Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Eighteen Real Life Magic

Colin put her down in his bedroom and the minute her feet touched the floor, Sibyl started to run toward the door.

He grabbed her by hooking an arm about her waist and yanking her back against his body. She crashed against the length of him and he wasted no time. He reached out, leaning into her, his upper body pushing her torso forward, and he slammed the door.

“Sibyl, five minutes. Listen to me,” he demanded, his mouth at her ear.

“No!” she shouted and struggled, tearing at his hand at her waist. Her mind was whirling, her head was spinning. No one down there helped her, not even her family. They all knew before she did, that was what they were so damned cheerful about. That was why they were all acting so strange.

She felt, at any moment, she was either going to cry, scream the house down or be sick.

Or all three at the same time.

He caught one wrist and twirled her out then used her arm to jerk her forward. She slammed against his hard body while he twisted her arm carefully behind her back. Her other hand came up to push against his chest but he grabbed that too and it joined the one behind her back.

She was pressed full-frontal against his body and completely powerless.

This, of course, made her angrier.

She tipped her head back, her hair flying everywhere. “Let go of me!” she yelled in his face.

He shook her, a gentle but rough gesture that caused her no pain but further angered her all the same.

“Listen to me!” he commanded, his voice an urgent rumble.

“No!” she repeated. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”

“I dreamed of you, the night before I met you.”

She became instantly still.

Perhaps that was something she was willing to hear.

“What?”

“I dreamed of who I thought was Beatrice, but she had your hair. It was you. I was making love to you and then you were torn from my arms and I was held back as someone slit your throat.”

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him, completely at a loss for words.

What on the goddess’s green earth was going on?

She’d dreamed of him too. The same exact dream. Except it was his throat that was slit.

“Does that dream sound familiar?” he asked, watching her closely.

She blinked and shut her mouth so fast, her teeth clacked together.

Damn, she always got caught in her lies.

“Sibyl, I know you were lying about your nightmare that night. You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

She stayed silent, not ready to let go of her rage and instantly deciding she did not want to hear anymore of this latest revelation. Really, how much could a girl take?

“You’ve had the same dream, haven’t you?” Her eyes went to the door with visions of escape dancing in her head but he shook her again. “Haven’t you?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she told the floor to her side.

His hands released hers but he didn’t let her go. His arms tightened around her, holding her to him even as her hands went to his chest and tried to force him away. She didn’t lift her eyes above his throat as she pushed with all her strength.

All this work was to no avail. He didn’t shift an inch.

“Stop struggling and talk to me,” he demanded.

Her eyes lifted to his and she obliged, “You made me your whore.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him and he seemed, for a moment, genuinely to be in pain. And she felt, to her surprise and annoyance (for a moment), upset for him.

“You were never my whore,” he murmured gruffly, his eyes drilling into hers.

“I felt like it,” she informed him with complete honesty, still trying to pull away.

His arms tightened. “I’m sorry for that but I never thought of you that way.”

“You did that first night,” she corrected him.

“All right, I never thought of you that way after that first night,” he conceded through gritted teeth.

She knew that. Rationally, logically, looking back at all that transpired between them. She wasn’t exactly hip to how paid sexual partners were treated but she doubted their men took them out to dinner and on jaunts to National Trust properties on the weekend.

She knew all of this but she wasn’t rational or logical at that moment.

Far from it.

“Then how did you feel about me the night you threatened to fuck me on my dining room table?” she pushed, her voice was nasty.

Now she was out of line, he threatened it but he didn’t do it.

He didn’t apologise for threatening it but he still didn’t do it.

She wasn’t going to feel badly about being out of line. He’d been lying to her for weeks.

She told herself that but what he said next made her feel like an absolute heel.

“I’d been away from you for days. I wanted to see you and you weren’t home. So, I suppose what I felt was that I missed you.” he clipped, his patience with her beginning to wear and it was showing.

At his words, she stopped pressing against his chest to get away.

“You missed me?” she breathed, her eyes rounded in surprise.

He just stared at her and she (wisely) let it go.

Then she rushed on. “Why didn’t you tell me about the portraits? And, why did you offer me fifty thousand pounds to sleep with me? I mean, who does that? And –”

“Why did you take it?” he cut in and, at his turning of the tables, she clapped her mouth shut.

It was her turn to stare at him.

Unlike her, however, he actually intended to get an answer.

“Would you care to answer me?” This was voiced as a request however it was anything but.

Sibyl mentally kicked herself for again, after the many times in the past, not learning her lesson. How she managed to get herself in these tricky situations, she did not know. She had two degrees, got straight A’s, graduated with honours, she kept her home tidy, managed to take care of her pets, hold down a job, keep a business, pay her bills, but her life was (always) an absolute mess.

She decided to remain silent. She figured it was her best option at that point.

“Christ, for someone as beautiful and warm-hearted as you, you’re truly the most annoying woman I know,” Colin ground out, looking over her head rather than at her.

She was now staring at him in wonder.

She’d kind of heard the word “annoying’ but she was stuck on “beautiful’ and “warm-hearted” so she didn’t fully process the “annoying’ bit.

It was then that there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Sibyl called automatically.

“Go away,” Colin barked at the same time.

Of course, since it was the sisters, they listened to Sibyl and opened the door.

Looking over her shoulder, Sibyl watched Claire and Scarlett walk in, Claire watching them with her heart in her eyes, Scarlett’s eyes were scrutinising.

“We came to see if you were all right. That was quite a scene down there and we were a bit worried,” Claire announced, walking fully into the room, her gaze swinging worriedly from Colin to Sibyl.

“I came in a medical capacity. After carrying Sibyl up the stairs, I thought you might need me to check if you’d sustained a hernia,” Scarlett drily informed Colin.

At that, Sibyl’s head snapped back around to look to Colin. “Would you like to amend your comment about the most annoying woman you know?” she quipped angrily.

His arms loosened around her as one corner of his lips twitched tellingly. Sibyl stepped away from him, breaking the hold of his arms and gave him a look that told him she did not think her sister, or any of this, was amusing.

“I’m fine, he’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine,” Sibyl curtly assured Claire who was still looking as if one, the other, or the both of them was about to spontaneously combust and she didn’t want to be in the way of flying body parts.

“We were hoping to have a private conversation,” Colin said pointedly then glanced at the door.

Scarlett ignored the glance, walked toward the fireplace and turned one of the comfortable armchairs there around to face the room. As she did, she noted, “You clearly wanted to have a private conversation, but as you carried my sister to your bedroom like a Neanderthal, it is somewhat debatable if she wanted a private conversation with you.” Then she sat, crossed her legs and groaned. “These damn shoes are killing me.”

“Scarlett –” Sibyl started, her voice edged with warning.

“You must know, it isn’t easy for him,” Claire burst out.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Claire who was standing, her arms straight down at her sides, her hands clenched in fists. She was upset about something and Sibyl thought for a moment she was angry at Scarlett (deservedly so), but her eyes were directed at Sibyl.

“Who?” Sibyl asked, thinking maybe she was confused. It wouldn’t be surprising if she was confused, considering her whole world had been turned on its head. However, Sibyl could not imagine Claire was referring to Colin. Everything seemed easy for Colin.

“Colin,” Claire answered and Sibyl’s eyes widened.

Sibyl looked at her sister and Scarlett shrugged and turned her attention to Claire.

“It’s just that every woman he meets –” Claire began but Colin interrupted.

“Claire, I don’t think –”

“Wants her pound of flesh,” Claire finished stubbornly, looking at Colin with a rebellious gleam in her eye.

“Pound of flesh?” Sibyl echoed.

“Yes. Her pound of flesh,” Claire repeated.

“Claire,” Colin said again, this time his voice held a warning.

“Really, Colin, I’m not entirely certain what all this intrigue was about tonight but we went along with it. Though, it’s obvious something isn’t right with the pair of you,” Claire retorted.

“Yes, that’s one thing that is obvious,” Scarlett muttered under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Claire ignored her which Sibyl thought showed great diplomacy and Sibyl’s already high estimation of Colin’s sister climbed another notch.

“So someone has to tell your side of things,” Claire went on.

“His side of things?” Sibyl parroted, beginning to feel like she sounded like a fool.

“Yes, Sibyl. Colin doesn’t trust very easily, especially women, which isn’t surprising, since every woman he’s ever met was out for something,” Claire explained.

Colin made an exasperated noise or an annoyed noise or a furious noise. Sibyl wasn’t certain, she’d never heard him make it before. Whatever it was, it showed he was losing what was left of his control.

“Perhaps you should carry Claire out of the room,” Scarlett helpfully suggested to Colin.

“Scarlett, will you shut… up!” Sibyl snapped then she swung around to face Colin and asked, “Out for what?”

Scarlett laughed and Sibyl found herself whirling around again. “Sibyl, girl, I really need to introduce you to Manolo Blahnik. I’m pretty certain most of the women Colin’s dated are intimately acquainted with him and wanted to remain so, indefinitely.”

At Scarlett’s words, Claire actually clapped.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Then she nodded emphatically, smiling beatifically at Scarlett as if she’d met her soulmate.

Sibyl was pretty certain they were speaking in code and stared at them, trying to decipher it. Then she gave up, it was all too much, this, the whole night. She no longer had the energy.

“How could Colin help them with shoes?” Sibyl queried.

At this, for some unhinged reason, Colin threw his head back and roared with laughter and all three feminine pairs of eyes swivelled to him. As he got himself under control, his body still shaking with mirth, his arm shot out, curled around Sibyl’s waist and he tugged her toward him. She could feel, against her own body, the laughter still rumbling through him even as he kissed her soundly on the lips.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were smiling (hers were dazed, and not just from the kiss). She had the impression that something profound just happened, she just didn’t know what.

“I will amend my statement, your sister is definitely annoying, you’re just adorable,” he told her.

“Oh dear goddess, don’t let Mags hear you call her adorable. There’ll be hell to pay,” Scarlett warned.

Sibyl was beginning to feel a prick of irritation.

The last two days, she was on pins and needles wondering what was happening with Colin. Then, after a rather frightening dinner, she discovered she was likely the reincarnation of a woman who was murdered centuries before and Sibyl’s lover was the doppelganger of that woman’s dead husband. Two people she cared about lied to her about this bizarre fact for weeks. And now, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, she and Colin were something else. Something other than what they had been. Something that made that thing that curled up and died inside her weeks ago start to feel some life again.

And they were talking about shoes.

“I think I’m missing something here,” Sibyl told the room at large.

“Look around you, Billie. Look really closely, what do you see?” Scarlett prompted, her tone was no longer wry but gentle.

Sibyl looked around.

Colin had a very nice bedroom. It was rather large and had richly painted with matte, slate grey walls and accents of ivory and midnight blue. There were fantastic white cornices and intricate ceiling roses. There were deep-seated, diamond-paned windows with heavy drapes. The bed was an enormous four-poster covered with a fluffy comforter in midnight blue and she already knew the ivory sheets were soft, lush and divine. There was a marble-edged fireplace with an elaborate mantelpiece that had two comfortable chairs at angles in front of it (at least, when Scarlett wasn’t sitting in one of them). Several gleaming chest of drawers and gigantic wardrobes were against the walls. Off to one side was a door to a pristine bathroom that used to be a dressing room which contained a fabulous round tub big enough for two. Off the back corner of the bedroom was a small room, sunken by several steps, that used to be a consecrated sanctuary, complete with stained glass windows, but was stripped of its blessing centuries ago and was now a rather glorious reading room, complete with a comfortable-looking chaise lounge covered in grey velvet.

Sibyl felt somewhat uncomfortable as she looked around the room, standing in it with a man who actually owned and lived in a National Trust property.

Notions were coming to her fast and sharp.

He drove an expensive Mercedes.

He wore tailored suits to work, suits that, after years of living with Scarlett, Sibyl knew probably cost a month of her salary (if not more).

He hired someone to wait on the table at a dinner party at his house.

He could afford, in a day, seemingly without effort, to acquire a suitcase full of fifty thousand pounds worth of twenty pound notes.

And refurnish a room in a Community Centre days after he’d bought a new alarm system for her house.

The light finally dawned and she looked at Scarlett mainly because she was avoiding looking at Colin.

Then she breathed out the word, “Oh.”

She could imagine every woman he met took one look at him, his clothes, his house, his car and saw nothing but his bank account. The fact that he was magnificently handsome, protective, intelligent and could be gentle and even tender was just a bonus. A very nice bonus, but a bonus all the same.

She couldn’t leave it at that, she had to know so she lifted her gaze to Colin. “You were testing me, weren’t you?”

She was referring to the fifty thousand pounds.

He knew what she was referring to and nodded.

Her heart sank.

“I failed, didn’t I?” she whispered but she knew. She’d not only failed, she’d done it spectacularly.

“Sibyl.” His voice was quiet and there was something else there, something that might have been easier to decipher if they didn’t have an avidly watching audience, but, before he could say more, another knock came at the open door and Mrs. Byrne was standing in it.

“Am I interrupting?” Marian asked.

“No,” Scarlett offered as an answer.

“For God’s sake,” Colin muttered under his breath.

“Sibyl, dear, I just wanted to be certain you weren’t angry with me,” Mrs. Byrne said, looking anxious and coming into the room.

“Oh, Mrs. Byrne, I was just in shock,” Sibyl answered, pulled from Colin’s arms, walked to the woman and gave her a fierce hug. “I’m not angry with you,” she reassured her.

“Perhaps we should have the cheese and coffee served in the bedroom?” Colin drawled.

“Great idea,” Scarlett agreed. “Do you have a bell pull up here so we can call the young, strapping Peter?”

Colin cut an acid look to Scarlett and Sibyl moved to stand between them in case he was driven to physical violence.

“I need you to know my part in all of this,” Mrs. Byrne told Sibyl, thankfully drawing her attention away from her sister.

“I want to hear this!” Claire cried and then threw herself on the bed, stretching out on her side, her head in her hand and she settled in excitedly.

Colin watched as Mrs. Byrne sat primly on the edge of the bed and then his eyes shifted to the ceiling as if praying for deliverance. Realising there was none, he walked toward the chair next to Scarlett, swiftly pivoted it around, leaned forward and hooked Sibyl (again) about the waist and settled into the chair. He pulled a surprised Sibyl onto his lap and when she squirmed he muttered impatiently, “Sit still.”

Sibyl watched as Scarlett took this all in, raised her eyebrows and grinned.

She ignored her sister and did as she was told. Colin was giving the impression of a caged lion who would undoubtedly attack given his first opportunity and she was the first in line of assault.

It was then Mrs. Byrne started talking.

Of witches.

And magic.

And horses named Mallory.

And ancient spells linking lovers for eternity and present day potions that brought old souls back to life in new bodies.

She went on and on about Granny Esmeralda Crane (whose old cottage Sibyl now inhabited), the results of the grisly murder she happened upon, Esmeralda’s Book of Shadows, Royce and Beatrice and how she, Marian Byrne, was here, after a long line of witches who’d waited in vain to bring together the new lovers and end a nearly five hundred year old curse of doomed, true love.

What she did not talk of was dark souls, this, unknown to Sibyl, Colin had demanded she keep to herself.

“So, you see, Sibyl, it was my destiny to bring you to Colin. As you’ve learned, he’s a bit, er… difficult, so I was trying to be clever. I was not so clever as I thought and it made things hard on you and for that, I apologise,” Marian finished with her hands held up in front of her in supplication.

Sibyl stared at her in astonishment. There was nothing else to do but stare… in… complete… astonishment.

Finally, she whispered, grasping onto the thing that least affected her sanity and she felt Colin’s arm tighten around her waist when she did so. “Royce’s horse was named Mallory?”

“Indeed, it was, my dear.” For some reason Marian was smiling at her and her next statement would explain why. “You see, in so many ways, you and Colin were meant for each other, one could even say born for each other. Do you take my meaning?”

Sibyl felt her sister’s eyes turn to her just as she experienced something raw and unexplainable rip at her heart.

And she immediately felt panic.

Sheer, unadulterated panic.

Because she might be getting what she’d always wanted, what she always knew was waiting for her and instead of being joyful, it scared the living daylights out of her.

Or she might not get it at all and that frightened her more.

“I need to go home,” she whispered urgently.

She had to think. She had to get away and think without an audience, without Colin’s hard thighs under her and his warm arms circling her. She tried to stand but Colin’s hands prevented her.

“Let me go, Colin,” she said softly, turning beseeching eyes to him. “I need to go home,” she repeated and she hoped he understood, prayed for it.

He didn’t. Instead, his eyes slid sideways, toward her sister, communicating to her sibling silently.

Sibyl heard as Scarlett said, “Story time over, folks, time for us to leave,” and she was shocked at her sister’s ready defection but too overwrought to do a thing about it.

Sibyl tried to stand again as she heard the others quietly exit with nary a word to the couple. Colin kept her where she was, his hands hard at her waist.

“Please let me go,” she whispered as she heard the door close softly behind the other women.

“You promised me,” he told her, his eyes moving back to her after watching the door close behind their family and friend.

“Promised?”

She was near tears, holding on to her careening thoughts with waning energy. She was frightened to the core of her being by what she’d seen and heard that night.

And mostly what it meant.

“To spend the night with me, you promised,” he reminded her, his eyes were searching her face but his own was set and implacable.

“That was before. You must understand.” Her voice was pleading.

“No matter what happened, you promised me that.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind!” she cried. “I thought, just like when we were in the Summer House, that tonight I’d turned you into Royce with my magical powers.”

Then she stopped speaking for he looked at her like a third eyeball had suddenly popped out of her forehead.

Then he asked incredulously, “Your what?”

She immediately felt a fool (or more of a fool than she already was). She should never have told him that. She closed her eyes slowly and wished she could grab the words and stuff them back in her mouth.

She was tired, no, exhausted, bone weary and, not to mention, frightened out of her mind. She wasn’t thinking clearly, didn’t have her guard up.

This was too much, he was too much.

Apparently, he was her dream man, the one she’d been destined to find; the one who she was fated to be with for five hundred years. He’d tested her fortitude, resolve and moral perspicacity and she’d fallen at the first hurdle by taking his money (a great deal of his money) the third time she’d ever seen him. And for what? A minibus for oldies. If he knew, he’d think she lost her mind, if she ever had one in the first place. He’d likely be disgusted, it was almost better to let him think she’d used it on herself. Considering his history with women, that, at least, was something he’d understand.

“Please let me up,” she pushed against his hands, not able to take a moment more.

“Will you stop fighting me and talk to me, for Christ’s sake?” he exploded. Obviously, he’d reached the end of his tether and her head snapped around to look at him.

“Well I didn’t know!” she cried.

“Know what?”

“That you’d been given a magical potion! I thought, well, I’d grown up with Mags always telling me that there was magic in the air, in the trees, in the rivers, yadda, yadda, yadda and I was dreaming of Royce and Beatrice and I didn’t know. I didn’t know who they were. I thought it was me! I thought I’d brought Royce out in you.”

Colin changed the subject and his voice was lethal when he stated, “You knew it was him and you let him kiss you.”

It was her turn to look to the ceiling and make quick, desperate promises to the goddess for rescue. Then, when no otherworldly aid arrived, she tugged once more at his hands, using her legs as leverage, and she surged up but, unfortunately, he followed her.

“Why did you let him kiss you?” Colin pressed.

She was not going to tell him about her dream lover, that she thought she was creating Royce because she needed to believe. She had no idea what this all meant, to her, to them, and she didn’t trust him enough with that knowledge. It was too close to her heart, she barely knew him, until tonight she didn’t know what he did for a living or that he had a brother. He could have twelve more siblings for all she knew. She knew his body intimately but Colin she barely knew at all. Selling her sexual favours for minibuses and living her life thinking she was destined for another was pure lunacy. He wouldn’t want anything to do with her. He was night and she was day. His parents were posh and hers were weird. His sister was sweet and caring and hers was… well… not (exactly).

They didn’t suit.

She had to guard her heart, or, at the very least, she had to know what this all meant to him.

“What am I to you?” she asked in response to his question.

“Don’t change the subject, Sibyl,” he warned, his voice dangerously smooth.

“You want an answer then you answer my question. I deserve that and you know it. What am I to you now?”

“Why did you take the fifty thousand pounds?”

“Goddess!” she exploded, throwing out her arms. “Can’t you answer a single question?”

He glared at her.

She glared back.

Then she gave up.

“I’m going home,” she declared and turned to leave, tired, sick at heart and wanting nothing but a nice mug of hot cocoa and her mother’s shoulder to cry on. She didn’t even care how pathetic that seemed for a thirty-two year old woman. Luckily, fortune smiled on her (belatedly) and made it so that her mother wasn’t over a thousand miles away but was right downstairs.

She had forgotten, briefly and absentmindedly, how ruthless Colin could be when he wanted something.

And three steps away from the door, she was swung up in his arms. She emitted a stunned cry as he swiftly strode back across the room and then she was thrown on the bed. Before she could get her arms and legs under control and scramble off the other side, his weight settled on her, pinning her to the bed.

“Do I have your attention?” His voice was calm, his eyes were not. His chest was against hers, his heavy, muscled thigh was thrown across both of hers and he was up on one elbow, his other arm stretched across her and he was scowling down at her with blazing eyes.

She gritted her teeth and stared at him. It was futile to struggle. He had twice her strength, maybe more. When he lifted his brows arrogantly, silently demanding a response, she snapped, “Yes!”

“Good, now you’re going to answer some questions.”

She pulled both her lips between her teeth to stop herself from saying something foolish.

“Why did you take the fifty thousand pounds?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why can’t you tell me? Is it illegal?”

“No!”

“Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“In debt?”

“No.”

She was losing her patience but unfortunately so was he and his lost patience was a tad bit more scary than hers.

“Sibyl.”

“I just can’t tell you, you’ll think I’m…” she hesitated.

“What?”

“Crazy!” she cried.

“Crazier than you thinking you turned me into Royce Morgan with your magical powers?”

She groaned, horrified and humiliated.

Then she replied what she thought was relatively logically, considering they were discussing a real life, magical potion, “Well, it’s hardly crazier than how you actually did turn into Royce Morgan or any of the other things that I’ve learned tonight.”

He decided to ignore that and persevered with his interrogation. “Why did you kiss him?”

She bit her lips again.

“Am I going to have to make you talk?” he threatened silkily.

Her eyes rounded. She had no idea how he would do that but she doubted, seriously, that it would include physical violence. However, she did not doubt that it would include something physical.

Then, for some reason, the words flew out of her mouth, almost against her volition, and she said something truly stupid, “It was between him and me.”

His eyes darkened dangerously and a muscle leaped in his jaw and she knew in that moment that she was really in trouble.

Before he could say anything, or worse, do anything, there came another knock on the door.

Colin closed his eyes in angry frustration.

When he opened them, they were blazing and Sibyl held her breath at the sight of them.

“Do… not… bloody well… move,” he bit out, shoved away from her and stalked to the door.

She thought it best to do as he said. The caged lion had definitely been freed.

He pulled the door open and, luckily, it swung in such a way as to hide Sibyl from whoever was on the other side. Sibyl closed her eyes as she heard the conversation.

“If anyone else comes up here –” Colin’s voice was barely controlled.

“Your mother, Claire and I are going to Walton Park Hotel. I’m going to take the Godwin’s home first.” Sibyl heard his father’s voice speaking, his tone indicating solemn understanding at Colin’s plight.

“Fine,” Colin gritted out.

Sibyl sat up and looked across the room at the back of the door, her face flaming.

“Is Sibyl all right?” Mike asked quietly, his voice now filled with concern.

“She is right now,” Colin answered his father, his words filled with foreboding.

There was a hesitation and then muttered good-byes.

Colin closed the door with a finality that rocked Sibyl and caused her to scramble to her knees as Colin angrily moved toward the bed.

And, in an extreme act of self-defence, she blurted out a semi-fib that was part truth and part lie, “I’m not telling you about what happened between Royce and me because…”

He stopped at the side of the bed and stared down at her, his face a mask of fury. “Yes?” he prompted.

“Because of Royce, he wasn’t even kissing me. He was kissing her.” She wasn’t entirely certain that was exactly true, but she thought it sounded good. “It was his moment to say good-bye and it seemed…” She stopped, not able to find the word as Colin’s angry face didn’t change one iota. She finally found it. “Private.”

“Sibyl.” He voiced her name quietly.

“Yes?” she asked hopefully, wishing very much to get in the car with Mike and her family and go home to her bed, her thoughts and figure out what was to become of her future.

“You’re a very bad liar.” His voice was lethal.

Gone was her dream of escape.

Especially when his arm shot out and dragged her forward.

“Colin.”

He didn’t answer. To her disbelief, he’d located the zipper at her back and, expertly, slid it down.

“Colin!” She pushed against the arm that was still around her waist as his other hand pulled her dress up. She could just not believe he was undressing her. They were arguing, for goddess’s sake!

His eyes locked on hers. “If you fight me Sibyl, I swear to God –” he started.

“What am I to you?” She had to know.

“Until you decide to start talking, our deal stays as it is, you’re mine, for five months.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Nothing had changed.

Not one thing.

Except, she knew she was the one who could stop it if she just told him who she was, what she was, why she took the fifty thousand pounds and all about her dream of a true love.

And none of this she could tell him. Not now, and, until she could trust him, maybe not ever. She’d rather him leave her later, than now. She’d rather have a few months of him, even angry, then just a few weeks. She couldn’t bear to think of how he’d react if he knew the truth.

“It’s four months,” she retorted as the skirt of her dress slid over her hips.

“Now, it’s six.”

She gasped.

“It’s four!”

“Seven,” he bit out.

She clamped her mouth shut and he pulled the dress over her head, forcing her arms up with it. He tossed it aside, his hands settled on her waist and then slid, sending tingles in their wake, up her sides. He watched his hands move on her as she struggled valiantly against the tingles (and still lost).

“Are you stopping at seven?” he enquired with mock politeness as if he was an auctioneer and she was deciding what to bid.

She nodded, her head jerking angrily.

“I bet Royce didn’t do this to Beatrice.” She had no idea what drove her to say it, it was ugly (not to mention stupid) and it didn’t sound right on her lips.

But Colin reacted strangely, he chuckled but instead of sounding amused, it sounded grim. “He should have, if he had, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.”

Then he pushed her to her back and landed on top of her.

And then he did a variety of delightful things to her where she didn’t have to think anything at all.