Dark Highland Fire
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Gabriel watched in helpless fascination as one emotion after another crossed the most stunningly beautiful face he’d ever had the fortune to see.
Whether that fortune was good or the worst in all of MacInnes history remained to be decided, but in the meantime, he was content to just stand there and be utterly annihilated by beauty.
He’d seen (not to mention bedded) plenty of women in his life. It was a point of pride with him that he was a bit of a connoisseur of the opposite sex, though Gideon had never done much but shake his head and laugh over Gabriel’s tales of his many conquests. All had been lovely in their own particular ways, some had been widely considered to be rare beauties. None, however, held so much as a candle to Rowan an Morgaine.
The eyes that reflected everything from amazement to anger, from fear to what looked suspiciously like animal lust (please, God), were tip-tilted and jewel-bright, an exquisite shade of purest emerald green that seemed lit from within. Her face was a perfect oval, her features delicate yet regal, while her skin was the closest thing to alabaster he’d ever seen. And as for her body…he had barely restrained himself from shouting his thanks to the heavens that female Drakkyn apparently dressed like some Goth teenager’s wet dream. A tiny waist, miles of leg and curves enough to keep his hands busy for several eternities were all showcased perfectly by her itty-bitty ensemble. All that outrageously red hair was the icing on the cake, to his way of thinking.
Gabriel felt the memories of all the women he’d ever had in his life vanish in the face of pure, female perfection. His heart stumbled along in his chest as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. His breathing felt constricted, and he was suddenly grateful for the baggy cargo shorts and loose Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. They went a long way towards camouflaging the rest of his body’s reaction to her.
It astounded him that he’d just been holding this exquisite creature in his arms and complaining about being saddled with her. Why hadn’t he bothered to actually look at her before opening his big, stupid mouth? And now, having gotten off on the wrong foot, this Rowan was doubtless convinced he was a complete and utter ass. Which might not be far from the truth sometimes, he reflected, but it wasn’t something he generally cared to display right up front. Leave it to him to put a foot in it but good.
“Well?” she asked, tapping one long, red fingernail against her hip and glaring at him. All traces of that flash of lust, he noted with disappointment, had been replaced by pure, unadulterated pique. It also appeared to be directed entirely at him.
Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, then realized he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. He thought quickly, trying to come up with something at least semi-astute to say.
“Um,” was what came out. He frowned, then tried again. “Er.”
One red brow arched so high it looked as though it might reach her hairline. “Are you,” she asked slowly, “impaired in some way I should know about?”
His frown deepened as he wondered whether such radiant beauty could be hiding a somewhat less stunning temperament and tongue. “No,” he heard himself grumble, and was gratified that he had at least managed a one-syllable word that made sense.
Rowan looked unconvinced. “Well. Whatever.” She turned away from him to look to the rest of their small party, which Gabriel found insulting, though the blow was softened somewhat by the view.
“Where is my brother, and where am I? And who are all of you?” She glanced back at him dismissively. “Except for you. You don’t have to answer. Wouldn’t want to tax you.”
Carly, he saw, bit down so hard on her lip it was almost certainly going to bleed. She also refused to look back at him while he was glaring at her, and her shoulders shook suspiciously. Gideon looked at the ceiling. Malcolm coughed.
Duncan, damn him, simply answered her politely. Not too terrible, except for the unmistakable look of sympathy he gave her besides. Gabriel balled his hands into fists and silently counted to ten. It was that or bash someone’s head into the Lia Fáil, and since with his luck that would bring about the apocalypse, he thought it better to stay silent until he could control himself.
“You’re on Iargail estate in the Western Highlands of Scotland, lass. Your brother, er, seems to have dropped you off here. My son Gabriel there gave his word he’d look after you, though, so you’re in good hands. I swear it on the honor of my Pack.”
Rowan frowned. “Your Pack?” she asked, sounding perplexed. She rounded on Gabriel then, her expression oddly accusatory. “You mean, you’re not the leader here?”
Gabriel shook his head slowly, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything and why the woman was so displeased by it. “No. My father, there, Duncan, is Pack Alpha. Next in line is my brother Gideon,” he continued, even as he watched Rowan’s eyes darken with what looked like fury, “then myself.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” she growled, “that Bastian didn’t even have the decency to dump me on the most powerful of you? That he thought some…some random, semi-coherent shifter was sufficient to help hold off a wizard who fights as a winged serpent?” Her voice was strained, coming in harsh pants as her anger rose. It would have been maddeningly erotic, Gabriel thought, if he wasn’t wanting to throttle her pretty neck right about now.
Gabriel distinctly heard Gideon mutter something like “ouch” before the red haze of his own temper finally kicked all the way in. He took one menacing step toward her, then another, until he and Rowan were toe to toe. He glared down at her. She glowered up. Gabriel inhaled once, then decided that might be a bad idea.
She smelled good.
Damn her.
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