People had long said that Ethan had no more feelings than an animal. Well, right now pure instinct was telling him not to take her. He frowned as her mouth eased down his chest to his navel, her destination unmistakable.

But could the message possibly be louder than the Scotch and the promise of a below job?

Aye, it is. He plucked her fingers from his trousers and stumbled back.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving." Bending for his shirt, he lost his balance, but he swiftly righted himself. He knew he'd been drinking too much lately. He was the oldest brother and head of a family that suffered, and the responsibility of it, and the inability to change it, weighed more heavily on him than anyone would dare suppose.

But his drinking was helping nothing.

"Leaving?" she cried. "You can't be serious."

He gave her one curt nod.

"Then why did you come here? What did I do?"

"No' a thing." Where the hell had he dropped his jacket? "Just doona care to any longer."

"Tell me what you want, and I'll do it.Anything, " she added plaintively, making him shudder in disgust.

A clinger.

Turning from her, he said, "Doona wantanything from you. No' anymore."

"You cannot do this!" She shot to her feet and stormed over to him. "Just pass me over like a woman you've bought." Her anger transformed the refined French inflection of her voice to a sharper, more common accent. Ethan had heard similar before—it was a lower-class accent. "Like some stray whore!"

"If the shoe fits…"

"No one treats me this way, not now.No one! " She darted in front of him. He turned from her once more, and she did it again, antagonizing him. Already his decision to leave was justified. "I'll have you horsewhipped for this!"