“Then why are we back at your house instead of at the inn?” she asked, one hand on her hip and a smile dancing in her blue eyes.
“What would you do there so late at night anyway?” His voice was pure velvet, more enticing than ever. “Stay with me tonight. You can read while I work, and I will teach you how to build better shields to protect yourself from the unwanted emotions of those around you.”
“How about for my hearing? Your little medicinal concoctions have increased my hearing to the point of absurdity.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you have any idea what else is going to happen to me?”
His teeth grazed the back of her neck, his fingers brushed across her breast possessively. “I have all kinds of ideas, little one.”
“I’ll just bet you do. I think you’re a sex maniac, Mikhail.” Raven slipped out of his grasp. “I think you put something in that concoction to make me a sex maniac, too.” She seated herself at the table, calmly picked up her glass of juice, and looked up at him steadily. “Did you?”
“Drink that slowly,” he ordered absently. “Where do you come up with your ideas? I have been so careful with you. Have you felt me giving you suggestions?”
She found herself reluctant to drink. “You’re always making me sleep.” Raven took a cautious sniff of the juice. Pure apple, nothing else. She hadn’t had a thing to eat or drink in nearly twenty-four hours, so why was she reluctant?
“You needed to sleep,” he said without remorse. Mikhail watched her with his brooding, hawklike eyes. “Is something wrong with your juice?”
“No, no, of course not.” Raven put the glass to her lips, felt her stomach clench in protest. She replaced the glass on the table, the contents untouched.
Mikhail sighed softly. “You know you must take nourishment.” He leaned close. “How simple it would be if you allowed me to help you, but you have said I should not. Does this make sense?”
Her gaze slid from his; her fingers nervously fiddled with the glass. “Maybe I’m just coming down with the flu. I’ve been feeling funny for a few days, dizzy and weak.” She pushed the glass away.
Mikhail pushed it back. “You need it, little one.” He touched her slender arm. “You already are too small. I do not think losing weight is a good idea. Take a sip.”
She speared a hand through her hair, wanting to please him, knowing he was right. Her stomach insisted on rebelling. “I don’t think I can, Mikhail.” She raised a troubled gaze to his. “I’m really not trying to be difficult; I think I’m sick.”
His face, dark and sensual, had a slightly ruthless set to it. He loomed over her, his fingers curling around the glass of juice. You will drink. His voice was pitched low and intense, brooking no argument, making it impossible to disobey. “The juice will stay down; your body will accept it.” He spoke gently aloud, his arms protective as he circled her shoulders.
Raven blinked up at him, then looked at the empty glass on the table. She shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe you’re capable of doing that. I don’t remember drinking it and I’m not sick now.” She turned her face from him, staring out into the dark mystery of the forest. The fog caught the light from the moon, glistened and gleamed.
“Raven.” His hand caressed the nape of her neck.
She leaned into him. “You don’t even know how really special you are, do you? The things you can do are beyond anything I’ve ever seen. You scare me, you really do.”
Mikhail leaned his weight against the post, genuine puzzlement on his face. “It is my duty and my right to take care of you. If you need the healing of sleep, then I must provide it. If your body needs to drink, then why should I not aid you? Why should this frighten you?”
“You really don’t understand, do you?” Raven fixed her gaze on a particularly intriguing wisp of fog. “You are a leader here. Obviously your skills are far superior to mine. I don’t think I could ever fit into your life. I’m a loner, not the first lady.”