With a newfound energy, Kate strode through the gardens, stopping to smell the roses lining the path. She skipped the last few yards like a schoolgirl and burst into the guesthouse, pulling up short when she found Marc sitting on the elegant wingback chair in the corner next to the white brick fireplace, looking dark and imposing against the pristine backdrop, and incredibly sexy in his faded jeans and black knit shirt.
“Where have you been?” His voice was low, demanding.
Kate refused to fall at his feet, although it was tempting. “What does it matter to you? You haven’t been all that concerned over my whereabouts for the past week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So have I.” She started to tell him about the conversation with Beatrice but words escaped her when he kept staring as if he really wanted to get her naked. And she really wanted to let him.
But first and foremost, she had to maintain some control in his presence. His recent rejection still stung and she needed to resist him.
“Why are you here?” Her timid voice betrayed her conviction.
“You need to accompany me on a drive,” he said.
She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m supposed to drop everything?” Her clothes immediately came to mind.
“It would be in your best interest to accompany me.”
Of all the arrogant kings. “And what if I don’t?”
At least this time she sounded more confident. But Kate’s confidence scattered when Marc came to his feet slowly, his eyes burning holes in her fake bravado. He stalked toward her until he stopped immediately in front of her, so close she could trace the outline of his Adam’s apple. “Do you really wish me to show you what I’ll do if you do not agree?”
Kate dared him with a look. “If you think you’re man enough.”
Proving he was very much a man—a Cro-Magnon man—Marc grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder, then headed out the open door. He took away her breath when he set her in the all-terrain vehicle and slid his tongue across her lower lip. Then he took away her sight when he covered her eyes with a strip of white cloth, brushing one breast with a fingertip after he was done.
As ridiculous as it seemed, Kate didn’t care what he did as long as he eventually removed the blindfold—and anything else he cared to remove.
So much for resisting him.
Eight
“How much farther?”
“It won’t be long now.”
Marc glanced at Kate, who seemed extremely sedate for someone wearing a blindfold. Although the pastoral terrain offered a panoramic view, the less she knew of their destination, the better. He wanted to save the full effect of the scenery for when she first encountered four thousand square feet of natural wood structure, set among ancient forests and majestic mountains, miles from any significant population, at least during the summer, before the arrival of snow.
He intended to use the remainder of the weekend to treat Kate as she deserved to be treated, to make love to her undisturbed in a real bed in the glow of firelight. To tell her what he was feeling. As far as Marc was concerned, his own private retreat would aid in accomplishing that goal, if Kate chose to cooperate.
After pulling into the narrow drive, Marc shut off the Hummer and opened his door. “We’re here.”
“Where is here?”
When Kate reached for the knot on the cloth, he told her, “Do not take that off yet.”
She wrinkled her upturned nose. “Why not?”
He leaned over and whispered, “Because I want to remove it.” He anticipated taking off more than the blindfold before evening’s end.
After sliding from the seat, he rounded the vehicle then helped her out. The afternoon sun enhanced the chestnut highlights in her hair and, when he untied the cloth, illuminated her deep green eyes that revealed surprise and something he couldn’t quite name, but it almost resembled anger.
Without speaking, she surveyed the pines surrounding the lodge for a few moments then climbed the steps leading to the porch that spanned the length of the building. She faced him again, her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “This must be the infamous cabin.”
Infamous? Obviously the staff had been talking, Marc decided.
He passed by her and inserted the key into the lock, disappointed over her lack of enthusiasm. “I see that someone has ruined my surprise. Was it Nicholas?”
“Actually, it was Elsa.”
Marc’s hand froze on the doorknob. “Elsa?”
“During our phone conversation, she asked me if you’d taken me to the ‘little’ cabin yet, although I can’t say that I agree with her definition of ‘little.’”
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