A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)

He didn’t have it in him to hate that.

She uncorked the vial again and held it over his chest, tilting it by slow degrees until a trickle of oil poured forth. She drizzled the slick liquid in a lazy line down the center of his chest. Bisecting his chest and abdominal muscles, skipping over the linen binding him to the bed, tracing the furrow of dark hair that arrowed straight for his groin.

Holy God. The image was perversely sensual. Just what mischief did she intend? If she dragged her soft hands down his bared, oiled chest, he would not have to worry about forced confessions. He’d combust on the spot, leaving behind nothing more blameworthy than ash.

“I have a way of getting you to talk.” Her mouth quirked in a cold smile. “Prepare yourself for my secret weapon.”

Thorne steeled his loins.

“Here he is.”

Christ.

She caught the pup in both hands, lifting him to a position directly above Thorne’s glistening abdomen. That twitching dog nose hovered just an inch above his oil-filled navel.

Thorne’s abdominal muscles flinched. So this was her grand, malevolent plan. She was going to tickle the truth from him. With the dog.

“Little Badger has been here all night with us. With nothing to eat save an old rind of cheese he sniffed out in your cupboard.” She screwed up her face and spoke to the dog. “You’re very, very hungry, aren’t you, dear?”

“You wouldn’t,” said Thorne.

“Oh, just watch me.”

“Katie, don’t you dare.”

Her eyebrows soared. “Ah. Now we’re back to Katie? My tactic is working already.”

He firmed his jaw and glared at her. “If you had any idea the torments I’ve endured in my life, you would know—I will not be done in by a puppy.”

“Let’s just try it and see.”

Thorne inwardly cursed. He could not be done in by a puppy, but this woman . . . she was a true danger.

She made eye contact with him, direct and honest. “My whole life, I’ve searched for answers about my past. My whole life, Thorne. I will not rest until you tell me the truth.”

“I can’t.”

She lowered the pup another half inch.

A quiver pulsed through Thorne’s belly.

“Badger, no,” he commanded, even though he knew the futility of warning a dog off such behavior.

The dog was a dog. He barked. He chewed. He chased.

God have mercy.

He licked.

Kate kept her first bout of torture brief. She lowered Badger for just a few seconds of enthusiastic tickling.

Thorne growled like an animal. An enraged animal. His nostrils flared. The muscles of his abdomen tensed in staggered rows, hard as cobblestones beneath his skin. Tendons stood out on his neck, and his good arm was solid flexed muscle, embossed with thickly pulsing veins.

Heavens.

Kate’s own breathing quickened. He was massive and strong and furious and utterly at her mercy. A beast, but a beautiful one.

Near giddy with power, she momentarily restrained the pup. “Had enough?”

His breathing was heavy, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Stop this. Stop this now.”

“Beg me for mercy.”

“The devil I will.”

She lowered the pup again. This time he strained and arched beneath the ropes so hard, he had the bed frame rocking to and fro. The entire bed scooted several inches across the floor. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

She gave him another brief reprieve. “How about now?”

“Devious woman. You’re going to regret this.”

“I doubt that.” She lowered the dog once again, letting him lick Thorne’s side now, just beneath his lowest rib. He seized and gasped.

“Very well,” he finally growled. “Very well. You win. Just get him off me.”

“You’ll tell me everything?”

“Yes.”

Victory surged in Kate’s breast. “I knew you’d surrender.”

“I’m not asking mercy for me,” he panted, staring up at the ceiling. “Just for the dog. With all that oil, you’ll make him sick.”

She smiled to herself, knowing she’d found his Achilles’ heel. “I knew you cared about him.”

She brought Badger close to her chest and praised him extravagantly before setting him on the floor. Then she gave Thorne her full attention. Oh, the look on his face was murderous.

She said, “I’m listening.”

“Release me from these bindings first.”

“When you’re fuming at me so darkly? I may be brave, but I’m not stupid.” She reached for the tea. “But I will offer you some of this.”

She moved close to the head of the bed and raised the mug to his lips, putting one hand behind his head to help him drink. As he lowered his head to the pillow, she swept her fingers through his bed-mussed hair, taming it. “Go on.”

He sighed. “Yes, I knew you as a child. You were just a little thing when we saw each other last. Four years old, perhaps. I was older. Ten or eleven. Our mothers—”

At the word “mothers,” a lump rose in her throat.