“I’m flattered.” In fact, he was wary. She was more observant than he wanted her to be, a needless complication. He should never have cleared off the balcony for her, never have taken her down to that small crescent of beach. Not that he didn’t have the perfect excuse—Archer had asked him to screw her. But since he had every intention of resisting temptation he should have just kept his distance.
It was definitely odd—usually he was either attracted to a woman or not, and there was nothing more likely to make him lose interest than complications. Sophie MacDonald was beyond complicated—she was a Gordian knot of epic proportions. The last thing
he needed to be doing was thinking about what she might like in bed. What would please her. How much she could feel.
A soft breeze came up, blowing her skirt against her motionless legs. “May I help you downstairs?” he said, seemingly the perfect gentleman, when in fact he wanted to hold her again, see if he could figure out exactly what was wrong with her lower limbs.
She shook her head. “I’m not invited down tonight. Archer decided I’ve had too much stimulation and need a quiet night in my room.” Her words were calm, her face expressionless, and yet he could practically feel the rage vibrating through her. Her mask was slipping, at least when he was around. Did she have any idea how dangerous that was?
“Nonsense.” Before she could realize what he was doing, he’d scooped her up out of the wheelchair. She resisted for a moment, but her legs were motionless.
“Archer isn’t going to like this,” she warned him.
He shifted her a little higher. “Put your arms around my neck so I don’t drop you,” he said, and he half-expected her to hit him. She hesitated, and then to his surprise did as she was told, her body relaxing against his just slightly. Just enough.
He looked down at her, and then he did one of the stupidest things he’d ever done in his entire life. He dropped his head down and brushed his mouth across hers, lightly.
Her shocked intake of breath was amusing. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, sounding angry and confused.
He shrugged, shifting her closer against his chest. “I wanted to see if I liked it.”
She was struggling under some strong emotion, but he couldn’t quite tell what it was. Fury? Longing? A combination of both? “And did you?”
She really had the most beautiful warm, brown eyes. No wonder a psychopath like Archer had fallen for her—who wouldn’t? “I don’t know yet,” he said lightly. “I’ll have to try it again when someone hasn’t slammed a fist into your mouth.” He waited for her to deny it. Kissing her had been a very bad idea, because he wanted more, and even if he ignored common sense and his mission, he couldn’t ignore the very real pain she must be feeling.
Her expression darkened. “No one slammed a fist into my mouth,” she snapped. “And if you try it again, that’s exactly what I’ll do to you.”
“Of course you will, Sophie,” he said dryly. “Ready for dinner, or should I see if there are other, less damaged parts of you I could kiss?”
She actually did try to hit him then—a lost cause when she was trapped in his arms. “No?” he said. “I’m willing to wait.” He started toward the door, opening it with ease and carrying her through it. “And don’t worry that your husband might object to your presence tonight—he wants to placate me while I sit around on this damned island waiting. Besides, I think he needs to look at your face.”
There was still tension in her body, but she said nothing as they started down the stairs. They met the burly guard halfway down, a pugnacious look on the man’s face. “Boss said you were to stay upstairs, missus,” he said, and made as if to take her from Malcolm’s arms.
Stupid move on his part. “She’s coming down for dinner,” Mal said flatly, considering his options. Normally in a situation like this he wouldn’t rock the boat. If the man, Joe, tried to take her away from him, he could disable him with a kick that he wouldn’t see coming, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to go that far. A bull like Joe wouldn’t be disabled long, even with a kick to the groin, and Mal didn’t want to be grappling on the stairs with Sophie in the way.
“Could you get my chair, Joe?” Sophie said.
Her request distracted the bodyguard long enough to let Mal think about what he was doing. Archer wouldn’t like a confrontation at this point any more than Mal did, and it could backfire on Joe.
Finally the man stepped back with a brief nod. “If you want to go downstairs, I’ll carry you,” he said finally, not giving up. “You know Mr. MacDonald doesn’t like other men touching you.”
“He’ll tolerate me,” Mal said, pushing past him. “And don’t bother with the wheelchair—I can take care of her.” He continued down the stairs, holding her carefully, not looking back.
“Now that you two dogs are finished fighting over me,” Sophie said in a caustic voice, “maybe you should just take me back . . .”
“Maybe you should stop letting men bully you,” Mal said.
He would have found her tart expression comical if it weren’t for the bruises. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Take me back upstairs.”
“I’m talking about men who would hurt you.”
She laughed out loud, the sound bitter. “And you’re exempt from that list?”
It shouldn’t have bothered him, but he did. Score one for Mrs. MacDonald. Maybe all her training hadn’t disappeared. He might even have to go as far as killing her—he was hardly a safe haven. If he knew anything about women, he knew that ones who have been abused tend to have a love-hate relationship with their abuser. She might want Archer dead, but she could just as easily hate whoever did the deed.
Archer was waiting for them by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his usual affable smile on his face, but Mal could see in his eyes that he’d done exactly what Archer wanted him to do. Tant pis. If Archer thought Mal was playing into his hands, so much the better.
“You changed your mind about coming down, darling!” Archer cooed. “I’m so glad. After that wicked fall I thought you might not feel able to join us. So clumsy of you. How many times have I told you to be careful?”