Free The Crossing (Immortals) by Joy Nash Page B

cousins. I picked up this place a while back when the
fangirls started getting obsessive. No one comes through
those gates, unless I bring them in." He paused. "And no
one gets out, unless I allow it."
    We'll just see about that. "I'm flattered to be your guest,
then."
    He snorted. "Don't be. For you, it's more like house arrest than a garden party. You'll stay here until I decide
what to do with you."
    "I can think of a few things," she murmured.
    He glanced up sharply, his eyes glinting with interest.
"Sounds promising. Like what, love?"
    "Oh, 1 -have a few ideas," she said. "But before we discuss them... I'd like to get out of these clothes."
    His gaze swept down her body, igniting a tingling trail.
    "And take a shower," she added.
    His eyes returned to her face.
    Definitely interested.
    "Have at it, then, love. There's a private bath off the
bedroom."
    She sauntered past him, lightly running her fingertips
over his forearm.
    Heat flared in his eyes, along with a look of speculation.
"Why so friendly all of a sudden?"
    Had she overplayed her hand? "Would you prefer a
fight?"
    He grinned. "Oh no, love. I like the new Artemis
Alexandria Black."

    She crossed into the bedroom. For a single terrifying
moment, she thought he was going to follow right away.
That would be disastrous. But thankfully, he hesitated ever
so slightly, long enough for her to smile and shut the door.
    She backed up against it, heart pounding. So far, so
good, but time was quickly running out. She glanced at
the mantel clock, trapped under a glass bell jar. Six hours,
three minutes until sunset. She had a shower to take,
preparations to make. And one sexy immortal demigod to
seduce.
    Her gaze fell on the bed.
    How fast could she get Mac into it?
    Twenty-two minutes later, Artemis wiped a damp palm on
her jeans and grimaced. She'd've looked more alluring in a
skirt, but she hadn't come to Scotland on vacation, after
all, and jeans were the sexiest apparel in her duffel. At least
the pants were clean, and the snug scoop-necked black tee
she'd paired them with did nice things for her modest
bustline.
    Her pendant was gone, hidden in her pack with her pictures of Zander and her special knife. She'd take just that
one small bag with her when she ran.
    She'd tried to tame her hair, still damp from her quick
shower. Hopeless, she knew, because her short curls had
been nothing but frizz ever since she'd stepped off the
plane in Glasgow. She hoped it looked wild and sexy,
rather than wild and hideous. Too bad she didn't have any
makeup; mascara would have boosted her confidence.
Artemis knew she wasn't ugly, but she wasn't pretty, either. Sometimes, perfect balance manifested in perfect
boredom.
    It had never bothered her too much-her neutral looks
had been an asset during her short-lived military career.
Now she stared at her reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror and grimaced. The dark circles under her eyes and
the tightness at the corners of her mouth were not at all
appealing. She looked every one of her thirty-three years.
And from the neck down? No major flaws, but no real assets, either.

    If she'd been any good at casting a glamour, she would
have considered a subtle, appearance-enhancing spell. But
glamour was one area in which her talents were weak. No
doubt Mac would've detected a glamour, anyway. How
humiliating that would be.
    She paced into the bedroom. Like a soldier preparing
for battle, she inspected the big four-poster bed one last
time. It'd taken longer than she'd anticipated to set the
stage for the spell she intended to spring on Mac, and
there was no room for error. She'd finally gotten everything just right.
    Fear spurred her to the sitting room door. Opening it,
she located Mac by the aroma of coffee wafting from a
bay window alcove. Lounging in a chair next to a small
dining table, he cradled a mug in both hands, his long legs
stretched out before him. His hair was wet-he'd just