Ah, but Eliza May’s expression was rapt now. He gave her a small smile, one that challenged and taunted. He’d been giving her those for months, wanting her to see that his soul and hers were one, and yet now she did not resist. No, she grinned in return, accepting his challenge and acknowledging the taunt.
Anticipation plucked at his innards. Holding her gaze, he tested the strings. Perfect tune. Adjusting his grip, he raised the bow. It held there, and it seemed the room held its breath with it. And then the bow tore across the strings, whipcord fast and violent. From the first note, he poured his soul into the music. No slow dances for Miss May. No peace. No escape.
He did not remember the first time a violin had been placed into his hands. Only that, be it due to a supernatural dexterity or an innate talent, he’d known how to make it sing for him, from Beethoven to Bach. Secret trips to Gypsy camps had taught him other music. The devil’s music, his fellow knights would have called it. But they were long dead by the time he’d learned to play.
Nor would he give up his music. It had been his one true joy. Adam would take on the appearance of another man and play. Play on a corner of Hyde Park, in the crowded bowels of a steamer ship, on the rooftops, wherever he wanted. He relished the anonymity of it, that he could be in the moment without judgment or speculation. But now. Now Eliza danced for him.
Her hands were at her hips, her heels pounding out the rhythm, matching him, pushing him harder. His fingers worked over the strings, his bow white lightning. Blood pumped through him, the music flowing. It was power, lust, the thrill of the chase. His breath quickened. He held her gaze and worked the bow, sweat trickling down his back, his cock hard and his heart racing.
The notes came out sharp, quick, urgent. Only she existed in his eyes. He needed to stop. He pushed it further, his body thrumming with the music, with her movement. He wouldn’t last. Her flushed cheeks, parted lips, breasts bouncing. Faster. Harder. He panted, his vision blurring. Need surged. His arm jerked with the urge to throw the fiddle aside and grab her. The music pitched. Stretched too thin. Worked too hard. He would snap. A string snapped instead.
The awkward note died in the air, and both he and Eliza halted. Her breath came out in rapid bursts, her cheeks glowing from the exertion of the dance. They stared at each other and, for the life of him, he could see no one else but her. And then she moved, making him flinch, making him want to launch himself at her. She beat him to it, her slight body slamming into his, her slim arms wrapping about his neck as she laughed. His hand lifted, hovering at the small of her back, wanting to hold her but not daring to for fear he’d never let go.
“Oh, but that was marvelous,” she said as his blood raced like fire through his veins. Then she pulled him in closer and her warm breath touched his ear, uttering words that had his throat constricting and his vision blurring. “This is life, Adam. Let the past go to the devil. Let yourself live now.”
And so he would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sweaty and pleasantly warm from the dance, Eliza made her way back from the ladies’ lounge. She’d washed her face and smoothed her hair. The lively sounds of music and dancing still filled the air, and she felt content. For the first time in years, she was happy. The realization stole over her quick as a fox, making her smile.
She’d taken no more than a few steps when a hot hand clamped down on her wrist and tugged. Eliza collided with a solid chest, the scent of spice and clean sweat surrounding her. “Adam.” She laughed up into his face as he wrapped her up in his arms and walked them backwards. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
His smile was sharklike, but when she thought he might answer, he cupped the back of her head and his mouth captured hers. Eliza’s breath hitched. And he took advantage, opening her lips with his, licking with his hot tongue.
“Adam,” she murmured against him, even as she canted her head and sought more. More of his taste. More of his yielding lips.
“Seven…” He kissed her – “Hundred…” His teeth nipped – “Years, love.” Another deep kiss had her knees buckling. He grinned against her mouth, even as he tightened his hold to keep her from falling. Golden, glinting eyes met hers as he pulled back. “Do not expect me to refrain from touching or tasting you every chance I have.”
Her head spun, it felt as though she were falling, yet he was holding her up, holding her against him. They’d stumbled into a private dining room. Her back met with the wall, his mouth hot on hers with messy, frantic kisses, as though he’d been starved and given a buffet. His large palm, so warm and rough with calluses, held her cheek, his thumb sinking into the corner of her mouth as though he wanted to touch their kiss, experience it with every sense.
Breathing hard, her breasts crushed against his, Eliza let him do as he willed. His enthusiasm was heady, erotic. She became languid in the face of it, hot and boneless and wanting more.
Adam’s lips trailed across her jaw and down to the sensitive skin of her neck. He breathed her in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. “Have you any idea,” he murmured, “what it’s like to touch you?”
Her lashes fluttered, and she gripped his broad shoulders to keep standing. “Tell me.”
The rough scrape of his evening beard had her shivering as he nuzzled the crook of her neck, and still his thumb ran along her bottom lip. Always touching her. Feeling her. “It is almost pain, this pleasure.” He nibbled her ear lobe. “Only I want to push into it, let it skewer me to the core.”
Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers through his silky hair, the heat of his body warming her palms. A pressing kiss on the tip of her breast had her gasping. He surrounded her with his need.
“And when you touch me,” he said, leaning in closer until his long body rested against hers, “I ache so very sweetly, Eliza.”
On a breath, she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his gaze hot with need. Yet his hold on her cheek remained soft, tender. Eliza licked her lips, and he dipped down to taste them again. A smile danced over his mouth. He was playing. Enjoying her. She’d never had a playful lover.
“You truly haven’t felt anything all these years?”
“Truly,” he murmured, preoccupied with stroking her neck, his expression absorbed. “Like silk, your skin is. Only better. I could touch you endlessly.”
“And when I touch you here?” Eliza could not resist; she laid her hand against the hard flatness of his abdomen, and Adam’s breath left in a whoosh.
He closed his eyes, his forehead resting against hers. “God, pet me, sweet dove.”
Gently she rubbed his stomach, the action making her sex clench and her thighs draw tight. He leaned against her, his elbow braced upon the wall, and he trembled, his breath agitated. The pained yearning in his expression, his eyes closed tight, was a beautiful thing to behold. It made her bold, and her hand slid lower.
He grunted, his hard cock surging within her grip. Eliza kept a hold on him while her free hand gathered up the loose folds of his shirt and began to tug it free. Deftly, she unbuttoned the front of his trousers. “I find,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth, “myself wanting to touch you in other ways.”
The poor man actually whimpered when she discovered his bare skin. And she smiled, stroking the heated length of him. My, but he was… Eliza’s eyes closed for a brief moment, lust threatening to overwhelm her. When she dared look down, her mouth went dry. Dark and thick and long. The bulbous head wept with impatient need. Eliza swiped her thumb over the little bead, slicking it into his skin, and Adam groaned. Running her fingers along his shaft, she stopped at the tip and squeezed, loving the noises he made in the back of his throat.
He pressed his mouth against her temple, his breath a hot, erratic pant. “More.”
Just that word. And Eliza wanted to give it to him. She wanted to give him the pleasure he’d been denied for far too long. “Lean against the wall.” Her voice was quick and light, as she eased him around. Weakly, his big body shaking, he did as
bidden. But his eyes grew wide, his lips parting as she smiled at him and slowly sunk to her knees before him.
He was dreaming. He had to be. Because she’d been in his dream like this – kneeling before him, her slim fingers around his cock, her eyes bright and intent upon his – so many times before. If it were a dream, God help any person who dared wake him.
But then she lightly ran her nails along his length, the sensation so vivid and unexpectedly luscious that he knew it was no dream. She wanted him. Wanted to do this for him. He could hardly account for it. A lump rose in his throat, even as his heart raced and his breath grew short. Eliza. She was everything he’d feared wishing for.
Her pink tongue flicked over the tip of his cock, and he felt it down to the soles of his feet. His hands clenched, and it was all he could do not to push his aching cock into her mouth. Patience. Patience.
As if she bloody well knew how badly she affected him, she grinned. Canty, wee temptress. Gently, she kissed him along his length, and he shook with the feeling. Slowly, he was becoming alive. Dead and untouched for so long, and now this. He wanted to weep. He wanted to laugh.
And then she took him into her mouth.
“Holy God.” Adam arched back and panted, his body trembling and so taut he feared he might snap. Unable to think, he stared up at the dust rafters of the ceiling. God, her mouth. Hot, wet, tight, her tongue slick silk. Heated pleasure raced down his spine and clenched in his abdomen. His knees were weak. She sucked him hard, drawing it out, until her sly tongue flicked over his sensitized head. Something much like a whimper escaped him, and he clutched at the smooth walls without purchase.
He wanted to thrust himself deep into her throat. To fuck and snarl and lose his mind. And he wanted to stay like this for an eternity, with her slowly and wickedly sucking his cock. She drew him back in, then out. In. Out. Adam’s hand somehow found her hair, his fingers snaring the heavy mass and holding on tight.
“More. God… more. Please.”
And, Lord love her, she made a happy little hum that he felt everywhere and smoothed her hands up his thighs. He shivered, swallowed hard. Her slim hand, so very delicate and nimble, cupped his cods. And gave them a gentle squeeze. Adam groaned, heat swamping him. So hot, he’d soon burn up like a fucking torch. He’d been missing this? No more. He didn’t care if he had to beg for it every day of his life, he’d gladly do so. The sight of her, on her knees, eyes closed, her delicate brows knitted in a little frown of concentration, while her pink lips stretched wide around him…
“Fuck.” He was going to come. Hard. Hundreds of years of being denied that singular pleasure, and yet instinct could not be misunderstood.
His shoulder blades pressed into the wall, his grip tightening in her hair as his hips canted, the urge to thrust overcoming any need to draw out this pleasure. “Tell me, lass,” he said, panting, thrusting in and out of her mouth. “Tell me this feels good to you.”
Her answer was to cup his arse, slipping her hand beneath his trousers and finding his bare skin. She dug her fingers into the muscle there and held him tight, urging him in deeper. Adam nearly lost his wits.
“You like it,” he rasped. “Me fucking your mouth.” The thought drove him to madness. His cock throbbed to near pain now, and still the need to thrust and plunder. To take everything she had to give. “Will you drink me down, love? Take it all?”
Eliza’s eyes opened, and her gaze clashed with his. And his breath caught, sharp and swift. She bloody loved it. High color stained her cheeks. Holding his gaze, she let her free hand move from his cods; he missed the heat, the solid comfort.
A strangled sound tore from his throat as her dainty finger stole beneath his stones and stroked him there. Everything turned white. Blinding heat and pleasure. He lost himself, not feeling his body, not knowing where he was. Just pleasure and the sweet pain of release.
He came back to himself by degrees. The sight of the wall before him. The mad beating of his heart. The slick feel of his soft cock slipping out of her mouth. He groaned, his body sliding a little down the wall. But she was rising, pressing her warm and lush body against his, holding him up with her arms about his waist. He hauled her closer, his arm about her slim shoulders as he bent and pressed his lips to her fragrant neck, moist now with perspiration and heat.
“By my vow,” he said against her skin. “I’ll be returning the favor, Eliza May. And when I get you into my bed, I’ll not be letting you out of it again.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The taste of Adam was on Eliza’s tongue, as he led her back to the taproom, and she flushed a little when she thought of how she’d taken him in her mouth. She’d loved it. Loved seeing him come undone. It had been beautiful, empowering. Carnal. A pleasurable shiver lit through her at the memory of his expression, tight with ecstasy. She had done that to him. And she wanted more.
At her side, Adam walked along, his hair mussed, his color high, and his shirt clearly tucked in with haste. A man debauched. And content, if his rather badly hidden grin meant anything. He caught her gaze, and his eyes blazed with certain promise to return the favor.
It made her unaccountably shy. Where did they stand? Would they be lovers? Eliza wanted him. She could not deny it. But was it enough? Was he truly her soul mate? And was all this seduction and charm his way of getting her to believe in it? She hated that she had doubts, but trust was an ill-fitting glove that she fought to slip on.
Adam’s reappearance in the room garnered attention, as it always did. Instantly, the innkeeper came out from behind the bar and made his way to them. “Sire,” he said, bowing a bit, “would you take a dram with us?” Behind him, a group of men sat around the table with expectant looks.
Eliza smothered a smile, for the tension that shot through Adam’s back and the slight twitch at the corner of his eye spoke of utter frustration. Poor man. But he shook it off with a small breath and a nod. “But of course.”
With a wry glance at Eliza, he made as if to move, taking her with him. She resisted. “I’ll be sitting over there,” she said, pointing to the small corner table they’d supped at. When he frowned, she leaned in close, far too aware of the scent of his satisfaction lingering on his skin. “They want to talk to their king. Let them have this.”
Adam sighed. “And I want to tup their queen,” he groused, then shook his head, his lips quirking. “At least someone shall have their wish.” He ambled off, leaving her standing there, open-mouthed and heart pounding. Queen. She nearly laughed at the idea. The GIM needed a leader, a fearless and noble woman to be their queen. Not her.
Frowning, she made her way to her table, and a pretty barmaid came to check on her. “What shall I be getting you then, miss?”
“Ale,” Eliza said. “A pint of it.”
The barmaid went to fill her order.
“Playing with a man such as that can work up a powerful thirst, can it not?”
Eliza turned to glare at the woman who’d spoken, and found herself face to face with a fae. Eliza sat up straight, her knee banging into the table leg. And the fae leaned in. “Easy now,” she hissed, her purple eyes flashing in warning. “No need to kick up a dander.”
“I beg to differ,” Eliza said. But the sudden knife pressed against her ribs had her refraining from doing more. She glared at the young woman holding it. “What do you want?”
Ivory cheeks plumped. “Mellan sends his regards.”
“They aren’t returned.”
“To be sure,” the woman murmured, looking not altogether unsympathetic. “He’s expecting you to fulfill your promise to him.”
With a deliberate hand, Eliza grasped the blade threatening her side and wrenched it from the fae’s hand. The knife was meant for stabbing, not slicing, and thus did not cut her hand. Foolish fae girl, using a dull blade against her. “You listen to me,” Eliza said in a low voice. “I am not killing Adam. I am his bride.” She leaned closer. “I chose him.”
Around the room the air stirred, and fro
m the corner of her eye, Eliza saw the ghostly shapes of spirits. So many of them, crowding the area, all of them watching her. And yet none of the GIM seemed to notice. Nor the fae who sat, tight-lipped and scowling.
“Go,” Eliza told her.
“I am but a messenger,” the woman said. “The next one who comes will be here for your head.”
“Do you know,” Eliza said, “I find that threat no longer scares me?”
When Adam finished his drink with the GIM – a novel experience, listening to their concerns and attempting to assuage them that he was trying to regain his powers, and thus their safety – he’d found Eliza nursing an ale and looking pale.
“Are you well, dove?”
Eliza flinched as though she hadn’t heard him approach. Her brown eyes were round, almost too large in her face, as she blinked up at him. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I am well. I… it is hot in the inn.”
“Shall we retire then?” Jesu, simply asking the question sent blood surging to his cock and made his breath quicken.
Still not fully roused, Eliza gave an absent nod of agreement and rose. He wasted no time in leading Eliza toward the cheery little cottage a ways off from the inn. His hand rested upon the small of her back, a simple gesture, and yet she quickened her step as though she might outpace his touch.
And it felt as if he’d been slapped. Was his touch so very distasteful? She hadn’t been so reserved when she’d lapped at his cock like a cat seeking cream. It had been the single most erotic moment of his long, long life. The mere memory made him hard and his step awkward.
“Eliza,” he said, pressing his hand once more against her slim back, “you are practically running from me.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, her golden brows furrowed. And he snorted without humor. “Do not scowl. You are, and I’d like to know why.” He cleared his throat. “Do you regret it? What we did?” He was not certain what he’d do if she did, but thought it would include punching a wall somewhere close by.
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