What would he look like if ever he cared about something, anything? If he ever cared about her?
She shivered and shuddered at the same time, simultaneously intrigued and dismayed.
All right. Enough mooning. Time to make him laugh. As soon as she succeeded, he had to take her home. They had a deal. And she had, what? A few days to get this done? Maybe a week? If they reached his home-realm first, she would fail. If she failed...
He expected Gillian to "try" to seduce him.
The moisture in her mouth dried. Could she try? Sex still topped her never-never list. Never acknowledge, never consider. Face it, she wore an imaginary chastity belt with no key.
So why had she dreamed of Puck last night? Dreamed of his lips on hers, his hands roaming over the curves of her body. Why had she liked it?
Upon awakening, she'd found her nipples hard, and her core hot, wet and aching.
The bond must be responsible. And okay, okay, maybe even Puck himself. He'd slept behind her, his strong arm wrapped around her, offering warmth. The fur on his legs had been soft, so soft; he hadn't complained when she'd rubbed against him. Even better, he hadn't made a pass at her.
But come on! One bizarre night couldn't overcome a lifetime of fear. She had to make the man laugh or cry. Something!
"Are these other-realms we're visiting attached to Earth or, like, part of another galaxy?" she asked.
"Both." He offered nothing more.
The ensuing silence scraped her nerves raw. How could he be so cold now? During his bath, he'd smoldered, giving her a look that said I will do wicked things to you and you'll beg me for more.
At the time, she'd been unprepared and had freaked out. Now, she kinda wanted to see that look again. He'd just...he'd been so distant with her.
He moved a branch out of their path. When a leaf attempted to bite his wrist, he crunched the foliage in his powerful fist.
Gillian watched, her fascination with Puck deepening. He was more confident and commanding than...anyone. Nothing frightened him. No challenge proved too difficult.
For too long, she'd had zero self-esteem and just as many skills. She'd survived the mean streets of LA and New York with only her wits and bravado.
I think he's becoming my role model.
In many ways, he reminded her of William. He was fearless, headstrong and fierce. In other ways, the two were as different as night and day. William teased. Puck hadn't yet mastered the skill. William loved women of every size, shape and color. Puck seemed to notice no one but Gillian. William treated her like glass. Puck threatened her as easily as breathing.
This morning he'd said, "New rule. You'll do what I say, when I say, without hesitation, or I'll put my hands on you and make you do it."
She'd wanted to run away, but had forced herself to stay and snap, "My new rule? Stab you in the gut every time you put your hands on me." Brave words. Meaningless warning.
Lost in thought, she failed to see the rock in her path. Her boot snagged on the protuberance, and she tripped. Puck never tried to help steady her.
"All right. It's time to slow down," she grumbled as she climbed to her feet. "I'm beginning to lag."
"Beginning to? Your perception of time is adorable."
Jerk. He could travel for hours without taking a break. He never seemed to need food and water, a bathroom, or rest. "At this rate, my heart is going to explode."
He decelerated at last, muttering, "Wives require more care and feeding than I realized."
Ouch. "All wives or just me?" she muttered.
"Considering you are my first wife, I can only reference you, now, can't I?"
See! He had no idea how to tease or be teased. The man took everything she said as gospel. And what did he mean, first wife? They were bonded. Divorce couldn't be added to the menu--but maybe separation? Either way, he would never have a second wife, right?
Okay. Time to get this conversation on the right track. "What made you laugh before your demon possession?" she asked.
"Sin."
"Sin. As in...wickedness?"
"As in my younger brother."
He had a brother? "Tell me about him."
"No."
Oookay. Short, non-sweet answers were Puck's specialty. Got it. Maybe she wouldn't go with amusement, happiness or even sadness. Maybe she'd go with anger.
Yeah. Anger worked.
"Random gravity check," she said, just before hooking her foot around his ankle.
He stumbled, but managed to avoid a major face-plant. Besides casting her a frown over his shoulder, he gave no outward reaction. "What are you doing, lass?"
"Making you furious. Obviously."
"Why?"
"You want to feel, remember? And, according to Professor Puck before he tried to change his tune, one emotion is as good as any other."
Another glance over his shoulder revealed a deeper-set frown.
Mental note: subject does not respond to slapstick or subtext.
Back to sadness. "This isn't the life I envisioned for myself, you know." She pretended to sniffle. "I'm despised by my best friend--" Okay, she didn't have to force the next sniffle. Was William still angry with her? Or had he come to his senses? "--and I'm being rushed to a new home. A new world I know nothing about! The only person I'm familiar with is a man I know nothing about."
"This life is better. Think of it. You are now Gillian Shaw, adventurer."
Yes. Yes, she was. And she--
Wait. Back up just a little. When the Lords of the Underworld married their girlfriends, said girlfriends immediately acquired a new last name: Lord. So, having said "I do"--or whatever Gillian had parroted during their impromptu ceremony--she was now... Gillian Lord? Puck was possessed, so, in theory, he was also a Lord of the Underworld.
Crap! Who was she?
"Don't be offended but--who am I kidding? You're never offended. What's your full name?" she asked.
"Pukinn Neale Brion Connacht the Fourth." His accent, slight though it was, made each syllable sound like a song lyric.
"I guess that makes me Gillian Elizabeth Shaw-Connacht. First of her house. Daughter without parents. Immortal. Wife to Puck. Friend to the Lords of the Underworld. Soon to be defender of the innocent. Bringer of smiles. Former world champion worrier."
Again, no reaction
from him.
"My sparkling wit is wasted on you." Wonderful.
"Pukinn is a family name," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "The name of every firstborn since the crowning of the first Connacht king."
Well, well. He'd offered information without prompting. Sweet progress.
And he wasn't done. "My brother called me Puck. It means mischievous spirit. My people called me Neale, which means champion. My army called me Brion, which means he ascends. My friends call me Irish, because of the Puca. Well, the Puca and a thousand other reasons. The name Connacht is, apparently, a province in Ireland."
"Puca?" So, in his homeland every name meant something?
"The Puca are shapeshifters in Irish lore. Usually the creatures take the appearance of an animal, and are considered bringers of both good and bad fortune."
"You've goat to be kidding me," she said, wiggling her brows. "Huh, huh? Come on! That's funny!"
"No," he said. "I'm not kidding. And no, it's not funny. Are you even trying, lass? Perhaps you want to fail so you'll be forced to do what we both know I'll request."
She gulped. Was he right? Even now, he drew her gaze like a magnet. She drank in all that flawless dark skin, those muscles, the wide breadth of shoulders that led to strong arms and claw-tipped hands.
Turned on by those monstrous qualities? No! The bond, only the bond.
"So, your family was named after the Irish?" she asked.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder, his expression blank. "The Irish were named after us, a group of Amaranthians who moved to the mortal world. But I'm not a Puca. I'm more like a satyr or faun, I suppose."
"What does Gillian mean?"
"Youthful."
"Ugh."
When he flicked her a second glance, as if she were a magnet for him, her heart rate sped up and warm tingles ignited low in her belly. Her legs went weak, tremors of desire sweeping through her.
She reeled. How had he elicited a response even William had not?
"I answered your questions," Puck said. "Now you will answer mine."
Despite a spike of foreboding, she nodded. "All right."
"In the ice realm, you rubbed against me as you slept."
Groan. Gonna go there, was he? "I don't hear a question."
"What did you dream about?"
A hissing sound registered. A second later, a reptile-thing launched from the trees. Target: Gillian's face. Puck reached out without a hitch in his step, caught the little bugger and tossed it like a baseball.
After swallowing a scream of shock, she scrambled to put her thoughts together. She owed Puck an answer. Lying wasn't an option. She despised lies--the language of her stephorrors. But there was no way she'd admit the truth, either. He might consider it an invitation.