Her heart thudded. She was wrong again. He was using more than psychological warfare. He meant to seduce both her mind and her body. And it didn't help that his gentle touch was igniting a trail of sparks along her thigh and hip. She sucked in a shaky breath. Okay. She could play this game, too. And once he was thoroughly distracted, she'd use her one remaining stake.
She placed her palms on his forearms and glided up and over his bulging biceps. Good heavens, no wonder he wielded that heavy sword so easily. "I suppose you're just the man to help me." She slid her hands onto his shoulders and gave him what she hoped was a seductive look.
She gasped. His eyes were red. And glowing. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Shit, this had to mean he was hungry. She needed to act fast. Remain calm. She forced her fingers to relax and slid her hands down his chest.
"Ye're so beautiful," he whispered, brushing her shoulder-length hair away from her neck.
Oh God, he was preparing her neck. But she was ready. Her hands had reached his waist. She fisted one hand and punched him in the gut while she whipped the final stake from her belt and aimed for his godforsaken heart.
"The devil take it, woman." He yanked the stake from her hand and slammed it into the ground beside her head.
With a gasp, she turned her head to look. Only an inch of the stake showed above ground. She'd be dead if he'd impaled her with it.
He placed a thumb on the rounded end of the stake, and with a growl, he pushed it so far into the ground, it made a hole. He glowered at her, his eyes still red but less luminous. "I was a fool to think ye could like me."
For some strange reason, she actually felt bad about disappointing him. "I had to defend myself. You were going to bite me."
"Nay, I only wanted to kiss you."
She snorted. "Right. A kiss with teeth. You were looking at my neck. And your eyes were red and glowing. You were hungry."
"Ah, lass." He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were turning back to their usual forest green. "'Tis a hunger of another sort."
What did a vampire need besides blood? Her question was answered when he shoved his sporran aside and lay close beside her. She gasped. He was pressed against her in a big way. Very big. Very swollen. Very hard. How could a cold, dead creature be so turned on?
And why did her hands itch to touch him? He had to be playing with her head. "You—you must be controlling my mind."
The corner of his mouth quirked. "Are ye having naughty thoughts?"
"No! I… " She didn't know what to say. Or think. She was supposed to be killing vampires, not lying next to one with a hard-on. She glanced over at the rhododendron bush where her bag of stakes was hidden. She'd never reach it in time if he attacked her.
"If you try to rape me, I'll hunt you to the—"
"Emma." He sat up with a jerk. "I would never harm you."
"You wouldn't have to. You would take control of my mind to make me willing. That's how you turn a woman into a victim."
"I have no desire to make ye a victim. I admire yer strength and fiery spirit."
Did he really? No. Emma rejected the warm, fuzzy feeling. Nothing was warm and fuzzy when it came to the Undead. "You're trying to confuse me. I won't have you playing games with my head."
His mouth twitched. "Can I play with yer body then?"
"No! I want you to leave me alone."
He nodded, his face growing sad. "Ye're right. Nothing good could come of this." He hefted himself to his feet.
She felt suddenly cold without him next to her. She sat up slowly and hugged herself for warmth.
He wandered to the tree where his knife was embedded. "I'll leave ye alone if ye agree to one thing." He yanked the knife loose. "Ye'll give up slaying."
"Never." She scrambled to her feet. "Your fellow vampires are murdering people. I have to protect the innocent."
"I know about evil vampires, lass. I've been fighting them for centuries."
"Yeah, right." She scoffed. "Then how come there are so many of them? You haven't been doing a very good job." As if she believed him in the first place.
"They have us outnumbered, that is true." He slid his knife into the sheath beneath his knee sock.
"Then I'm helping to even the score. I know what I'm doing."
"Nay, ye do not." He straightened, scowling at her. "Ye'd never survive a real fight. I lost count of how many times I could have killed ye tonight."
She raised her chin. "You can't make me stop."
"Then I'll need to be more persuasive." The look he gave her made her heart pound. "I'll see ye tomorrow." He picked up the stake she'd dropped by the trap. Then he strode over to the rhododendron and grabbed her bag of stakes. "Face the facts, Miss Wallace. Ye're out of business."
"You can't stop me. I have more stakes at home."
His wide mouth curled up in a smile. "Then perhaps I should drop in for a wee visit. Ye live in SoHo, aye?"
She swallowed hard. Her and her big mouth.
"Be sure to wear something sexy," he whispered, then vanished right before her eyes.
She glanced around to see if he had reappeared behind her. Or somewhere in the woods.
No, he was gone. He knew she couldn't hunt without her stakes. Wear something sexy.
Was he going to appear in her apartment tonight? Maybe she shouldn't go home. Maybe she should.
Damn him. He was messing with her mind. It was supposed to be so simple. Vampires were evil and deserved to die.
But he had refused to hurt her during the fight. In fact, he'd tried to protect her. Was it all a game to get her into his bed? And then what? Would he drain her dry like the bastards who'd killed her parents?
Slowly she wound up the rope she'd used to trap Angus MacKay. This much was clear. He meant to keep interfering. He meant to seduce her. The safest thing to do was a preemptive strike. Kill him. After all, it was self-defense.
Last night, that decision would have felt good. Now, she felt hesitant. Even sad. Damn him. His psychological warfare was already working.
CHAPTER 5
On the fifth floor of Roman's townhouse, Angus dropped the sack of stakes on the desk with a noisy clatter. He'd teleported to Roman's Upper East Side home so many times over the years, he no longer needed a sensory beacon. The journey was embedded in his psychic memory. He had merely closed his eyes, concentrated, and he was there. Even so, he lifted his kilt to make sure he'd arrived intact.
Bugger. He was still swollen. What the hell was wrong with him? It was one thing to lust after a mortal, but to desire one who wanted to kill him? Roman would have a field day analyzing that. Over the centuries, Angus had come to rely on the former monk for advice and counseling. Roman would probably announce that good ole Angus was suffering from some sort of middle-aged crisis, trying to prove his youth and vigor by seducing a beautiful mortal young enough to be his great, great, great, great granddaughter. Come to think of it, that was probably not enough greats.
He was being a fool. All he had to do was talk to her. Convince her to quit slaying. Getting her to like him wasn't on the agenda. She would never like him. Why torture himself by longing for the impossible?
"Och, 'tis you." Ian spoke behind him.
Angus quickly dropped his kilt and turned to greet Ian. "I've just returned."
Ian nodded, his gaze dropping to Angus's lopsided sporran. "I thought I heard some noise up here." His gaze shifted to the sack of stakes on the desk.
Angus removed his pewter flask from his sporran, using the opportunity to straighten the leather bag. "I was just about to refill my flask. Would ye like a wee dram?"
"Aye. Thank ye for offering. Most Vamps would not."
Angus headed toward the mini-bar. "Why wouldn't I?"