“No,” Brigg agreed, turning to glance at Sinead then briefly at Cillian, a look of understanding in his eyes. “You’re right. Not all of us want that.”
Chapter 9
Sinead could feel Cillian’s eyes stroking her flesh like the sun’s rays on a summer day.
It wasn’t an unusual sensation, not exactly. Men often approached her in public places, their eyes admiring, jaws slack with some kind of primitive, testosterone-induced wonderment. She was tall and exotic-looking, with dark hair and eyes that often prompted members of the opposite sex to move closer and inquire as to their exact colour.
When she was a child, her mother had warned her that her beauty would one day be a curse. Often it brought immediate and aggressive attention, and usually not the good kind. From girls and women, Sinead had received disdain all her life; from men, a sense of entitlement. For some reason, most human men thought that her prettiness granted them the right to touch, to gawk, to own her. They saw her as a plaything, designed for their own selfish pleasure.
Perhaps Cillian was just like the others. Then again, she’d never found herself in an enclosed space with two male shifters. Never felt the strange, nebulous tension that seemed to have been building from the moment she’d shut her door. Neither Cillian nor Brigg flirted with her, exactly. They weren’t trying to proposition her or paw her.
Though in the moment when Cillian’s fingers had accidentally slipped over her shoulder, she’d found her breath catching in her chest as though she’d been struck a hard blow. It was a feeling she’d never encountered. A lightning bolt, like people talked about in stories about love at first sight.
She’d felt something similar when her eyes had found Brigg in her cell, the moment she’d realized he was a shifter. An immediate, almost painful bond with him had formed in that instant; one that came close to frightening her with its intensity.
But perhaps all of this was nothing more than a sort of manufactured excitement. She’d been giddy to see Brigg because he was going to help her. And now she was giddy to be able to set eyes on the outside world again. It made perfect sense that she should relish every bit of sensory delight.
“Here we are,” said Brigg after they’d driven for some time.
The car pulled into a long laneway flanked by rows of beautiful aspen trees. Sinead looked out the window, enthralled. At the end of the lane stood a stately, enormous manor house that had to be at least a few centuries old. Classical statues adorned its roof, ivy crawled along its outer walls, laying claim to each stone. Surely this couldn’t be the prison where Brigg was bringing her. This couldn’t be his home. She’d heard that some shifters came from wealth, but this was Mr. Darcy wealth.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My estate,” he replied, his tone so nonchalant as to seem ridiculous.
She looked over at him. The serious man was full-on smiling for once. “Your estate? Here I thought you were taking me to a little country place.”
“This is my country place. My most sincere apologies if it doesn’t seem adequate.”
“It’s just…fine,” she laughed. “It’s pretty splendid, if I’m to be honest. And massive.”
“If you think this is big,” Cillian said in a seductive tone, leaning forward, “you should see mine.”
Sinead drew her eyes up to the mirror and stared at his reflection. “You mean to tell me that you own a house larger than this?”
Cillian shot her a mischievous smile. “Who said anything about a house?”
When they’d pulled up to a circular drive in the front, Sinead climbed out, laying her hands on top of the car to take a look at the place. “Beautiful,” she whispered, hoping that Brigg hadn’t heard her. She didn’t want him thinking she was too happy about their situation. He was still her prison warden, whether he had a beautiful house or not. As appealing as he and Cillian were, they were still two men in charge of her fate. Her life was entirely in their hands, a thought that made her tense with muted frustration.
Cillian slipped out of the back seat and lay a hand on her back. His touch was gentle, exquisite. For a moment Sinead let herself absorb the sensation, which sent a pulse of heat to the place between her legs. She wanted more of it. More Cillian. More Brigg. She shut her eyes as a quick fantasy flashed through her mind.
No, she scolded silently. Stop this. Stop enjoying them so much.
She shot him a quick sideways glare, and he jerked his hand away. “Sorry,” he said. “Just wanted to guide you in. I wasn’t trying to be cheeky.”
“Right,” she replied, her tone icy to mask her arousal. “Of course. I’m your prisoner, after all. You have every right to man-handle me and push me around.”
“You’re not my prisoner, Sinead,” he protested. “I’m only here to help. I want you to be as comfortable as possible. So does Brigg.”
She swung around to glare at him. He looked so baffled, so confused, so bloody handsome. Bastard. “Ah, but you don’t want me to leave, do you?”
“No,” he said, “I don’t, for many reasons. I’m very sorry if that bothers you.” He shot her a frustrated glance before turning and leading the way towards the front door. He seemed to want to prove that he wasn’t about to force her to do anything.
Despite Sinead’s quiet anger, she found it awfully hard not to stare at those thighs of his, encased in their well-fitting jeans, or his arse, which was all bite-able, muscular perfection.
Prison guards shouldn’t be so delicious looking. It was hardly fair.
She trudged after him, trying to focus on the bath she’d be taking soon. Must not think about men. Must think about everything but.
Butt.
Buttocks.
Damn it.
Brigg, who’d been observing their interaction silently, opened the front door and ushered them inside, where a vast foyer of middle eastern-looking tile awaited them. A silver chandelier hung overhead, opulent and exquisite, and hand-painted tiles adorned the walls and floor.
“I hadn’t pegged you for the billionaire fancy-pants type,” Sinead said, throwing her host—or was it captor—a quick look. She flinched in pain when she turned her head, remembering how hard it was to look around with the metal collar on. More reminders that she was nothing more than a prisoner who’d been moved to nicer accommodations.
“That’s because I’m nothing of the sort,” Brigg replied. “This is rather too posh for me. I haven’t tackled this part of the house yet; all this extravagance is left over from the previous owner. I have far more modest tastes. Come, I’ll show you upstairs.”
He led the way towards the staircase, seeming to understand that she didn’t want to be pushed along from behind.
When Sinead reached the second floor, she turned back to see that Cillian had stayed downstairs. He was staring at a work of art on the wall, apparently not particularly interested in her at the moment.
Perhaps she’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t find her attractive, didn’t actually want to touch her in the least. Well, it was for the best.
So why did the thought of it make her ache?
Chapter 10
Sinead followed Brigg to a large suite at the house’s eastern end. “It’s quiet here,” he said. It was true; isolated at the end of a long hallway, it did seem the best place in the massive dwelling to hope for some privacy.
In the bedroom was a huge king-sized bed decked out in green and white embroidered cotton. Its frame was dark mahogany, its posts ten feet tall at least. Something about the piece seemed very ancient, and Sinead couldn’t help but wonder if it had been used by royalty at any point in its history.
She could have asked, of course. But asking questions meant revealing that she was interested rather than agitated, and she didn’t trust the other shifter enough yet to let him know she found him intriguing. She was supposed to feel disdain for him, or, at the very least, a little hostility. Brigg worked for the damned enemy, after all.
By the large window was a comforta
ble-looking seat covered in lush cushions, a perfect sort of nook for enjoying a good book. As soon as she saw it, Sinead darted over to take a peek outside only to behold an incredible, expansive garden below, complete with a well-groomed hedge maze. At its centre was a large, round stone embedded in the grass that looked like an oversized sundial.
Her Lioness purred inside her to think that she might soon get a chance to roam through the garden’s narrow pathways. Well, well. This place might be heaven, after all. Her homey prison was beginning to seem more and more appealing.
“The dresser is stocked with clothing. I hope that’s all right; I took the liberty of finding out your size from Collins. Just so you know, you have this entire wing of the house to yourself.” Brigg spoke quietly, his voice taking on the same gentleness it had in her cell. When she turned around, she saw that he was still standing by the door, as far from her as possible. He was trying to send her a message: I am no threat. Well, either that, or You smell like putrid fish. “The kitchen’s at the back of the house. There’s food, drink, anything you need.”
“All right then,” she replied. “Listen, before I do anything else, could I take a bath?”
“There’s no need to ask permission. Believe it or not, I want you to make yourself at home.” Brigg strode over to a door that led to the ensuite bathroom. When Sinead joined him, she let out a gasp of pleasure that would have been impossible to hold in. Not only was the bathroom enormous; it was stocked with fluffy white towels, two new-looking robes, and some clean slippers. Its tiles were white marble, its floor space larger than most London flats. The bath tub alone looked big enough for an elephant to go for a satisfying swim.
“This place is bloody amazing,” Sinead said, drawing the briefest smile from Brigg.
“It’s a little fancier than that cell where they were keeping you,” he replied, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. Still keeping his distance, she thought. Still trying to prove something to me.
“Listen, Sinead,” he said, “about that—I’m so sorry for what they did to you. I’m sorry that you’re mixed up in any of this. None of it is right, and I understand your reluctance to put your faith in me. My only intention is to do what’s best for you. I…I couldn’t leave you in that cell.”
She turned and looked at him. “I know you’re sorry. But not sorry enough to stop working for them,” she said, “right?”
Brigg’s eyes flashed a quick look of irritation, and then it was gone. She knew immediately that she’d irked his Dire Wolf, challenged him by challenging his character, his integrity. But she wanted to know who she was dealing with. Was Brigg really as good as he seemed, or was he just another man who would wander into her life, use her, then discard her? Was he as selfish as all the other fuckers she’d involved herself with over her life?
She could have assumed the best, of course. But it was so much easier to anticipate the worst. No one had ever lived up to her hopes. Every single person she’d ever known—shifter or human—had let her down. Brigg and Cillian would probably be no exception. In all likelihood they were just a couple of horny men who thought of her as a slab of meat waiting to be devoured.
“I could quit my job, yes,” he said, a low growl betraying the presence of his Wolf. “I could walk away and never look back. But if I had done so before yesterday, you’d still be in that cell. Is that what you want?” His eyes narrowed with the words. Clearly, he wanted her to see that he wasn’t the enemy.
And for a moment, it worked. A pang of remorse hit her like a fist, square in the chest. She was being so bloody awful right now. This man had quite literally saved her life, and here she was, trying way too hard to come up with every possible reason to dislike him.
But that was the thing—she couldn’t dislike him, no matter how hard she tried. He was so kind, so protective. He exuded respect and understanding. And fuck, he was gorgeous. She reminded herself of it as her eyes slipped over his features, tracing his nose, his lips, and a sudden flood of desire washed over her, making her forget any trace of anger that had built up.
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I want. I want…” She stepped towards him, reaching a hand out, but she yanked it back, reminding herself to be wary. “The truth is, I don’t know what I want.”
Brigg’s expression softened. “It’s fine. I get your confusion; you think I’m your enemy because you’re stuck here with me. But Sinead, I really need you to try and understand that Cillian and I are here to help you. Everything we’re doing right now is to make sure that you will be free. Free of prisons, free of fear. We will do everything we can to ensure your release.”
“Thank you. I can’t say that I much enjoy being locked up.”
Brigg stared at her for a moment, sizing her up in a way that made her feel self-conscious. “You’ve lived a solitary life,” he said, “haven’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I think you’re rather like me,” he replied. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Alone, but not necessarily lonely. You know, I gave up long ago on the idea of being with someone. I always attributed that to my flaws, but now I’m beginning to think it was something else entirely.”
“You think it’s because I’m flawed that I’m alone?” she asked defensively.
He shook his head. “God, no. You have no flaws that I can see,” he replied. “You’re fucking perfect.”
His words melted some icy part of her heart, and she took another step towards him. Accidental, because she stopped herself again, drawing back in horror at how easy it was to give in to her attraction to the man. It was as though a magnet had pulled her to him and it took all her force to resist his natural lure. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You don’t want me telling you that you’re beautiful,” he replied. It wasn’t a question. “You’re a modern woman. Sometimes I forget that it’s inappropriate to say such things—”
“No,” she replied angrily, “I don’t give a toss about whether it’s appropriate or not. I just don’t want you giving me compliments.”
“Why not?”
She pulled her chin down and drew her eyes up to his. “Because it makes me like you,” she said, “and I’m not sure I can handle liking you. The same goes for Cillian. You two are…” She didn’t tell him what she was really thinking—that she’d never allowed herself to get close to anyone in her life. That she wanted love—desperately, in fact—but she was afraid everything that came with it. That she was beginning to think that she could fall in love with one or both of these men.
Far. Too. Easily.
A mysterious sort of frown settled on Brigg’s face. “Well, I’d best leave you to it,” he said coldly. “I’m sorry that you still have that fucking collar on. As soon as I can, I’ll remove it. For now, I’m afraid you won’t be able to shift.”
“As long as it doesn’t rust in the tub,” she replied, throwing him a quick smile, grateful to be off the topic of feelings for a little.
“It won’t,” he said, advancing towards her. He pulled a hand up and tapped the metal gently. “Stainless steel,” he said, staring into her eyes.
“Right,” she replied, staring back at him, frozen for a moment. That one small gesture of his had been enough for her to want to grab his arm, to pull him to her, to press her lips to his and feel herself sink into his embrace. She wanted to ask him to join her in the tub, to make love to her. To remind her what it was to feel alive and free.
But once again she fought back the impulse, holding herself back with every ounce of her strength. Bad idea, Sinead. Bad idea to let yourself want someone so badly that it hurts. Bad idea to feel anything at all. Better to be numb.
“I need to…” she said, pulling her gaze to the tub. “I think I should…”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be downstairs if you want anything.” With that, Brigg turned on his heel and left, shutting the door behind him.
If you want anything.
Sinead lay in the tub, bubbles lapping at her skin as she thought about what it was that she really desired.
All her life, she’d told herself that she didn’t want to be owned, to be held prisoner by a bond with any man. Yet now…now all she wanted, all she could think about, was the strange erotic spell that the two Dire Wolf shifters had cast on her.
She closed her eyes and drew a hand over her breast, peaking her nipple under her own touch as she let her mind go to a place she seldom visited. What was it about the two men, anyhow? It took a good deal for her to be attracted to anyone. So why on earth was she so turned on by both of them?
Maybe this was some extra-twisted form of Stockholm Syndrome. Or was it hero worship? Maybe she’d fallen not for her captors, but for her saviours.
“I’ve gone stark raving mad,” she murmured, letting out a soft chuckle as she relished the sensation of hot water stroking her every curve. “It’s the only possible explanation.” But as she let her body sink deep into the tub, she didn’t feel mad in the least.
For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.
The only thing that could have made the moment better were those two sets of Dire Wolf shifter’s eyes, staring at her once again.
Chapter 11
After making a quick phone call in his bedroom, Brigg made his way down to the kitchen, where he found Cillian staring into space. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air, so Brigg grabbed a couple of cups, filled them and handed one to his friend, who turned to look at him with an inquisitive expression.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s settling in,” Brigg said. “Slowly, but not at all surely.”
“Good, I suppose,” the other man said before taking a sip. His eyes moved about the room slowly as though he were sizing it up. “This place will be good for her, I think,” he muttered softly. “You were smart to bring her here.”
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