A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  He’d ducked under the low doorframe and dodged the moss and ferns growing from the walls.

  “Hellcat? Come out, I’ve found you.”

  “I can’t.” A whimper, barely heard. Then a sniffle, barely concealed.

  Immediate guilt flooded him. Oh, shit, they’d left her down here for well over an hour. Alone. Dread clenched his gut. “Are you hurt?”

  “Of course I’m hurt, you idiot! Do you think I’m still down here because it’s fun?”

  Oddly, he felt a measure of relief at her aggrieved wail. She couldn’t be too badly injured if she was still sniping at him. He made his way down to her. It was pitch black and he cursed the fact that he had no flame. “What did you do?”

  “I slipped on this stupid moss and then the stupid step crumbled under me. I’ve twisted my ankle.”

  He edged his way closer to her, using his ears more than his eyes. He could hear her breathing. He reached out with his hand and encountered something soft and squashy. He frowned and tested it with his fingers. It fitted perfectly in his palm. Shit! It was her breast. He reared back at the same time she did.

  “That is not my ankle,” she said in a small, choked voice.

  “Sorry.”

  He didn’t feel sorry. In fact, he felt instantly aroused, the blood pooling in his groin making his cock stand to attention. He ground his molars and forcefully reminded himself of his mantra. Best friends’ sister. Out of bounds. Not. For. You.

  He became intensely aware that it was just the two of them inside the small, dark building. The mossy ferns gave off a fecund scent, earthy and moist, like sex.

  “Raven?”

  “What?”

  “I’m glad you found me.”

  Heloise leaned forward, slid her arms around his neck, and unerringly found his lips in the dark.

  Raven froze. God, her small breasts pressed against his chest and her sweet, soft lips molded themselves over his. The scent of her filled his nose and for one dark moment he’d been utterly unable to resist.

  He opened his mouth and gave her his tongue, slanting his head and kissing her fully, slowly, deeply. She released a breathy little moan and accepted him into her mouth, mimicking his actions with an artless enthusiasm that made his blood boil. It was awkward, rough, unpolished. It was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

  And then he bashed his elbow against the wall and in a horrifying flash realized where it would lead—to a marriage proposal, not a pleasant screw in the dark. Heloise was a woman of worth. Innocents were a bad idea. He’d find himself shackled and betrothed before he’d even had time to live.

  For one crazy moment he actually considered making an offer for her. Would that be so bad? God, yes. He was eighteen. The grandson of a Duke. Too young to be tied down. Not by her, not by any woman.

  “Raven?” she whispered, trying to pull his face back down to hers.

  He panicked. Faced with her shining, girlish adoration, when there was nothing childish about his lustful feelings for her, he’d done the only thing he could think of. He pushed her off and plastered a fierce scowl on his face even though he knew she couldn’t see him in the dark. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought, well, we’re friends…aren’t we?”

  “Friends?” He gave an incredulous laugh. “No. We’re not ‘friends.’ Your brothers are my friends. You’re their annoying little sister.”

  She gasped at the cruelty of his words, as he’d predicted. He made his tone even more scathing. “You’re a child, Heloise. Now go home and leave me be.”

  She pulled away. Sniffed.

  To make it worse, he’d laughed.

  She slapped him.

  She’d tried to run then, but her ankle had denied her a dignified exit. She’d been forced to suffer the ignominy of him carrying her back to the house. She hadn’t looked at him once, but he’d felt the shaking of her body she hadn’t been able to hide, the wetness of her tears against the front of his shirt. He’d felt like someone had slipped a knife between his ribs.

  She’d ignored him for months afterward. And then, while he’d been immersing himself in all the ruinous debauchery London had to offer, she’d been scarred. He’d rushed back to see her immediately, their stupid rift forgotten. It had broken his heart, to see her face like that, still red and obviously painful. Not because it made her ugly in his eyes, but because it reminded him that horrible things happened to good people. It reminded him that she’d already had enough bad things befall her without ever getting involved with him.

  Sometimes he wished he’d never set eyes on her. Most of the time he wished he’d just pulled her down onto the cold stone floor of the grotto and simply taken her. It would have been so easy. She’d wanted him with a passion that was both desperate and astonishing. A passion that was completely underserved.

  Of course, his restraint had backfired. He’d been haunted by her taste, the feel of her, that sound of choked amazement she’d made when he’d cupped her breast. He’d never forget it, even if he sailed a thousand leagues away from her. He’d become an expert at ignoring the inner voice that insisted she was the woman for him.

  It had taken his own kidnapping and the better part of six years for them to get back onto any kind of normal footing. And now he’d ruined it again.

  What was she doing now? Would she shrink from him? She was probably in her room sobbing. Wishing herself as far away as possible. Raven sank under the water again, wishing he never had to resurface.

  Chapter 26

  Heloise was not crying.

  Two of Scovell’s men brought a hip bath full of hot water up to her room and she sank into it gratefully, washing herself with the rose-scented soap from her satchel. She scrubbed at her skin until not a single trace of the caves remained, then used the water to wash her dress as best she could. There was nothing she could do about the ripped front, but she draped it over the windowsill to dry and lay on the bed and closed her eyes.

  She couldn’t relax. Her mind churned and her body felt restless and agitated. She had the niggling sense that something remained unfinished. She had to clear the air between them.

  He’d saved her. From rape and possibly murder. She’d needed protection and he’d been there for her. Yes, he scared her, but who better to protect her than the most frightening man she’d ever met? Who better to keep her safe than the angel of death himself?

  He wanted her, she was sure of it. It was there in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. There in the way he simultaneously pulled her close and kept his distance. She knew his ways. He had some stupid chivalric idea that he wasn’t good enough for her. Every time he started to relax and open up he deliberately introduced some painful topic to give her a disgust of him, as if to remind them both how unsuitable he was for her. So wrongheaded. She was the only one for him.

  Today he’d proved himself a killer, and yet she trusted him instinctively. She wanted to reach him. To show him he was more than he gave himself credit for.

  Heloise let out a sigh and opened her eyes. He was her killer. She needed him. Wanted him, despite everything he’d done. She thought back to his admission in the cave, before they’d been interrupted. He’d thought of her while in prison. He cared for her. However much he wanted to deny it.

  She stared at the damask canopy above her head. He was her protection, her strength and shield. She’d ride with him into whatever hell he chose to take her. She could have died today. Without ever taking what she wanted. Without ever admitting how she felt about him. Carpe Diem, Horace said. Seize the day, and put no faith in tomorrow.

  It was time to stop being a coward.

  She heard him return half an hour later, the echo of his boots in the room next door. Her dress was still soaking, so she simply slipped her shirt over her head. It was so big it reached almost to her knees. She didn’t bother with the breeches. The tiles were warm on her bare feet as she slipped out onto the balcony and opened the door to his room
.

  He was lying on the bed, dark hair in disarray, but sat up at her unexpected entry and glared at her. She watched him warily, unsure of his mood. Of her welcome.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and for a moment she paused to take in the naked beauty of his chest, the flex of his forearms, the bulge of his biceps. She clasped her hands in front of her to stop herself reaching for all that luscious skin. He lowered his lashes and she stared at the bruises already forming on the side of his jaw, a dark red bruise starting to darken his ribs. A nasty slice, where a knife had caught him, marred his side. Her stomach lurched in guilt. He’d been hurt because of her stupidity.

  He opened his mouth to speak but she forestalled his objection. “I’m sorry I went to the cave. I didn’t take your warnings seriously. I should have listened to you.”

  “Yes, you should have,” he said sullenly.

  “It was stupid.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for rescuing me.” She risked a glance up at him.

  “You’re welcome,” he growled. His jaw set tight and he lowered his brows moodily. “Now go back to bed.”

  Heloise didn’t move, sure there was more to be said. Raven slid a slow glance along her body and she felt heat rise under her skin at his knowing look.

  —

  Raven swallowed. Bloody woman. He watched her take inventory of his injuries: the bruise that reddened his jaw; the cut over his ribs, not bad enough for stitches, but which caused a catch in his breath when he moved. It hurt like the devil.

  She stood there in that damned oversize shirt, flesh rosy from her bath, little curls framing her face, and apologized to him? A wave of disbelief and remorse rolled over him. He wasn’t worthy to wipe her feet.

  He had to make her leave. He knew just how to do it, just how to find a person’s weakness, a dubious talent he’d honed while questioning enemy operatives. He could frighten her, prey on her insecurities, say all the things perfectly calculated to wound her and drive her away.

  “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’ve come for. I’m not sorry for killing those men. I’m only sorry you had to see it. I hate that the violence has touched you.”

  She just looked at him, unwavering. “I’m glad you did it. You saved my life.”

  God, the way she was looking at him. Like he was some sort of savior. What was wrong with her? He’d warned her about the darkness in his soul. She’d seen firsthand proof of it this afternoon. Why did she still insist on seeing him in a positive light?

  His lips twisted bitterly. “Grow up, Heloise. I’m not some knight in shining armor.”

  She regarded him solemnly. “I know.”

  “You’ve seen what I am. Killing’s all I can do.”

  “No it’s not,” she whispered. “You’re loyal, and brave and fearless. You haven’t stopped searching for Kit for almost two years. You protect the people you love. You’ve kept me safe.”

  He stared at her, his eyes burning. “I bring death, Heloise. And I enjoy it. You hear me? I like delivering justice, seeking vengeance. I like the fact that the last face they see in this world is mine.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. His eyes followed the movement and the air in the room thickened with sudden awareness. “Stop looking at me like that,” he snarled.

  She blinked. “Like what?”

  “Like you want me inside you.”

  She gasped at his crudity and he suddenly knew exactly how to get her to leave. He’d call her bluff. She might be foolish enough to imagine she still wanted him, but when it came right down to it she’d run. All he had to do was shock her sufficiently.

  “You think I don’t know why you’re here?” His mouth twisted. “I’ve seen it a thousand times before. You’re restless and edgy and you don’t know why. Soldiers feel the same way after a battle. Let me explain it to you. You want sex. You want the confirmation of life to erase the smell of violent death still in your nose.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “That’s not why I came!”

  His kept his expression cynical, faintly mocking. “It’s exactly why you came.”

  He was off the bed and in front of her in three long strides, backing her up until she hit the bookshelf behind her. He placed his palms on either side of her head and stepped in, crowding her with his body. “I know, because I feel the same way.”

  Her gaze flashed down to his crotch and her eyes widened as she took in the bulge of his arousal. Her eyes flew back to his, her lips parted in shock, and it was all he could do not to kiss the look off her face. With a stifled curse he caught her wrist and dragged it down between their bodies, forced her to feel the rigid length of him through the fabric of his breeches. She sucked in a breath as he curled her fingers around his shaft. He found it hard to breathe.

  He leaned forward so his lips brushed her ear. “It’s lust. That’s all it is,” he managed hoarsely. “Nothing personal, just healthy bodies needing a release. The good news is, it’s easy to remedy. I can make it go away, Hellcat. You know I can. I can give you pleasure without taking your virginity. You know my reputation. Apart from killing, this is what I do best.”

  There. That ought to do it. He’d reminded her of his other women, of his shocking character, and impressed upon her that this was pent-up tension, nothing more. She’d be disgusted. His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for her to pull away. Or slap him. “All you have to do is say yes,” he taunted, just for good measure.

  She tilted her head back and looked him straight in the eye. Her fingers tightened around his shaft.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  —

  Raven’s head reeled. Yes? Was she insane? He pulled back, dislodging her hand, and stared at her in disbelief. “What?” he choked.

  Her thunderstorm eyes didn’t waver from his. “I said, yes.”

  He let out a shaky exhalation. “You don’t mean that, Hellcat.”

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. She lifted her chin. “Don’t tell me what I mean, Ravenwood.”

  Oh God. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so turned on. Had he really hoped to call her bluff? Heloise had never once done what he expected.

  She put her hand on his chest and he realized he was breathing hard, as if he’d run a race. Her midnight-and-roses fragrance sneaked into his lungs and knotted his stomach, making it hard to think. The ferocious depth of his desire for her roared in his ears. She moistened her lip with the tip of her tongue and his cock throbbed in response.

  He couldn’t take her. That would be a monumental mistake, a line he’d sworn never to cross. But the vital distance he needed to maintain had been swept away by the violence at the caves and his stupid confession. Hell, he might as well have told her he loved her. He growled low in his throat, breath hissing out between his teeth, his entire body taut with exquisite tension.

  Why couldn’t he give her what she wanted? He needed her, with a blind, driving lust that blotted out almost everything else. He could pleasure her and preserve her virginity, though the effort might actually kill him.

  This was all he had to give. She had his heart, but he could never offer her marriage, permanence. Still, he could give her his body, his expertise; sweet, perfect satisfaction. And he could steal this one, brief selfish moment for himself.

  “You trust me?” he asked hoarsely.

  She nodded.

  He closed his eyes in defeat. They’d been coming to this moment for years. And while it was all new to her, he had a wealth of experience. His every sexual encounter had been in preparation for this, every other woman a poor substitute for the one in his arms. He smiled in fierce satisfaction. Oh, yes. This was what he was good at. What he loved. He’d make it so good she’d forget her own name.

  —

  Heloise couldn’t believe what Raven had just offered. Or that she’d actually accepted.

  Oh God. When she’d teased him at the ball about taking him as her lover she’d never imagined he�
��d actually propose it in truth. Her heart hammered, even as a thrilling rush of physical desire mingled with the panic. Would he really go through with it? Would she? She’d never wanted anything more in her life.

  His bare chest was mere inches from hers, his skin heated under her palm. The steady thud of his heart pulsed beneath her fingertips. She brought her other hand up and circled his biceps; her fingers barely curled halfway around it. Her body tingled.

  The look he gave her was so direct, so predatory, she felt it in the pit of her stomach and the tips of her breasts. She stared up at him, trembling. He leaned forward and his beard-stubbled cheek rasped against her skin like fine sandpaper.

  His voice was a low, hoarse whisper in her ear. “I’m going to use my mouth on you, Hellcat. And my hands. Until you scream with pleasure.”

  She gasped as he bit her earlobe then pressed his lips against the small cut on her throat where the assailant’s knife had been; he soothed the sting with a flick of his tongue. He moved lower and she thought he would go to her breasts next, but instead he dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands caught her hips and he rested his forehead against the curve of her stomach, almost as if he were saying penance.

  Heloise froze in astonishment. The warmth of his breath through the thin fabric of her shirt sent shivers of excitement racing through her. Her hands went automatically to his head and she tangled her fingers in his hair.

  He turned his head and pressed an openmouthed kiss against her stomach, then another, lower down. A throbbing ache started between her legs. His hands moved from her hips and cupped her bottom, then slid down the back of her thighs and up again, underneath the shirt. The feel of him on her naked skin was astonishing.

  The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her leg, just above her knee. Her legs turned to water. His lips trailed upward, to the soft skin of her inner thigh, and Heloise squirmed in embarrassment as she realized his destination. Slick heat bloomed between her legs but she clutched at his shoulders, trying to push him off.