Page 29 of Dark Victory

He lifted up a hank of her hair. “Never.”

She went still. Their gazes locked. His was dark blue smoke. “You need to go back to your time, Macleod. Immediately!”

He smiled. It was seductive and sexy, but most of all, it revealed how shockingly handsome he was. And it made him seem almost human. “Why do ye fear my bed so much?”

“We don’t know each other!”

“In my time,” he said softly, “when a woman is as hot as ye, she takes her pleasure an’ enjoys it.”

Tabby was speechless. She felt dazed, and her body was doing all kinds of crazy and inappropriate things.

She closed her eyes to avoid that smoldering gaze. He was coming onto her, and she couldn’t handle either him or her own reaction to him. Everything was wrong! “Just go,” she said hoarsely, opening her eyes. “Just go back to Blayde, back to your time, because this will never work!”

His stare became searching, intent. It was as if he was trying to figure her out. She knew he was reading her mind.

“I made a mistake,” she added desperately. “You were supposed to come from 1550, not 1298!”

“I canna return,” he finally said. “I dinna have the power to leap. Ye’ll have to send me back.” He smiled now, cool and confident. “When I am ready to leave.”

CHAPTER SIX

TABBY KNEW SHE had misheard. “What did you just say?”

“I canna return.”

He was joking, wasn’t he?

“Ye look the way ye did when I took off Angel’s head.”

“Of course you can return!”

His expression hardened. “I dinna have the power to leap.”

Tabby choked in disbelief. “You’re a Master of Time…aren’t you?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I havena taken my vows.”

Dread began. “Why not?”

He didn’t bother with an answer.

And it struck her then. Macleod was not your everyday mortal, but he wasn’t a Master—he hadn’t taken his vows. Her spell had brought a very violent, very ruthless, very powerful medieval Highlander to her, one who could kill with a broad-sword or a blast of otherworldly power. One who did not have much respect for life and, maybe, not much of a conscience.

A superpowered barbarian was standing there in her loft with her!

And he could not get back to his time—she was stuck with him.

Tabby studied his terribly beautiful blue eyes, set in an equally gorgeous but incredibly hard and definitely frightening face. Her gaze dropped. His Highland garb could not hide an equally beautiful, equally hard body. But that body posed a huge threat, because she was so impossibly aware of him.

He tilted up her chin. “Ye want me gone because ye fear being in my bed.”

“Let go,” she said uneasily. She did not want to provoke him in any way, and she did not want to continue the subject he seemed intent upon. She had no wish to be dragged off to his bed, and that was undoubtedly his MO. “How can this be happening?”

He did not release her. “If I wished to drag ye to my bed by yer hair, I would have already done so.”

Tabby grasped his wrist to protest, hardly reassured. As she did so, he clasped her waist with his other hand, and the sensation of holding him, the feel of him holding her, was shocking.

For one instant, she knew she’d gripped him this way before. In that second, she saw herself on her back, grasping his arms as he moved over her, smiling in triumph, filling her. She was climaxing; he was controlling her—and enjoying her rapture.