“By Odin’s shaft—”

“Spear,” he corrected with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I am not marrying Quinn!” she informed the dark corner furiously.

“Certainly not Ramsey?” His voice deepened dangerously. “Or was he such a good kisser that he’s already persuaded you?”

Jillian drew a deep breath. She released it and closed her eyes, praying for temperance.

“Lass, you have to wed one of them. Your da demands it,” he said quietly.

She opened her eyes. Praise the saints, the clouds had blown by and she could once again discern the outline of his form. There was a flesh-and-blood man in those shadows, not some mythical beast. “You’re one of the men my da brought here for me, so I guess that means I could choose you, doesn’t it?”

He shook his head, a blur of movement in the gloom. “Never do that, Jillian. I have nothing to offer you but a lifetime of hell.”

“Maybe you think that, but maybe you’re wrong. Maybe, if you quit feeling sorry for yourself, you’d see things differently.”

“I doona feel sorry for myself—”

“Ha! You’re drowning in it, Roderick. Only occasionally does a smile manage to steal over your handsome face, and as soon as you catch it you swallow it. You know what your problem is?”

“No. But I have the feeling you’re going to tell me, peahen.”

“Clever, Roderick. That’s supposed to make me feel stupid enough to shut up. Well, it won’t work, because I feel stupid around you all the time anyway, so I may as well act stupid too. I suspect your problem is that you’re afraid.”

Grimm leaned indolently back against the stones of the wall, looking every inch a man who’d never contemplated the word fear long enough for it to gain entrance into his vocabulary.

“Do you know what you’re afraid of?” she pushed bravely on.

“Considering that I didn’t know I was afraid, I’m afraid you’ve got me at a bit of a disadvantage,” he mocked.

“You’re afraid you might have a feeling,” she announced triumphantly.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of feelings, lass,” he said, dark, sensual knowledge dripping from his voice. “It just depends on the kind of feeling—”

Jillian shivered. “Don’t try to change the subject—”

“And if the feeling’s below my waist—”

“By segueing into a discussion about your debauched—”

“Then I’m perfectly comfortable with it.”

“And perverse male needs—”

“Perverse male needs?” he echoed, suppressed laughter lacing his words.

Jillian bit her lip. She always ended up saying too much around him, because he had the bad habit of talking over her, and she lost her head time and again.

“The issue at hand is feelings—as in emotions,” she reminded stiffly.

“And you think they’re mutually exclusive?” Grimm prodded.

Had she said that? she wondered. By the saints, the man turned her brain into mush. “What are you talking about?”

“Feelings and feelings, Jillian. Do you think they’re mutually exclusive?”

Jillian pondered his question a few moments. “I haven’t had a lot of experience in that area, but I would guess they are more often for a man than a woman,” she replied at length.

“Not all men, Jillian.” He paused, then added smoothly, “Exactly how much experience have you had?”

“What was my point?” she asked irritably, refusing to acknowledge his question.

He laughed. By the saints, he laughed! It was a genuine uninhibited laugh—deeply resonant, rich, and warm. She shuddered, because the flash of white teeth in his shadowed face made him so handsome she wanted to cry at the unfairness of his miserly dispensation of such beauty.

“I was hoping you’d tell me that anytime now, Jillian.”

“Roderick, conversations with you never go where I think they’re going.”

“At least you’re never bored. That must count for something.”

Jillian blew out a frustrated breath. That was true. She was elated, exhilarated, sensually awakened—but never, never bored.

“So are they mutually exclusive for you?” she dared.

“What?” he asked blandly.

“Feelings and feelings.”

Grimm tugged restlessly at his dark hair. “I suppose I haven’t met the woman who could make me feel while I was feeling her.”