“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

Maybe not physically, she thought, but there are other kinds of pain. In twenty-four hours she’d become hopelessly infatuated with a thief. Mesmerized by a stranger who dripped “forbidden” and “secrets” and “criminal.” She shook her head, straining to pull away from him. Accepting a bribe was one thing, losing herself was another. And she had no doubt that she could get lost in such a man. They simply weren’t in the same league.

His hands went back up to her hair and he clutched tightly, his head down, and for a moment she thought he would refuse to let her go. Then he raised his head and looked at her, his gaze dark and intense.

“I want you, lass.”

“You hardly even know me,” she retorted shakily. She suspected that when Dageus MacKeltar told a woman he wanted her in such a voice, he didn’t hear “no” often, if ever.

“I wanted you the moment I saw you on the street.”

“On the street?” He’d seen her on the street? When? Where? The thought that he’d noticed her before they’d met in his bedroom made her feel breathless.

“You were arriving when I was leaving. I was in the cab behind you. I saw you and I—” he broke off abruptly.

“What?”

He smiled bitterly and traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, still swollen and damp from his kisses. “And I told myself a lass like you was no’ for me.”

“Why?”

The desire in his eyes ebbed, replaced by such a remote, empty expression that she felt it like a slap. He’d shut her out. Completely. She could feel it, and didn’t like it one bit. Felt bereft.

He stood abruptly. “Come, lass, let’s put you to bed.” He smiled mockingly, another one of those that didn’t reach his cool eyes. “Alone, if you insist.”

“But why? Why would you think that?” It was terribly important to her to hear his answer.

He didn’t answer her. Merely escorted her to the bathroom, offered her towels for a shower if she wished—which she was definitely too uncomfortable to do and refused, but washed up and brushed her teeth again—then motioned her toward the bed so he could tie her.

“Must you do this?” she protested as he knotted the first scarf.

“No’ if I’m sleeping with you,” was his cool reply.

She thrust her wrist at him.

“I know you’re untouched, if ’tis what fashes you.”

“And we both know you’re not,” she muttered irritably. Mr. Multiple-Magnums-beneath-the-bed. How did he know she was a virgin? Was it stamped on her forehead? Were her kisses so inept?

“’Twas naught but practice for the day I might please you.”

She shivered. Smooth, very smooth. “If you don’t tie me, I promise I won’t try to escape.”

“Aye, you would.”

“I give you my word.”

With a graceful flick of his hand, he tossed one of the pillows from the bed.