Isabeau pushed herself to her feet and waited for him to tell her in which direction she should move. She wasn’t afraid because she was with him—and that scared her more than her situation did. Deep inside, where no one else could see, she craved him. The man who had used her to set up her father and who’d then walked away, leaving her crushed. Devastated. Broken into little pieces. She wanted to rake and claw at her own face, at her heart, at whichever part of her was so weak as to still look at him with wanting—no, more—needing.

Conner straightened, his eyes settling on hers, wholly yellow-green now, pupils dilated, fixed and focused, penetrating. Even the green was disappearing, leaving a burning gold. She shivered. She would never get over that look, more animal than man. Why had she never noticed how different he was? He mesmerized for a reason.

He moved and her breath caught in her throat, watching the flow of muscles under the shirt clinging to his roped skin. As he drew close to her she felt his body heat, scented the wild cat hidden beneath his skin. Her cat leapt and for a moment there was a burst of joy spreading through her. Isabeau quickly clamped down on the emotion, shocked at her own treacherous cat.

He moved into her space, towering over her, one hand sliding along the side of her face, his thumb tipping up her chin. “I don’t like the way you look at me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her mouth went dry. “You’ve already done that.”

“I won’t again.”

It hurt just to look at him. To remember. To still want him. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not afraid of you, Conner.” But she was. Not physically. She didn’t believe he would harm her, but he had an unbreakable hold on her.

He gestured toward the dead body. “I told you to turn your face away. What did you think was going to happen when you asked for my help?”

“I knew exactly what to expect. There’re two more quite close to us and more in front of us. Do you know where Adan is?”

His expression hardened, his mouth set in implacable lines. “What the hell is up with you and Adan Carpio? He’s old enough to be your grandfather. He may not look it, but he is.”

Isabeau looked away from his piercing eyes. Accusing eyes. What exactly was he accusing her of? Having an affair with Adan? That was totally absurd. And what difference did it make anyway? He’d used her. He hadn’t fallen in love with her.

“Go to hell, Conner,” she snapped, and jerked her face from his hand before she was tempted to touch those four scars. Her fingertips ached.