Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

But that’s the whole problem. I can’t trust. She’d picked up most of the pieces and had continued on with her life, but her ability to trust people—and especially men—had never fully recovered. Somewhere deep inside her there was still a scared little girl hiding under the covers and listening to the sounds of trust being shattered.

She rubbed her forehead. Her headache was beginning to come back. “I really don’t want to discuss all this right now.”

He glanced at her, frustration evident in the blue of his eyes. “We have to discuss it sometime.”

“Yes. But not now.” Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.

They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.

Doyle ushered her through the back door. “Go have a nice, long bath. I’ll prepare dinner.”

“You don’t want me to help?”

He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. “Did Helen?”

She grinned. “No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”

“I think I’ll take it as a sign.” He tossed her one of the plastic bags. “Don’t turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead.”

She looked inside the bag. There wasn’t only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner and soap. “Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know.”

“You have a ceremony to perform at midnight, remember? There are rituals to follow if you don’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention. One of them is cleansing.”

Unease slithered through her. She’d all but forgotten about the ceremony. “So using these will help keep the bad things away?”

He nodded. “Partly. There are other things we have to do, but we’ll worry about them later. Go have your bath. Let me worry about that side of things.”

When it came to magic, she had no choice but to trust him. She’d never really taken much notice of the ways of witchcraft, even though Helen had often warned her that she might regret it. Still, she hesitated. “What about the bandages I’m wearing?”

“Take them off. Camille’s herbs should have worked their magic on the wounds by now anyway.”

She nodded and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the taps, she poured in the oil, then sat on the edge of the tub as she waited for it to fill. Scents filled the air—an odd combination of basil, geranium and pine, mixed in with something else she couldn’t define. It was relaxing and yet somehow invigorating.

She turned off the water, then stripped and climbed in. For a long time she lay there, enjoying the heat and the moment of peace. When the water finally began to cool, she reluctantly sat up and washed. Climbing out, she dragged some clothes out of her bag and dressed. Then she blew out the candle and walked barefoot to the kitchen.

Only to stop in surprise at the doorway. Doyle hadn’t just cooked, he’d created magic. A pristine white cloth covered the table. Candles flickered in the center, flushing warmth across the length of the table but barely touching the darkness beyond that. Wineglasses and cutlery glimmered in the golden light, and the mismatched patterns on the side plates somehow added to the appeal.

He appeared out of the shadows and walked toward her, eyes as warm as the atmosphere he’d created. “Table for two? I think we can manage to squeeze you in. This way, my lady.”

He offered her his arm. Smiling, she hooked her arm through his and let herself be led to the table.

“For your dining pleasure tonight,” he continued, seating her, “we have a warm chicken salad, followed by a simple but appetizing dessert of strawberries soaked in Cointreau accompanied with freshly whipped cream.”

He picked up a paper napkin, fluffed it out and placed it on her lap. His fingers brushed her legs, and warmth shivered through her. She wondered again how she was going to survive the night without giving in to desire.

Wondered if she even really wanted to survive.

He opened the wine and poured them both a glass. Then he disappeared into the shadows, coming back moments later with the two entrées. He placed them, then sat opposite her and picked up his wine.

“To the bravest woman I have ever met,” he said softly.

Heat flushed through her cheeks. She wasn’t brave. If she were, she wouldn’t be sitting here dithering about her feelings for this man. She’d take what fate offered and let the future worry about itself.

She picked up her glass and met his gaze. No matter what her personal fears might be, right now he deserved some sort of honesty from her. “To the only man I have ever been tempted to trust. To the sexiest thief I have ever met.”

His smile shimmered right through her, settling warmly in her heart. He touched his glass lightly to hers, then motioned to her salad. “Eat, before the chicken gets cold.”

She ate. The meal was perfect, soothing her hunger without sitting like a weight in her stomach. She sighed with contentment when she finished and picked up her wine.