Twice Tempted by a Rogue (Stud Club #2)

Crash. The bottleneck broke against a stone. “Talk about what?” he asked tightly, sloshing brandy into his cup.

“You. Us. The past. The future.” Could he forgive her, or couldn’t he?

He didn’t answer, only drank.

She forced herself to be patient. After all she’d told him tonight … about the fire, about her feelings … she’d altered everything he knew about himself, his past. And everything he knew about her. He must be overwhelmed, just struggling to make sense of it all. And to make it all worse, they were trapped in this place where he’d endured so much pain. Perhaps conversation was beyond him at the moment. For God’s sake, she was surprised that standing wasn’t beyond him at the moment.

It certainly didn’t come easy to her. Using a nearby crate for support, she rose to her feet on wobbly legs.

“I know you must be upset,” she said carefully.

“I’m not upset.”

“Of course you’re upset.” How could he keep denying the obvious? “You’re angry as hell. It’s natural, Rhys. It’s all right to show it.”

“Why would I be angry?” He sliced the air with his hand, and brandy splashed from his cup. A few drops landed on Meredith’s arm. Others spattered and sparked in the fire. His emotions, by contrast, remained at a quiet smolder. “The fire wasn’t my fault. You say you love me, always have. The last fourteen years of torment were all just a big mistake. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? Goddamned ecstatic. Stop telling me I’m angry.”

“Very well. You’re not angry.”

A tense silence followed.

“Just what are you expecting?” he finally asked. His voice was flat. “Tell me what reaction you’re waiting to see. Am I supposed to fly into a rage and smash crates against the wall? Lay my head in your lap and weep while you croon sweet words and stroke my hair? Or … or I know. You’re hoping I’ll push up your skirts and pump you like an animal all night long. Because somehow a few hours of rutting will erase decades of living hell.” He shook his head. “You’re good, Merry. But not that good.”

She tried not to let his words hurt her. “No. I’m not expecting any hysterics, nor any … rutting. But I’ve given you a great deal to absorb, and this place would make anyone feel a bit crazed.” She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, striving for a soothing touch. “We’ll make it through this. Come sit with me and wait out the night.”

“I said, don’t touch me.” He whipped his arm from her grasp and took a lunging step back. He leveled a finger at her. “I mean it, Merry. Stay away from me right now. I don’t trust myself.”

“All right.” Tears burned in her eyes as she slid back to the pile of furs. “All right. I won’t bother you further.”

She lay down on her side, hugging herself against the cold. He slunk to the opposite side of the fire and crouched there, leaning his back against a barrel and stacking his arms on his knees.

From this vantage, the flames and smoke appeared to dance around his face, distorting his features. His hands were clenched tight into fists. He was so tense, she could feel him vibrating with the force of his repressed fury.

He was fighting, she could sense it. Quietly doing battle over there in the corner. With himself, with his demons, with her. Maybe just with the rage itself … she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that he wouldn’t let her help. He wouldn’t even let her near.

She must have slept eventually, for the next thing she knew was the sound of rock grinding against rock.

She shivered. The fire had gone out, and the furs had fallen away from her sleeping form. Her knees curled up to her chest, and she wrapped her arms about them, trying to warm herself.

After a moment spent blinking at the gooseflesh on her arms, a realization dawned. Or rather, dawn itself was her realization. The fire had gone out, but there was light enough to make out her surroundings. It had to be daylight. Weak, dusty daylight, but daylight just the same. The entire cavern was illuminated.

Rhys was nowhere to be seen.

“Rhys? Are you here?”

She struggled to rise from the carpet. Surely no matter how angry Rhys was, he wouldn’t have left her here all alone. Would he?

“Rhys?”

Her call echoed through the cellar, unanswered. Meredith’s heart began to race. Her skirts had tangled about her legs, and she tried to shake them out as she came to a sitting position.

Then, from the stairway, she heard a low, masculine grunt of effort.

Followed by a mighty crash.

“Rhys!”