Zanders, she chided herself instantly, stop thinking like that! She was not going to romanticize things. She’d promised herself that earlier, while sitting in the airport with him, waiting for their flight to leave. He’d been so attentive, walking her to the ladies’ room, taking her for a snack, never leaving her side, yet with that eternal coolness. That infuriating reserve, that tight containment. It was no wonder women fell hard for him; such reserve challenged a woman, made her want to be the one who got inside Dageus MacKeltar. But Chloe wasn’t going to make that mistake. So far as she could see, she was woman-of-the-hour, nothing more. She was determined to be smart about things, to view the trip as an adventure, to take things purely at face value and not read any more into them than there was.

Still, Grandda would’ve liked it. . . .

Her thoughts returned to touch briefly on the morning again, but on a less disturbing part. After the man had jumped, Dageus had stripped her fast and frantically, the look on his face enough to mute any protest. Scarcely bridled rage had emanated from him, making her think her assailant might just have been granted a more merciful death by jumping. His strong hands had been shaking when he’d begun tending her. She’d never seen someone so filled with fury behave so gently. He’d sponged the wine from her, cleansed and bandaged her wounds, all the while resolutely ignoring her state of undress.

It seemed the stronger his emotions, the more rigidly he controlled himself. That was a hypothesis she was curious to examine further. But why the fury? she wondered. Because someone had dared to trespass on his property? Messed up his home? A woman inclined to romanticizing things might have read some emotion for her into it, but Chloe wasn’t going to be that fool.

With a soft sigh, she opened her eyes slowly to find him staring straight at her. He didn’t speak, just looked at her. In the shadows, his chiseled face was breathtaking, savagely masculine.

His eyes.

She got lost in them for a long moment, wondering how she could have ever thought them tiger-gold. They were the color of dark whisky. And filled with some emotion. She stared. Something like . . .

Despair?

Deep beneath the coolness and mockery, well hidden beneath the relentless seduction, was it possible that Dageus MacKeltar hurt?

Don’t read into things, she reminded herself. Face value says the man looks like he wants to kiss you, not give you his babies, Zanders.

God, he’d make beautiful babies though, a primordial, feminine part of her purred. That part of her that still bore the biological imprint from cavewoman days, and was drawn unerringly to the most able warrior and protector.