strongly of sex, and Elin’s nose wrinkled. Her chest began to ache. She hadn’t been prepared for this. Thane had smelled as luscious as always.
Forget him. More luxury greeted her. The kind she wouldn’t have thought possible. Gemstones glittered on the walls, and silks and velvets covered the massive bed.
A bed currently in shambles, as if a massive earthquake had hit. Blondie occupied the center, her bruised and battered body coiled into a ball. Elin’s breath caught as her hands curled into fists.
“Come on,” Bellorie said, dragging her the rest of the way inside.
What, exactly, had Thane done to the girl? “Did he hurt...? Why would he...? What could he possibly...?” A full sentence refused to form. Whatever he’d done? Not sexy! Not bad-boy delish! Just wrong.
Dude. She understood the desire for fierce, wild passion. But this? This was beyond her realm of experience.
“They love it,” Bellorie said, taking a tube of ointment from the top drawer of the nightstand and slathering the girl’s chafed wrists and ankles. “He does nothing they don’t beg for, I promise you.”
How could she know for sure? Had she ever—
No, Elin thought, as little sparks of jealousy—couldn’t be jealousy—were immediately doused. He would have banned the barmaid from the club. Right?
Bellorie gave her a little push toward the closet. “Be a dear and grab a robe for our dearly departing guest.”
Elin obeyed, amazed to find rack after rack of robes, all in different sizes, though each was smaller than anything Thane would be able to fit over his bulging wings and muscles. Which meant he bought these specifically for his women.
A bang-and-bail memento for the ladies to take home.
Her attraction to him took another major hit.
But...he couldn’t be the same man who’d taken Elin’s damaged hands in his and looked at them as if they were still somehow beautiful. As if he would like to burn to death the person responsible.
Possibility: I saw only what I wanted to see.
Disgusted with him, with herself, she handed the garment to Bellorie. The girl dressed the rousing Harpy and helped her stand, and Elin rushed to act as a second crutch.
“Wait. My jewelry,” the Harpy rasped.
Bellorie swiped a diamond choker and a pair of earrings from the surface of the nightstand and stuffed them in a pocket of the robe. “All set.”
He paid his lovers? To make what he did more palatable?
Attraction, almost completely gone.
Together they were able to haul the Harpy out of the room, down the hall, down an elevator, and through the club.
At the exit, the Harpy wavered on her feet. “Tell Thane...more...must have...”
“Sure, sure,” Bellorie replied. “You want more of him, will die if you don’t have him. Got it. Problem is, sugar bear, and please know I’m saying this to be kind, he’s already forgotten all about you.”
As the doors closed, sealing the dazed Harpy outside, Bellorie pinned Elin with a regretful stare. “Told you. They love it. Every freaking time. It’s only later that they start to hate him and lash out, but I suspect that’s because they still want him.”
Not me. Never me.
And yet, part of Elin mourned the loss of the Thane she’d hoped he was, the man she must have invented in her mind. The white knight. The charmer. The...hero.
Lesson learned: always look beyond the surface.
Slight problem, however. Her body still craved him. It didn’t know the difference between good-for-Elin/bad-for-Elin. It operated solely on sensation.
Well, it would have to be controlled.
And there was one sure way to satisfy the worst of the cravings...with another male.
The thought hit her, and she shook her head. No. Definitely not.
Definitely yes, said a beguiling voice, a temptation that had brewed for days, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Your entire being is waking up and remembering what it’s like to be kissed and touched. Remembering...and hungering. You need a man.
Elin flattened her hands over her now-rolling stomach. She hated this thought path. It was like forgiving herself for her part in Bay’s death. Worse, it was like saying she’d suffered enough.
She hadn’t, on either count.
Taking a lover doesn’t have to mean anything more than scratching an itch.
No.
Maybe sex can be another type of self-inflicted punishment. Thane certainly seems to think so.
Okay, now temptation was hitting her where it hurt. I deserve punishment.
She gulped, imagining what would happen if she continued to do nothing. The tension in her body would build...and build...and build. She would cave and throw herself at someone—probably Thane.
No matter what, she was going to cave, wasn’t she?
It would be better to take a lover now, while she had some sort of control...and could make herself hate it.
Yeah.
She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it, the guilt winding cold, clammy arms around her, embracing her like an old friend...or the lover she was soon to take. Whom should she pick?
Someone like Bay? Gentle. Happy. Fun. But then, she would be giving this nameless, faceless guy what she was unable to give her dead husband. Affection and attention.
No. That wouldn’t do.
She would have to pick someone hard and harsh.
Like...Thane?
No! He wasn’t an option. He was the reason she was in this bind, yes, but he wasn’t an option. She would have to pick someone like Thane. A patron of the bar, maybe.
Like Merrick, the heartbreaker, maybe.
Yes. Him.
He would do.
He would be perfect, actually.
So...the next time his band came to the bar...
She closed her eyes to ward off the oncoming flood of remorse. She was really going to do this. She was really going to climb in bed with another man.
I’m sorry, Bay. I love you, and I miss you so much. Once I’ve done it, once it’s over, I’ll never want to do it again. I can go back to the way things were.
* * *
THANE PEERED AT ZACHAREL, incredulous.
