Heartless Hunter (Crimson Moth, #1) (26)

He gave her an incredulous look. “And do what? Make conversation with Bart Wentholt?” He scowled. “I have more stimulating conversations with my horse.”

It was so unexpected—Gideon Sharpe, making a joke—that a laugh burst out of Rune.

He let go of her hand, falling quiet. When her giggling subsided, she looked over to find a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Your laugh is like a fuse,” he said. “It lights you up.”

Rune’s heart thudded. No one had ever told her that before.

He doesn’t mean it.

Gideon Sharpe was a cold, heartless murderer. Not a softhearted suitor. He played the same game she did, and was more skilled at it than she’d thought.

Fear nipped at her.

Perhaps bringing him here had been a mistake.

Her gaze trailed over him: the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, the shadow of soon-to-be stubble darkening his cheeks. He was so much bigger than her. If he wanted to, he could easily lift her from this seat and carry her to the bed.

Rune froze.

Where had that thought come from?

She reached for the cup of wine, a little shaky, no longer caring about the spell it carried—she was already enchanted—and took another sip, careful to conceal the bottom with her cupped hands. She needed to calm her nerves. Their eyes locked over the lip of the cup, and Rune slowly lowered the wine into her lap.

As if knowing the effect he had on her, Gideon leaned in. Again, he lingered. Touching his temple to hers, running the backs of his fingers tenderly up her arm. Her skin blazed in his wake. His touch was stronger than the drink, pulling her under.

How is he so good at this?

Rune closed her eyes, trying to stay in control. “How much time do you have?”

“My next shift starts at dawn.”

His witch-hunting shift, she told herself. Emphasis on the witch-hunting.

When his thumb stroked the line of her jaw, Rune had to bite down on a whimper. It was almost as if he were a weapon specifically designed to compromise her.

“Hunting anyone in particular?” she asked.

“Perhaps.” His breath was hot on her neck.

“Who?”

He paused. “Why do you want to know?”

Rune swallowed. Was that suspicion in his voice, or flirtation?

Danger, danger, said her brain.

“What do you do with them, when you—”

Taking her chin gently in his fingers, Gideon turned her face toward his. His eyes were intense, his breathing shallow and uneven.

“Rune,” he said, pupils dilating. He looked hungry suddenly. Like a man who hadn’t eaten in years. “Less talking.”

He’s going to kiss me, she realized.

And the scariest thing was, Rune wanted him to. More than she wanted information, more than she wanted to rescue Seraphine … in this moment, she wanted to know how his mouth would feel against hers. If it would be soft or rough. If it would be as tender as his fingers, or if he’d give in to that ravenous hunger, taking his fill of her.

It shocked her out of her stupor.

Rune was no longer the mimic spider, luring her victim into a trap. She was inside her own trap … about to be devoured by her prey.

Desperate to extricate herself, Rune remembered the cup still in her hands.

Before Gideon completely overwhelmed her, she dumped her wine down the front of his suit.





TWELVE

RUNE




GIDEON SHOT LIKE LIGHTNING from the sofa. On his feet, he stumbled away from Rune, staring down at the dark stain seeping through his rare and expensive jacket.

Guilt pricked her like a pin.

“Oh, Gideon! I’m so sorry …” Rising from the love seat, Rune grabbed the wool shawl hanging off the back of her dresser chair. She felt shaky. Light-headed. “Clumsy me. Let me clean you up …”

He backed away from her, arms raised. “It’s fine. Please—don’t ruin your shawl.” He unbuttoned the jacket, shrugged it off, and held it out to inspect the damage.

“I’ll call for Lizbeth. Maybe if she soaks it—”

“What is going on here?” a voice exclaimed from the doorway.

Rune spun to find Verity entering the room, pearls gleaming from her neck and wrists. She looked windblown and out of breath, as if she’d heard Rune’s startled cry and, expecting the worst, ran to her bedroom.

At the sight of Gideon, Verity abruptly halted, staring like she’d caught them in the middle of something scandalous. Her heart-shaped mouth formed a shocked O.

“This appears to be my cue to leave,” said Gideon. Folding his soggy jacket over one arm, he caught Rune’s eye. “I’ll see myself out, Miss Winters. Good night.”

Before she could answer, he trod past a still-gaping Verity and disappeared into the hall.

When he was out of earshot, Verity hissed, “Are you out of your mind?”

She’d gone dark as a thundercloud.

“That”—Verity’s index finger sliced the air in the direction Gideon had gone—“was not the plan. Gideon Sharpe is not on your list!”

Rune crept to the door and peered out, watching the Blood Guard captain’s form recede down the hall. She was warm all over, her body humming with the memory of their close encounter. When Gideon was good and truly gone, she said, “That’s because he’s never shown interest.”