His gaze sharpened with suspicion, the sharp ridges of his cheekbones flushed a dull shade of red that she could clearly see in the thickening lavender twilight. For a moment it looked as if he was going to demand how she knew, but then he scraped his hands back through his short black hair, the raised position of his arms accentuating the predatory power of his muscles, making him look like some kind of carnal god come down to tempt her with the savage beauty of his body. Pressing one hand to her pounding heart, Saige could have sworn that a nearly silent, gritty burst of laughter rumbled deep in his chest, though the seductive sound never quite reached her ears.
“Do you read minds, then?” he asked.
Unwilling to reveal the truth, she hedged, saying, “I’m not blind, Mr. Quinn. It wasn’t hard to read your thoughts with that look you had on your face.”
She couldn’t believe it, but his blush actually deepened. “Christ, you Buchanans are all the same, aren’t you?” He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, staring at her with a searing intensity that made her feel hot and cold all at once.
Taking a deep breath, Saige searched his expression…and found herself mesmerized by the shifting heat and shadows in his dark, beautiful eyes. Was he after the Marker? Or was it something else he wanted?
“What do you know about the Buchanans? What exactly do you know about me?” Other than the fact that you know I want to bite you, she silently groaned, thinking uncomfortably of the vision. It was madness, how much the idea of sinking her teeth into him excited her. The heaviness and stinging heat in her gums was growing worse, signaling the release of the Merrick’s fangs.
It won’t be long now, she thought. Like a match set to a fuse, there was something about the tantalizing Michael Quinn that had her primal blood surging, pulling her awakening closer to the surface…urging it on.
Which meant that her hunger would grow stronger, demanding to be fed.
He watched her with that hard, silent gaze, making her feel as if he were listening in on her private thoughts, which she seriously hoped wasn’t the case. Finally, after what seemed like a long, painful forever, he answered her question in a low rumble of words. “I know enough to believe that you understand what’s going on here. I also know about your family, your mother, even the cross you found in Italy. And I’m also pretty damn sure that you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that I’m a Watchman.” He paused, as if waiting for her to deny it, but she simply stood there, dazed, wondering what in God’s name she was going to do. Being a Watchman meant that he was one of the good guys, which should have been a relief…and yet, Saige couldn’t deny that she felt more restless than ever.
“You can trust me, Saige. If we’re going to make it out of here alive, you have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” She stared, thinking he was unlike anything or anyone she’d ever imagined as a Watchman—and yet the truth burned in that dark, smoldering gaze. She believed him. But if he was what he claimed, then he was clearly breaking every one of the Watchmen’s rules. “I know how this is supposed to work,” she murmured, unable to disguise her suspicion. “You’re meant to watch me, to keep your distance. Not walk right up to me in the middle of a crowd…while thinking about…about what you were thinking,” she finished lamely.
“You know what they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Well, this is one of them.” He pulled a photo of her out of his back pocket, and held it up for her to see. “I have orders to get your troublesome little ass back to Colorado, to your family. Your brother Riley gave me this to help me find you.”
Saige looked at the picture taken of her two years ago, when she and Riley had spent Christmas at home with Elaina, then back at the man who called himself Quinn. “Why would Riley send you after me? And what was all that about back at the bar?” she demanded, only to immediately wish that she hadn’t, too aware of the fact that the more she thought about that explicit image, the warmer she got, until it felt as if she were melting from the inside out, and her stomach actually gave an embarrassing growl.
Cool it, Saige. You need to stay sharp…not starving.
Unfortunately, the primal creature awakening within her had other ideas.
Quinn rolled one of those broad, bronzed shoulders in a casual gesture, as though the situation was no big deal and she’d overreacted. “Yeah, I was thinking about having sex with you—but that doesn’t mean that I’ll do it. Doesn’t even mean that I want to.”
Huh. She didn’t know whether to be relieved, insulted or strangely disappointed. “Well, gee, thanks.”
“Look, my temporary case of lust, or insanity, or whatever you want to call it has been cured,” he added with an impatient scowl, probing meaningfully at the nasty gash at the edge of his eyebrow. “So let’s just get the hell out of here before that thing tracks us down.”
He returned her picture to his back pocket, then reached down and picked his T-shirt up from where she’d dropped it on the ground, his muscles bunching across his chest and arms with each movement of his beautiful body. Saige blinked, wondering what kind of gene pool a guy had to come from to look that good, the dusky, vibrant glow of twilight only accentuating his raw masculinity, as if he were some dark, sylvan creature escaped from a primeval forest—and she seriously hoped there wasn’t an embarrassing stream of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.
“What was up with the blindfold, anyway?” she asked, her voice oddly husky as she watched him pull the shirt over his head, the soft black cotton tight against his powerful build, hard biceps stretching the seams at the sleeves.
Despite his lingering anger, he slanted her a laughing look. “Your brothers mentioned your fear of flying.”
“So you thought not being able to see would make it better?” She shook her head, her tone dry as she rubbed her palms on the front of her shorts. “And for the record, I’m not afraid of flying. I’m just a firm believer that if the gods had meant for us to take to the skies, they would have given us wings.”
He didn’t say anything, just arched one midnight brow in her direction, and she pressed her lips together, fighting the ridiculous urge to grin. Since the second she’d first set eyes on this man, she’d felt like a hormonal wreck, going from one extreme to the other in a dizzying maelstrom of emotions that were wreaking havoc on her sanity. Prickly. Frustrated. On edge and uncomfortably agitated—while at the same time filled with some odd, inexplicable sense of security. She felt sheltered and threatened all at once, aware of him in a way that she’d never experienced before, the disquieting sensation flowing through her with piercing intensity. In the past, Saige had always been at ease around men, working among them as an equal…just another one of the guys. She didn’t usually take notice of them as sexual creatures, not even the blatantly beautiful ones—and never in the way that she was “noticing” Michael Quinn.
And her “fascination,” for lack of a better word, was officially freaking her out.
Not knowing much about how Watchmen shifted into the shapes of their beasts, she wanted to ask him where the breathtaking black wings had gone, but bit back the oddly personal question, feeling as if it breached some intimate barrier that she couldn’t cross. Not when he was staring at her as if he couldn’t stop. “Hand me the photo,” she said instead, holding out one hand.
“Why?” His tone was odd…almost wary as he held her stare. For such a testosterone-oozing male, she couldn’t help but notice that he had the most amazing eyelashes, ones that actually cast shadows on his sharp cheekbones.
“Just hand me the photo,” she repeated, snapping her fingers like some kind of commando she-bitch. God only knew she wasn’t making much of a first impression, but she chalked it up to circumstance, seeing as how it’d been a bitch of a night—one that was only just getting started.
Saige took the picture from his grasp when he offered it to her, and