Page 42 of Dark Rival

Aidan was silent.

So was Royce.

Allie looked up. Aidan had a very sexual look in his eyes—he knew what a thong was for. He’d probably seen it on a mannequin—or he’d seduced a pretty salesgirl and had her model it. But Royce was bewildered. His gaze kept going back and forth between the very tiny pink thong she held to her face. His expression was comical. He didn’t know what it was or where it was supposed to go.

She bit back a laugh.

He finally said, “Is that a garment?”

Aidan choked and walked out of the room.

Allie said, “Oh yeah.” And she heard the sexy note in her tone.

Royce looked at her face again, frustration covering his features. “Where, pray tell, do ye wear it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she murmured.

His eyes widened. He stared at the scrap of spandex lace as if waiting for it to speak up and identify itself. “Is that for yer hair?” he finally asked.

Allie choked on her own laughter now. “Not exactly.” She turned away. She owed Aidan, big-time.

He seized her shoulder—and the thong. “Ye owe him nothing. I dinna like yer laughin’ at me.”

Allie tried to stop smiling. “I’m not laughing at you—not really. But in my time, many women wear the garment—and everyone knows where.”

He was red. “I’m from this time.”

“Do you want me to show you where it goes?”

He became wary instantly. “Aye.”

“Now?”

Very wary, he said, “This is a trap, aye? That little scrap of lace is an undergarment—it has two holes—for yer breasts.”

She kept her face straight. “Sorry. But if you come upstairs with me, I’ll show you. I’d show you here, but you will be really pissed if I do, especially if Aidan walks in.”

His expression was bewildered again, but he nodded at the staircase just beyond the hall.

Allie shoved her Saks bags at him and, thong in hand, hurried out. Behind her, she could feel how intense Royce was. He did not like being out of the loop. Her amusement quickly faded.

Maybe this wasn’t fair. He wanted to know what the dumb thong was—and she was certain he’d take one look at her wearing it and cave.

Men were visual. And Royce had enough testosterone for a dozen men. He would cave—she had not a single doubt. The thong was a trap.

Allie became somber. They walked into her chamber and Allie hesitated for a reason she could not comprehend. The most macho man she had ever met was determined to stay out of her bed. But she was about to wave a red flag—no, a pink thong—at him.

Making it about her, and what she wanted, and not about him, and what he wanted.

An hour ago, he’d stood behind her back while she healed an Innocent, and it had been beyond right.

Royce had dropped the bags, staring grimly at her. “Show me.”

Her doubt escalated, intensified. She didn’t want to trap him into her bed. She wanted him to take her there because he cared and could admit it.

Allie turned slowly. “I’m sorry. Maybe another time. You’re right. It is a trap.”

His face was chiseled hard and tight. “Show me.”