To keep his mind in check, he considered the curse.
He’d been so sure, back when Riley found the dagger, that she was a schemer taking advantage of a piece of local folklore that had gotten out of hand. But then when he tried to catch her in a lie about her abilities, she’d led him to that cave, where it became harder to reconcile what he saw in front of him with what he thought he knew.
He was chained to her in an ancient set of iron manacles facing a mounting pile of evidence he couldn’t explain away. And she’d introduced the tantalizing possibility that somehow sleeping with her might satisfy some supernatural mandate.
What was a scientist to do?
The idea spread like a vine in his brain. He had the chance to test a working theory and have Riley in his arms for one more night. Clark could see for himself what it meant to attempt to break a curse.
He’d get to kiss her. His cock throbbed against his zipper. Be inside her.
His mind and body were in agreement: the offer was too tempting to resist.
“Riley.” He turned to her. “Would you do it?”
“Do what?” Her voice was a whisper, the shape of her next to him a moonlight-drenched outline in the dark.
“Would you let me”—Don’t say it like that, you utter knob—“would you have sex with me again to break the curse?”
“Um.” She curled her free hand under her cheek. “I guess, assuming you were willing, I would.”
Just from that hardly eager declaration, he had to dig his nails into the meat of his palm.
“It wouldn’t be the hardest thing I’ve tried,” she said, her voice so close, he knew he could take the chain between them and haul her to him. Could fill his hands with her sweet curves in an instant.
“We’d both know, I suppose,” he said, “that the only reason we were doing it was to test your theory.” Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you want me beyond your job. Beyond sense.
“Absolutely.” She raised her head to nod at him, cautious optimism in her voice now. “That would be one hundred percent crystal clear. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t even be very sexy, if that makes you feel better. Since it’s for the ritual, you could think of it as sperm donation, almost!”
“Good idea.” So much for the remains of his ego. “I’ll try that.”
“Are you saying yes, then?” Riley sat up against the headboard. “You’ll do it? You’ll help?”
As if taking her to bed was some bloody act of charity instead of a privilege.
“Yes,” Clark said into the darkness. “As long as we both go in with the proper boundaries, I don’t see how it could hurt.” He was such a fucking liar.
The next thing he knew, there was a heavy metallic click.
Chapter Eighteen
You’re a fucking professional. Act like it. Wait, that wasn’t right. Riley wasn’t a fucking professional. Just someone who happened to need to fuck as part of her job. Shit, it still sounds like—The point was, she could remain detached about this ritual. She would treat it like every other slightly off-center strategy she’d ever attempted in the hopes of overthrowing a curse—trusting her instincts and going forth with conviction.
Needless to say, she was giving herself a pep talk on the way to the castle. It had been three days since the manacles released them. Three days since Clark had stared down at their miraculously free wrists and said, “Well, you’ve got to admit that seems like an encouraging sign.”
The blacksmith who’d taken the train all the way to Inverness was less than pleased to be told her assistance was no longer needed upon arrival. But once Clark assured her he wouldn’t be pressing for a refund, she decided to sign up for a loch tour and made a holiday out of it.
After so much prolonged exposure to one another, Clark and Riley both agreed that taking some time apart to regroup made sense before they attempted the ritual. She would read and research while he drafted his report for the HES.
Gran had left some interesting theories about sex rituals to consider, and cited plenty of external sources, but no two curses were the same. The more Riley read, the more apparent it became that she would have to develop something from scratch.
Once she’d done so, she realized they’d be lucky if they were ready to attempt this thing before the week was out. Even with Clark helping, it required a surprising amount of prep work.
They were meeting now to iron out their game plan.
Riley wasn’t nervous. She was sweating because her sweater was too tight.
When she’d sent a text yesterday that put him in charge of location scouting, Clark suggested they reconvene in his first choice—the great hall. After a bit of awkward pleasantries better suited to strangers than people who had seen each other naked and would again, they finally got down to brass tacks.
“Okay.” Riley paced in front of the camp chair where Clark sat. “So, the central goal of the ritual is to prove we’re not enemies, right?”
“Hmmm?” There was a crinkling of plastic as he pulled a Clif Bar out of his pocket.
“Clark.” She stopped pacing to snap at him. “Seriously. I need you to buy into this whole thing. It’s not gonna work if you’re expecting us to fail.”
She already had enough doubts about letting him into her process, giving him so many opportunities to mock or dismiss her ideas well before she took her clothes off.
“I’m committed.” He made a show of shoving the granola bar back in his pocket to demonstrate. Then, his voice serious, he said, “Go on, I promise I’m listening.”
“Fine.” Riley didn’t really have a choice but to take him at his word. “The ritual I’ve written has four steps, each one designed to show the curse that we’ve abandoned our hostility toward one another. It’s all about demonstrating trust, and”—she wet her lips—“tenderness.”
There was no getting around that last part; she’d checked.
“It won’t be easy to pull off. There’s a lot we’ll need to set up, and once it starts, if either one of us balks, it could blow the whole thing.”
Clark pulled out his notebook and uncapped the pen tucked inside. “What do you need me to do?”
As Riley outlined the steps of the ritual, she made sure Clark had an opportunity to weigh in on and agree to each act. By the end of it, she actually felt confident that his questions and suggested tweaks had made things better.
Well, mostly she felt confident.
“Are you sure you can build a tub using raw materials from a garden supply store and the remains of one of those old stoves in the kitchen?” She frowned down at the sketch he’d done of a proposed design.
“You just worry about your part of the list”—he closed his notebook with a clap—“and I’ll worry about mine.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “Then there’s just one more thing.”
“Hmm?” Clark began packing up, folding his chair and shoving it into its little carrying bag.
“I think it would be best if you didn’t masturbate leading up to the ritual so that we can make sure you have, you know, enough stuff.”
His head shot up, “Are you implying that I underperformed in that area last time?”