Chapter 12

He dressed her as leisurely as he’d undressed her and set her loose. Without a word she turned on her heel and headed back the way she’d come.

He didn’t try to talk, and he seemed content to let her set the pace. It wasn’t much, as gallantry went, but she’d take what she could get. She wasn’t up to idle chatter just then.

She’d felt desire in her life, she thought, wading through the fern fronds. Even hot, raging lust, but she’d never before walked through fire. The idea that a virtual stranger could do that to her, could make her nearly frantic with need, did not please her.

Maybe there’s something in the air, she thought suspiciously, taking a discrete sniff. Maybe it’s not me at all, but something to do with that thing he calls me. What was it, a charmer?

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she asked, “What is this charmer business about, anyway?”

He looked at her; obviously surprised she would choose to speak to him. He took a moment to answer. “A charmer makes men want her. It’s the special pheromone she produces that makes the Haunt male wild.”

“I thought a Haunt was a guard,” she said with a sharp glance.

“It is a guard, but also the term for our race,” he explained, looking at her curiously. Her interest would have to be powerful indeed to cause her to seek knowledge from him so soon after his...chastisement.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring what his accent was doing to her insides. “So what does this pheromone do to me?”

He stopped in surprise, caught himself, and continued on. But his tone carried definite inquisitiveness as he answered, “Nothing. You’ve possessed it all your life and it’s done you no harm.”

She clenched her fists. “Then it doesn’t make me…” she left the rest unsaid, not wanting to make a fool of herself. Too late.

She saw him grin out of the corner of her eye. “No,” he answered with an insufferable note of male pride. “You can blame me for that.”

Humiliated all over again, she kept her head down and walked faster.

***

“Are you all right?” Wiley demanded the moment she and Lemming entered Jasmine’s room. The door closed behind her, sealing off the illumination from the hall and enclosing them in the deepening gloom.

Jasmine looked at her broodingly from the couch she was lying on. “Where’s your keeper?”

Her friend waved an impatient hand. “Gone. But how are you?” She knelt in front of the couch, concern etching her brow. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” Not wanting to pursue that path any further, she quickly asked, “How did he know? There shouldn’t have been enough time for them to figure anything out.” She’d been going over Keilor’s dreadful timing, but had yet to understand how they’d given themselves away. They’d thought they’d been so careful.

Wiley snorted and moved to an armchair, tucking one long leg under the other. “Lights,” she ordered and then, “Shutters.” Satisfied with their privacy and the improved illumination, she said, “They figured it out right away.” Her lower lip protruded just the tiniest bit. “The Haunt brought me back here and Jayems told me that they knew.” She shivered, remembering what else he’d said. Her eyes swept down. “I was afraid of what Keilor would do when he found you.” She peeked through her lashes to see Jasmine busily avoiding her eyes. Her voice ached when she asked, “What did he do, Jas?”

Hearing that note, Jasmine looked at her and then up at the ceiling. If she didn’t tell her, she’d imagine the worst and spend days brooding about it, convinced it was somehow all her fault. Besides, this was Wiley. “He tied me up to a tree and kissed me,” she confessed quickly, hoping she’d drop it, knowing she wouldn’t.

“What?” Wiley looked as if she didn’t know whether to be outraged or titillated. Her expression became thoughtful, even speculative, and her eyes moved as if replaying something in her head. As if thinking out loud, she asked, “How was it?”

Jasmine bounded off the couch, putting an armchair between them as if to stop the flow of curiosity. “Wiley! How could you ask me that?” A casual friend would have raged over Keilor’s behavior and called lightning down on his head. Someone else would have made dire threats against his manhood and commiserated with her.

There were definite disadvantages to having a friend who knew you so well.

Wiley regarded her with a touch of skepticism. “I know you’re attracted to him. I saw you eyeing his backside earlier.” When Jasmine flushed and mumbled, she went on knowingly, “And if he’d hurt you, or you’d hated it, you’d be upset in a different way. So come on,” she coaxed. “Spill the beans.”

Jasmine kneaded the back of the chair and then grumbled, “It was...okay.”

Wiley’s eyes brightened and she sat up attentively, drawing her other leg under her. “Just okay?”

“Bah.” Jasmine hunched her shoulders and then admitted with extreme reluctance, “All right! Better than okay. More like…” she hesitated as she allowed herself to recall the feel of Keilor’s lips on hers, his gentle hands. A shudder passed through her and she admitted softly, “All the stars fell and lit up my sky.”

Wiley’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she breathed.

“But it’s not going to happen again.” She walked around the chair and sat down. Drawing her knees to her chest, she hugged them protectively. “I’m not going to let that snake get within ten feet of me next time.”

They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts. Finally Wiley stirred and sighed with regret. “I guess we won’t be going home any time soon.”

Jasmine grunted. She wasn’t the sort of woman who gave up easily, and it galled her to admit she felt cowed, but the memory of Keilor’s brand of sensual domination was enough to wipe out any immediate plans for escape.

She groaned and buried her face in her knees as the memories flashed across the backs of her eyelids. “A gun,” she muttered, scrubbing her face. “That’s what I need the next time. A gun to shoot the son of a bitch before he gets his hands on me.”

Wiley turned troubled eyes on her. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, Jas,” she said slowly. “Besides, he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to take it well if you turned a gun on him. He might...take it personally.”