Hierarchy (14 page)

Caleb was back in a few minutes, this time bearing an armload of clothing. “I couldn’t decide. I thought this would look good on you. I particularly like the color, but it is a little formal for an evening together. What do you think?”

Bronwyn felt like informing him that she thought he was as mad as a hatter and he could shove the dress where the sun didn’t shine, but she tamped the impulse. If he really was mad, it probably wouldn’t be the best of ideas to point it out.

“Could you hand me a towel?”

“Certainly, sweeting,” he murmured, obviously pleased. He set the clothing down on the vanity and moved to the stack of towels beside the tub—that she hadn’t noticed—

and lifted one, holding it up expectantly.

Bronwyn studied the towel, studied his face, and finally got up. He wrapped the towel around her and lifted her from the tub. Settling her on her feet on the floor, he began to pat her dry. She was tempted to wrestle him for the towel but fairly certain of who the victor would be in that contest. He was surprisingly thorough, she thought wryly, when he’d knelt to dry her feet and legs and then stepped behind her.

He slipped arm around her waist, pulling her back against his length and burying his nose in her hair. “Mmm. You smell good enough to eat. Shall we forego the food and get right down to the business of breeding?” he purred near her ear, gliding a hand down her belly and cupping her mound to pull her back against the hard rod he’d pressed between her buttocks.

Bronwyn shivered. She would’ve liked to tell herself it was with revulsion or at the very least, nerves, but she felt her belly quiver at his touch, felt warmth flood her.

She cleared her throat. “I’m hungry.”

He chuckled, releasing her so readily she began to suspect that he’d only done it to test her reaction. “Then I should feed you. Wear what you like …
except
those,” he said firmly, removing her jeans from her hands when she picked them up.

Carrying her discarded clothing pinched between two fingers and held out at arm’s length before him, he left the bathroom.

She glared at his back but moved to the stack of clothing he’d left when he glanced back at her.

There was nothing wrong with the clothes, she discovered. Truthfully, they were beautiful and clearly very well made. It unnerved her when she discovered that they were her size, though.

There was a fluffy robe, she discovered, at the bottom of the stack. She didn’t particularly care for the idea of sitting down at the table with him in nothing but a robe, but the rest looked more like evening gowns—and there were
no
underclothes!

She slipped the robe on, tied it at the waist, and left the bathroom. Caleb was standing next to the small table. He looked at her approvingly as she entered the room and pulled out a chair, holding it for her.

She moved to the chair and settled as he slid it in for her.

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To her relief, he settled across the table from her. He removed the domes from the servers on the table and examined the offerings. “What will you have, kitten?”

His reference to his comment when he’d startled her into nearly drowning herself irritated her, but she didn’t suppose it was any more irritating than being called darling, sweetheart, or sweeting. She smiled at him tightly. “Bronwyn.”

“I know, kitten. Fowl or beef?”

Despite everything, Bronwyn discovered she was starving. Her stomach growled as she studied the wonderful looking food. His lips twitched. “A taste of everything?”

“Yes, please.”

He served her plate and handed it to her. Bronwyn waited politely, if somewhat impatiently, until he’d fixed his own plate. “I detect a lovely, local accent, kitten, but I’m guessing you’ve not lived in the city long?” he said conversationally.

“No. I moved here from Greenville a few weeks ago.” She frowned. “I guess it’s been a little over a month. It seems longer,” she muttered.

He looked thoughtful and then chuckled. “Not even seventy miles as the crow flies. And you grew up there, I suppose?”

Surprised, Bronwyn merely nodded. “My grandmother ran a boarding house. I helped her with it.”

“Quaint.”

Bronwyn flicked a quick look at him then focused on her food. “I never thought of it like that.”

“And did you inherit your magic from your mother’s side or your father? Or perhaps both?”

Bronwyn glanced at him sharply. “I don’t have magic.”

“Of course you do, kitten. A great deal of magic … which leads me to suppose it came from both sides.”

Bronwyn shifted uncomfortably. “My grandmother had the ‘sight’.”

He nodded. “A powerful witch, your grandmother. Left me a nasty surprise …

but then I suppose I can see her point. You are far too special to leave anything to chance.”

Bronwyn felt her throat close with emotion. “Nanna wasn’t a witch!” she snapped angrily. “People called her one, but she wasn’t!”

Caleb studied her in surprise for a moment. “Eat your dinner, Bronwyn,” he said gently. “That wasn’t intended as an insult to your grandmother. In point of fact, although you might not believe me, it was meant as a compliment.”

Bronwyn swallowed with an effort. “It sounded like an insult,” she said finally.

“You look like her.”

She sent him a sharp look. “My grandmother?” She thought it over for a moment. “You’ve been through my things!” she said accusingly.

He sighed. “I was searching for you.”

“Why?”

He reached across the table and took her hand, coasting his thumb lightly along the mark on her wrist. “Because I knew you were here.”

His touch was mesmerizing … and both oddly calming and arousing at the same time. “Constantine said you were a user of magic—You did something before, when they came.”

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“A protection—nothing more—just as this is,” he murmured, lightly tracing the tattoo her grandmother had drawn on her wrist. “If you’re implying that this is magic …

It’s only magic of the physical world.”

She tugged on her hand and he released her. After studying it a moment, she finally turned her attention to her food and they finished the meal in silence. He helped her from her chair when they finished and guided her toward the chaise lounge, urging her to sit. When she’d settled against the back, he sat at the foot, pulling her feet into his lap.

“You’re not curious about me?” he murmured, massaging her feet.

“Very.”

He sent her amused look. “Too timid to ask?”

She blushed. “I’m not timid,” she said, a faint edge to her voice.

His gaze flickered over her face. “No, you aren’t.” He was thoughtful. “Not timid—not disinterested. Hmm. Wary? Suspicious?”

“Both,” she responded slowly. “I don’t know how to ask politely.”

He grinned abruptly, showing even, perfect white teeth. “I’m Raja.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that … like a … warlock?”

“Nothing nearly so tame,” he murmured in a deep, purring voice.

She frowned. “You aren’t going to tell me.”

“But … darling, I just did,” he said with a quizzical lift of his tawny brows, his golden eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. Lifting the foot he’d been massaging, he held her gaze as he brought it to his mouth.

Her eyes widened. She jerked at her leg but to no avail. She didn’t even manage to jolt him with her efforts. He opened his mouth wide enough to scrape the ball of her foot with his lower teeth up to the joint of her toes. The sensitive nerves screamed, sending a shockwave all the way up her leg to her belly, which shimmied as the tidal wave of sensation crashed there like a breaker. She hadn’t recovered from that when he began to suck her toes. The urge to laugh warred with the waves of heat that rushed up her leg to her sex. She fought both, gritting her teeth and curling her fingers into the upholstery of the chaise like claws.

She felt weak with relief when he finally lowered her foot. He studied her a long moment and lifted the other. Giving up the effort to pretend it didn’t bother her a bit, she planted her free foot against his shoulder and shoved at him when he began to torture the other foot, but that had no more effect than her attempt to jerk her leg free.

When he’d tortured it until she thought she’d loose her mind, he finally lowered it, set her feet off of his lap and rose. “You’ve had a difficult day, my darling. I’ll leave you to rest,” he said coolly, turning and striding from the room before she could gather her wits enough to react.

Disbelief filled her. He’d toyed with her almost from the moment she’d arrived, teased her until he’d fully aroused her … and then left?

Why? Just to torment her? Or to prove, either to himself or to her, that he could?

Anger supplanted the disbelief for a while but as her body finally cooled to a more comfortable level her anger cooled, as well. She was left with the discomfort of incompletion but she ignored it, telling herself she was relieved he’d decided against the

‘breeding’ he’d promised when she was in the bath.

He wasn’t mad, she decided, which should have been a relief, but since she
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wasn’t certain of just what he was she didn’t feel much lessening of anxiety.

She didn’t believe for a moment that he was the destiny her grandmother had foretold. He was undeniably the handsomest man she’d ever met. He was ‘different’ all right, and she couldn’t deny that he was ‘special’ given the gifts he’d allowed her to see, but he was just plain
strange
! He’d thrown her off kilter from the moment he tapped on her window and kept her teetering ever since so that she hardly knew how she felt, but she was pretty sure ‘in love’ wasn’t it.

Nanna hadn’t promised that it would be love at first sight, she reminded herself, but she’d implied it. In any case, he was
strange
! She couldn’t imagine living around someone she could never be comfortable around.

Of course Nanna hadn’t promised that either and she’d already come to the conclusion that she couldn’t expect a happily ever after from the deal, couldn’t expect the marriage, family, and white picket fence most everyone thought of as the ultimate life goal—her included.

Still … she’d come closer to imagining herself with Constantine, or Luke, and she hadn’t actually been able to make that ‘fit’ in her mind.

Clearly he knew about the mark and the prophesy, and he’d known about them for some time, but she couldn’t see anything in his behavior to convince her that he believed in it anymore than she’d seen with either Luke or Constantine.

If none of them actually believed, though, but all of them seemed aware of it, what was she to make of that? And
how
had they become aware?

As insulted as she’d been when Caleb had made the remarks about her grandmother, she reluctantly pondered it. The small town gossips had whispered it behind her grandmother’s back as far back as she could remember—never to her grandmother’s face—they didn’t dare—or even hers. They loved to gossip, however, and the more lurid the gossip the better they liked it. She’d figured it had arisen from the

‘sight’, though. Just about everyone in the county knew she had the sight and most people were firmly convinced her predictions were completely reliable.

She wasn’t convinced she could believe a single word out of Caleb Westmoreland’s mouth, but what if he knew what he was talking about? What if her grandmother
had
been a magic wielder? What if she’d, somehow, arranged all this?

What would be the purpose?

She frowned, setting that aside for the moment and trying to recall anything her grandmother had ever said or done that might indicate she was a witch.

It wasn’t actually a lengthy search, although, at the time, she hadn’t thought much about it. After her date with Johnny Patterson, though, she’d been too devastated to hide how upset she was. She’d tried. She’d felt so guilty about having sex with him when her grandmother had warned her against such things that she’d tried to hide it for fear of getting in trouble. She’d felt awful shame, too.

She hadn’t succeeded in hiding it from her grandmother’s eagle eyes, although, to her relief, her grandmother had seemed far more empathetic and understanding than she’d expected. She hadn’t scolded or punished her. She’d gathered her up as she had when she’d been a very small child and rocked her until she’d stopped crying.

And then she’d asked her if she wanted her to make his dick fall off. She’d burst out laughing. She’d thought Nanna had only said it to make her feel better.

“That would be funny!” she’d said, giggling. “But then where would he be
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without it? He’s all dick! Anyway, I wouldn’t wish that on him.”

Nanna shrugged. “I could make it turn purple and black and make him think it was
going
to fall off.”

She’d frowned thoughtfully then. “I suppose that would be a good lesson for him—and good enough for him! It wouldn’t have been so bad, Nanna, if he hadn’t made me think he really liked me. If I’d known he was just … trying to get in my pants, I wouldn’t have been so … hurt! I was so crazy about him! I thought he liked me, too.”