Page 32 of Dark Victory

Tabby nodded.

“Ye act like a virgin.”

Tabby flinched. “That is so unfair.”

“But true.”

Tabby put the wet rag down, affronted. “I am old-fashioned. I am morally conservative. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t, but I am.” She picked up the rag and started cleaning blood, dirt and debris from the bullet wound, a bit more callously than she should have.

He took her hand and held it to still it. “I dinna mean to insult ye, Tabitha. Explain old-fashioned. I dinna ken morally conservative,” he said, his tone demanding.

She pulled away, his touch searing. Her insides felt so hollow now. She was careful not to glance up. “I do not sleep with strangers,” she said. “Although many women in this time do.”

He was silent.

She kept cleaning the wound, trying to stay entirely focused. Talking no longer seemed like a very good idea, either.

The emerging skin seemed pink and healthy. Of course his recuperative powers would be otherworldly, too. When he didn’t speak—although she could feel his watchful stare—she looked up.

“So ye fear sex with all men,” he said flatly.

She cried out. “Absolutely not!”

“Taking pleasure is natural.”

Tabby stared. “Why are we on this topic again?”

“I have never met a woman like ye before. Ye fear me but ye shout at me, debate, speak yer mind. Other women fear me, but they never speak—they run from me when we’re through.”

Tabby threw down the rag and stood. “Are you telling me that you have never had a conversation with a woman? Are you telling me that all women fear you?”

“Aye, they all fear me and I dinna care.”

Tabby didn’t believe him. It struck Tabby that this man had to be incredibly lonely. No one could survive a lifetime without intimacy from a lover and the opposite sex.

He stood and reached for her, his expression becoming indolent and sensual. “Tabitha, in my bed, there’s no need fer conversation.”

His hand burned her wrist. She tried to pull away and he let her go. “We are stuck with one another until I can figure out what to do. You have to stop coming onto me.” She was becoming angry, at last. “And you have to stop looking at me the way that you do,” she said tersely. “It’s not helping. There’s so much tension in here, no one can breathe!”

He seemed surprised by her angry outburst. “But ye dinna have to be so tense, Tabitha. Ye choose to be so tense.”

She refused to comprehend him now. “I owe you and I want to help you, if I can,” she said in a rush. “But not the way you want. I am not going to bed with you, not now, not ever.”

“Because ye fear sex with all men—or just with me?”

She flushed. He was a stranger and she did not owe him any explanations or her life story. On the other hand, maybe if she told him she was the queen of fake orgasms, he’d leave her alone.

“Tabitha? A wise word…never tell a man ‘never.’”

Did he think her a challenge now? “We have a truce.”

He just shook his head and said, “I need to bathe.”

She went still, hoping she hadn’t heard him correctly. Images of him in her shower struck her vividly, full force.

“I stink of blood and death.”

Of course he wanted to bathe—he was hardly a caveman. It occurred to her that nothing was going the way she wished, but then he was alpha, so of course everything would go his way! “I guess I can’t refuse you a bath. It’s a fair request.” She kept her tone light, as if she didn’t care, and avoided looking at him. He’d bathe; she’d cook enough food to feed an army—that would help her relax. And then she had to figure out where he was spending the night. He could not stay with her. That had suddenly become really clear.