Free Temptation's Heat by Michelle Zink Page B

upstairs and down a series of long hallways. She came to a stop at a set of carved double doors. A voice, male and obviously angry, rose from inside. Rowen only had a second to wonder if it was Ambrose Montgomery before Lily placed her hand on the doorknob.
    Rowen reached out to stop her. “Maybe we should wait.”
    She laughed softly. “If we wait for them to stop arguing, we’ll be here all night.”
    Before he could say anything else, she opened the door, reached back for his arm, and pulled him into the room.
    The ranting continued. Rowen followed the sound of the tirade to a man pacing the hardwood floor that was covered with an array of exotic rugs.
    “Go ahead and play innocent,” the man railed. “But it can’t be coincidence that it’s always you who steps in when we’re fighting.”
    On closer inspection, the guy wasn’t any older than Rowen. Tall and wiry, he had the kind of lean muscle that could be deceiving on a man. You might even mistake him for scrawny. That would be a mistake. Guys like that always had something to prove.
    This was definitely not Ambrose Montgomery. Too young, for one thing, his face unlined, his hair thick and blond.
    Rowen glanced around the rest of the room, looking for the object of the man’s ire. He thought he’d found it in an elderly gentleman, sitting serenely behind an enormous desk. His hands formed a steeple in front of him, his eyes watchful of the younger man still pacing and ranting.
    But then someone else came into view. A woman, standing at the window with her back to the room, framed by the lush draperies on either side. All Rowen could see was a tangle of glossy, chestnut hair falling in waves to a pronounced waist above a tight, shapely ass.
    The woman turned around. “Maybe it’s because no one else cares whether you make it out alive,” she snapped. “Ever think of that?”
    Her bone structure was aristocratic, her delicate features almost eclipsed by a full mouth and eyes that flashed like emerald fire. Her skin was as smooth as alabaster under the heat of the anger flushing her cheeks. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty, her body tight and toned under form-fitting black pants, the swell of her breasts visible in the neckline of her white t-shirt. Desire rushed through his body like a wildfire in the moment before she set her eyes on him.
    Her expression hardened. “You must be Rowen Black. Don’t they knock in London?”

Four
    The words were out before Scarlet could stop them. Everything else froze in her brain as she took in the man standing in the doorway next to her sister.
    The guy was huge. His jeans strained against massive thighs. Dark blue ink trailed across biceps that bulged under a short-sleeve t-shirt, and his black hair was cut close to the scalp, making his strong features seem chiseled from stone. There was something dark and watchful in his brown eyes that went beyond the training they’d all endured as part of the Shadowguard. Despite his size, Scarlet had the sense that he could be in motion in under a second.
    “Don’t mind her,” Lily said, breaking the spell of silence. “She’s still working on her manners.”
    Rowen Black—and Scarlet was sure this was Rowen Black, they’d been expecting him—pulled his gaze from hers. His eyes skimmed over Ivan and landed on her father.
    “My apologies, sir, for interrupting.”
    Scarlet caught the hint of accent. Not British, as she’d expected, but something else. Irish, or maybe Scottish?
    “It’s my fault, Father,” Lily said. “I insisted. I thought you’d want to meet Rowen before we get him settled.”
    Her father pushed his chair back from the desk. Scarlet hurried to his side, taking his hand to help him rise. She had to swallow a pang of sadness. She could still see him, young and virile, sparring against the Guard as Scarlet, armed with a miniature training sickle and glaive of her own, watched with envy, determined that she, too, would one day fight