Chapter 12 #2
He rolled his eyes. “Please, lass, it’s a classic trick that me grandmother pulled.
She brought ye out to get a wee peek at the goods.
The goods bein’ me,” he added, as if there might be any confusion about that.
“Do ye think me grandmother wants to come out and watch men train first thing in the morning?”
“She said she wanted to take the air!”
“Bollocks,” he responded crudely. Melody knew at least half a dozen women in society who would have fainted clean away at that simple word.
“It is not boll… nonsense,” Melody corrected lamely. “I was not staring. And if I… if I was, I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking at…” she paused, hesitating, and glanced away. “I was looking at that scar on your chest. Just above your heart.”
His expression tightened. “It’s nae the sort of scar one can ignore.”
“I saw the same scar drawn on that silly pamphlet,” she continued, forcing herself to lift her chin and meet his eyes.
“I was surprised to see that the sketch was correct about that, at least. I think the implication in the pamphlet was that somebody had tried to stake you, like a vampire. Of course, I know that cannot be the case.”
The amusement that had lit up his eyes only a moment ago faded away, leaving Callum’s expression blank and unreadable once more. Melody cursed herself for inadvertently removing that lopsided half-smile from his face.
“Aye, I wasnae staked,” he responded crisply, glancing away. “I did it to meself.”
She flinched. “To yourself? I don’t understand.”
“I didnae imagine that ye would.”
He folded his arms, a position which seemed to make the muscles in his chest and shoulders swell even more, and leaned casually back against the desk. His eyes found hers, as always, and he gave a slow, thoughtful smile.
She cleared her throat. “Well, that is… was it an accident? I am sure you did not intend to… to take your own life. If you did, I am not sure that stabbing oneself in the heart is the best way to do it.”
“Is this the kind of genteel parlor conversation ye indulge in back in London, lassie?”
Something sparked inside her. “I am not lassie. Do not call me lass, or girl, or woman, or anything like that. My name is Melody, and I’d appreciate it if you used it.”
He stared at her, seconds ticking by. Melody forced herself to stay calm, meeting his gaze as if she’d said nothing wrong.
I’d be completely ruined if we were in London, she thought briefly. Alone with a man, in a locked room? People would shun my presence as if I had the plague. Ruin is, after all, as contagious as a disease.
“There’s that fire,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I have to admit, I admire that in ye. I daenae often see it, though.”
She flushed. “I spoke thoughtlessly. Do forgive me.”
“Forgive ye? I willnae.” He straightened up from the desk, prowling toward her. Melody had a mad image of herself darting away, running around the desk with him in pursuit. It was a nonsensical idea, almost comical.
In reality, of course, she did not dash away. She merely stood where she was, heart beating in her mouth, and watched him approach.
“In fact, I think ye should be punished, Melody. There—I said yer name. How does it feel?” Callum murmured, his voice a deep drag in his throat.
How did it feel? It felt strange. Hearing her own name drawled across his lips sent a tingle of awareness down her spine. The bubbling ache in her chest was back. Her guts clenched as if she were facing something terrifying but thrilling, like jumping off a high building into water.
What a strange idea. Where did that come from, I wonder?
He was close enough to touch her, now. Callum reached forward, almost carelessly, and seized her chin. His fingers were warm, and he tilted up her face a little more, the knuckle of his forefinger directly under the pointed bone of her chin.
“Melody,” he whispered again, rolling her name over his tongue like a marble. The pad of his thumb brushed across her lower lip, and almost without thinking, Melody’s tongue came out, chasing its path.
Heat flared in Callum’s eyes, so intense and so unmistakable that her knees almost sagged.
His grip tightened, and he lunged forward, fitting his lips to hers.
It was a harsh kiss, almost bruising. She tasted mint, tasted ale, and a strange saltness that made her shiver.
The tip of something hot and heavy ghosted across the join of her lips. Was that his tongue?
An arm wrapped around her waist, firm enough to lift her off her feet. Melody gave a strangled squeak and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. The ache in her chest exploded into a red-hot pulse, thrumming through her body.
Is this what desire feels like?
She knew the answer to her question almost as soon as she thought of it.
The room spun, and Callum lifted her up into his arms, as easily as if she weighed nothing.
She landed with a thump on the desk, firm enough to knock the breath out of her body.
While she was gasping, his lips fit against the side of her neck, just beneath her jaw.
There was something strange about that place, something that sent joyful pleasure flooding through her. His warm palm ghosted along her side.
Touch me, Melody thought giddily, her heart thumping so hard she could hear its roar in her ears. Touch me properly.
She had a vague idea that if she wanted such a thing, if she wanted anything, she had only to ask. The edge of Callum’s teeth slid along the skin, firm enough to prick but not to wound, and she let out a shuddering gasp.
And then, quite clearly, she heard the key click in the lock.