shed any lingering fatigue in favor of eagerness to start a new day. Though I was a little disappointed not to see Thora. I gingerly placed my feet on the floor, then slowly rose, testing my formerlybroken bones. A smile bloomed. I hopped up and down. No pain. No problems of any kind.
Callen’s ministrations worked! I was well and truly healed. Me, the woman who’d supposedly led to his brother’s death. My grin faded. It was an obstacle I doubted anyone could scale.
My door swung open without preamble, and Callen Bruce strode inside as if he owned the place. Of course he did. He stopped just past the entrance. Another tailor-made suit showcased his strength, and my heart leapt. I wasn’t sure how it happened, but he’d grown even more gorgeous overnight.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. His blank expression gave nothing away, yet his intensity singed the air.
