Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  Holly squared her shoulders, knowing that she was in danger of losing everything. “I made a promise, Mum. I will not go back on it. You must do what you feel is best, and so must I.”

  As soon as she finished speaking, she felt ill, ready to be sick all over the cobbles. What would she do if she could not share her work with the SOS? It was too advanced for normal society. She’d be cut off, silenced in the cruelest fashion. What had she done?

  A cold shiver ran through her. And then she felt the soft touch at the tips of her gloved fingers. Thorne, reminding her that he was there for her. Holly didn’t want to think on how warm his support made her feel. Or the fact that she wanted to clutch his hand and not let go.

  Lane’s disappointment was fierce upon her face. And Holly found herself speaking once more.

  “However, when I return to work, I will…” Words stuck in her throat. She pushed them out. “I will no longer associate with Mr. Thorne.”

  At her side, Thorne flinched, though he said nothing. He didn’t need to. She knew she’d disappointed him. Did he think her a coward for folding under Lane’s censure? Holly rather feared that she was.

  Director Lane stared Holly down for an icy moment. “Well then,” she said finally, “I see your mind is set.” Her gaze went to Thorne, and the temperature dropped so swiftly that their breaths came out in puffs of white. “You harm Miss Evernight or my organization and there won’t be a safe place for you in this world, Mr. Thorne.”

  Holly expected a flip reply, but Thorne simply bowed and touched the brim of his hat. “Duly noted, Mrs. Lane.” Then he gave Holly a look of such sheer disgust that she flinched before he turned heel and walked into the house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Holly’s father had always said that, when cornered, she tended to act rashly. She rather feared she was guilty of this now, that she hadn’t disappointed Thorne but rather had injured his feelings after Director Lane had backed her into a proverbial corner.

  For tension and some deeper emotion hummed off Thorne’s frame as he handed Felix his overcoat and gloves in the hall. Ought she apologize? But what could she say? She had to give up any association with him. He’d been standing at her side; surely he understood why. Was he truly upset over that eventuality? Or was it something else? She did not know. Emotions were ephemeral, fleeting things. She dealt in facts and figures. They were safe, logical. Thorne was anything but.

  Not having a solution to the problem, she kept to what she understood: a schedule. When he made to climb the stairs, she stopped him. “Are we not going to do your massage?” Even as she said the words, she knew she’d made an error.

  He stopped short, one foot on the first riser. His grip upon the newel-post went knuckle-white. Slowly he turned, and her insides jumped upon seeing his grim expression. In silence, he stared at her as if trying to discover any hidden motive she might have.

  She tried to reassure him. “It isn’t safe for you to forgo them.”

  He merely looked at her. As though she were a defective machine. Holly swallowed. “That is, you might slip into madness should you ignore the problem.”

  Wrong thing to say, apparently, for his eyes narrowed to slits. When he spoke, his voice was a cold whip through the thick silence. “We wouldn’t want to put you into any danger, now would we?”

  That wasn’t precisely what she’d meant, but she didn’t want to argue. “I’ll wait out here until you are ready.”

  He’d yet to lower his gaze from hers. “Why wait?” The silky tone slithered over her spine. He took a step forward, watching her like a falcon does a mouse, even as his hand went to his cravat, jerking it free with a tug. “Such common actions as my undressing mean little to you, correct? I am, after all, nothing more than an experiment.”

  So then, she’d hurt him. Had he no sense of her finer feelings? That he’d stomped all over them more than once? Irked, she lifted her chin. “As I am nothing more than a remedy.”

  “Just so,” he said crisply. Like a perfect gentleman, he made a little bow and held out a hand, indicating that she proceed him into her laboratory. “After you, pet.”

  Walking with a stiffness she felt down to her bones, Holly did as bided. Thorne followed, closing the door behind them with a decisive click that had her insides clenching.

  Instinct screamed for her to beg off, flee. But she wouldn’t give Thorne the satisfaction of seeing her unravel. For she knew, with the suddenness of one being caught out unprepared in a rain shower, that he wanted her unhinged. It was in his steady stare and the tight, unpleasant smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

  Thorne walked to the center of the room. There, he turned to face her. He watched her as he grabbed hold of the lapels of his ruined jacket and opened it wide like an offering.

  A lump filled her throat.

  Thorne slipped free of the jacket, and it fell to the floor in a muted thud.

  Moving with a languid sort of deliberation, he eased the braces off his shoulders. They slipped along the linen of his shirtsleeves with a soft hiss. Behind her, a log in the fire broke with a sharp crack. Holly clutched the back of a chair and remained caught in the snare of Thorne’s attention.

  Oh, but he knew what he was about. He wasn’t simply undressing. He was putting on a show. For her. As though they would soon tup. His eyes gleamed with rays of silver and black as he unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly. Each button, quietly coming undone and revealing more skin, more of him.

  Holly glared. He smiled. And then pulled the shirt overhead.

  The silken strands of his hair settled about his shoulders, drawing her attention to the breadth of them, to the way his waist narrowed down to lean hips. His trousers hung low, held up only by the jut of his hipbones and the bulge of his cock.

  Gods and gadgets but she didn’t want to notice his cock. Heat swarmed over her skin like a fever. As if he heard her thoughts and sensed her reaction, he paused, and his nostrils flared. Humor lit his gaze as his smile grew crooked, almost smug.

  Smarmy bastard. She fought the urge to run from the room. Something told her he’d follow.

  Swallowing with difficulty, Holly fussed about with the heavy blanket he would use to cover himself. She didn’t want to watch him lower his trousers. She didn’t think she could touch him with any sense of propriety if she saw him utterly bared to her.

  Obviously not fooled, he made a noise of amusement. She ignored that too and went over to add a few logs to the fire. Something to do, at least. His voice, dark and laced with irony, called out to her. “I’m covered. Your virtue is safe, Miss Evernight.”

  Holly’s back teeth met with a click. Reluctantly, she turned.

  The first massages she’d given him had been something of a blur to her. She’d been either exhausted, both mentally and physically, or had managed to remain in a state of detachment, too eager to see if her theory proved correct to truly be affected by Thorne. Now? She was alert. And far too aware.

  Saints preserve her, but it was difficult approaching him as he lay spread out like a banquet upon her worktable. He watched, his gaze somnolent yet attentive, like a lazing cat waiting to pounce. And a pulse began to beat low in her neck.

  A throw covered his hips and lower limbs. It did not help, for the delineated stretch and dip of his torso muscles were on full display. He’d placed an arm under his head, and his biceps bunched, drawing her attention from there to the little tuft of bronze hair upon his underarm. It was too much intimacy.

  Transfixed, Holly walked closer.

  When Holly had been a girl of fifteen, her parents had taken her on a trip throughout the continent. They’d visited the Salon in Paris, and there, had seen Auguste Rodin’s scandalous The Age of Bronze. Holly remembered gaping up at the nude study in darkly gleaming bronze. The metal had sung to her, a low, beautiful hum. But the sinewy grace of the male form was what had held her in thrall.

  She tried to think of that now as she looked down at Thorne, whose body, while similarly graceful, wa
s chiseled with greater definition. She tried to view him as little more than another beautiful sculpture. And failed.

  He was so very beautiful. So finely made. Wicked, forbidden, wild. William Thorne was all of the things she’d turned away from her entire life. Order, rules, and discipline made up her world, gave her a sense of place and self.

  Now everything felt off, as though her center of gravity had pulled away from the earth and affixed itself to him, compelling her inexorably closer. She stared down at his chest, where the ever-present metal expanded outward. His abdomen, arms, and neck were all covered with it.

  “You are managing your pain better now,” she said, if only to break the oppressive silence.

  He simply looked back at her. When he finally spoke, the words came out flippant. “When there is the promise of relief in the form of your touch? How can I not?”

  To keep her wits, Holly pursed her lips, looking reproachful, because he expected that. He could not, would not, know how he affected her. She refused to let it show. Nor did she want to touch him. Not now, when she feared she’d give herself away, flush with desire, or perhaps linger too long in one place. It took all of her will to lay her hands upon him.

  Her palms spread over the cold metal patch that covered his left shoulder. Inside, she began to shake, a slow build of heat growing within. Bugger all, but this would be impossible. Barely daring to breathe, Holly eased her touch along his shoulder, concentrating on her power. Just a sculpture. Think of him as a sculpture.

  Cool, hard, smooth, hot. The texture of his skin was unlike anything she’d ever felt. The metal made it smooth and cool and hard. Where not altered by metal, his skin was like hot satin, only silkier and tight with strength.

  His flesh twitched beneath her palms as she mapped his chest. Every breath he took sounded loud and clear in her ears. And all the while, he watched her.

  A quiver rippled along the backs of her thighs, up over her bottom, and crawled along her spine. Damn it, she was better than this. She was not a creature of base desires, but of logic and restraint. Her breath moved in and out, a slow, steady rhythm as she stroked him.

  Neither of them spoke. The crackle of the fire in the grate, along with the occasional creak of the house settling, surrounded them. Beneath heavy lids, Thorne tracked her every move. And her touch grew unsteady. A momentary weakness he jumped upon.

  “Does it feel good to you?” he drawled, low and easy. “Touching me?”

  Instantly, the space between her legs clenched tight. Holly kept her touch impersonal. She could not live with the ignominy of revealing her wants to Thorne, who would treat her weakness as a bloody good joke. “It is a task. Just like any other.” A bald-faced lie if ever she told one.

  His nostrils flared, the platinum in his eyes shining bright. “Then why do I smell your cunny growing wet with need?”

  Holly stopped, her palm flat against his pectoral muscle, as more slick heat flooded her sex. Oh, this was beyond the pale. What on earth had gotten into the blasted demon? “Being crude is not going to get a rise out of me, Mr. Thorne.”

  A small, cruel smile curled his lips. “Not going to deny it, are you, Miss Evernight?”

  “Blather.” She took up stroking an area tangled with platinum webbing with more force than necessary. “That is all you’re about. Ridiculous blather. And I will not engage in such nonsense.”

  Holly concentrated on pulling the metal from him. Not on his scent, clean and pleasing in the space between them. Or the way his skin grew increasingly warmer.

  When he spoke again, it was soft, teasing. “Do you know that when I said ‘cunny’ your sweet scent grew stronger?”

  Again she stopped. His dense muscles tightened beneath her nails. “Mr. Thorne—”

  “Do you wonder,” he whispered, holding her gaze with his, “if my cock is affected?” A dark brow lifted, his fangs glinting. “If it is more metal than flesh? Hard for you?”

  She would not look down at the appendage in question. It was difficult enough to pretend each time that she wasn’t aware of that part of him, or that she hadn’t seen it grow and lengthen beneath the covers. Oh, she knew precisely how long and thick he was, and precisely how aroused. Each and every time.

  His gaze upon her burned. “Do you want to see my cock, Miss Evernight? Feel it move inside of you?”

  Gods, he made her feel empty, made her want to be filled up. Her hands turned to fists. “Stop it. Now, Mr. Thorne.”

  He rose up on his elbows, his white hair sliding over his broad and dusky shoulders, his defined abdomen tightening. “Or. What?”

  Holly sat back on the stool by the table, placing her hands upon her lap so that he wouldn’t see them trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why not?”

  She could not look away from the black and platinum starburst of his gaze, so very brilliant. So very angry and taunting. Her nails dug into her palms. “Find your amusement elsewhere.”

  His lean hips canted just a bit, an utterly crude gesture that held her in thrall. “I’d rather find it with you.”

  “I’m helping you, aren’t I?” She hated how the words came out in a near-desperate pitch. But he had to stop. Agitation had her breath coming on hard and fast, pressing her now-heavy breasts against her too-tight bodice.

  “Helping me,” he scoffed. “Do not skew this into some act of kindness. You do so that I won’t kill you.”

  “Is it kindness that you want?” She laughed without humor. “A funny way you go about getting it.” She leaned forward in her anger. “Why are you saying these things? Truly? Why are you acting like such a… disgusting arse?”

  He shot upright, his chest bumping into hers before she backed away a pace as if seared. “Because you never react during these torture sessions,” he ground out. “Because I want that rise out of you. I want you to…” He bared his teeth, those evil-looking fangs growing longer. “I want to know if you feel—”

  His teeth ground together, his eyes wild and silver-black.

  “Feel?” she prompted as if her heart wasn’t beating madly.

  “Anything!” he roared. “Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You touch me every day. You rub your hands all over me. And nothing! Not a flicker of emotion. As if I didn’t exist.” The expanse of his chest heaved with exertion, the sinewy muscles along his abdomen clenching. “And all the while I’m lying here aching, fucking dying to… You’re driving me to insanity,” he finished with a wild shout. “And it means exactly nothing to you—”

  She grabbed hold of the back of his neck and kissed him. Just as she’d wanted to, her lips claiming his parted ones, shutting off the stream of words that flowed from him. His lips were soft and warm, and touching them set off a rush of lust that coursed along her limbs. He froze, going so tense that his neck felt like ice. For all of one second. And then he attacked. His hands plunged into her hair and gripped the sides of her head as he fell back, hauling her with him, devouring her with quick, biting kisses, punctuated by helpless groans.

  Breathless and dizzy, she answered every kiss, opening her mouth when his mouth demanded it. They both shivered when their tongues slid together.

  “Hell,” he moaned, licking along her bottom lip. “Hell, I knew you’d taste so bloody good.” He angled his head, plunging his tongue in deep as his hands held her captive. The gesture wicked and decadent. Grunting, he spun them, pressing her into the table with the strength of his body. His thigh nudged between hers, and her skirts slid up. Instantly, his hand was there, long fingers trailing along her skin. “I’m not stopping,” he growled into her mouth. “So don’t ask me to.”

  Holly tore her lips from his and grabbed a handful of silken hair. She held him fast and hard. “You’ll stop if I say so.”

  Thorne paused, his lips brushing hers as he breathed heavily through his mouth. Hot, black eyes bore into hers. “Are you asking me to stop?” He was so still and careful that she knew he would, despite his claim.

&nbs
p; A fire raged through her veins. And the need to suckle his curved lower lip had her voice turning rough. “No.”

  His nostrils flared. “Then why are we discussing this?”

  “I wasn’t the one who brought up the subject—”

  He kissed her so deep and long that she whimpered. And he ground the length of his hard cock where she ached. Desperately, Holly reached between them and wrapped her fingers around him. No, not metal here, but hard as, with skin softer than silk. And hot. So very hot in her hand. His unhinged groan vibrated through her frame.

  “Harder,” he rasped, thrusting his cock through her fist. “Make it hurt.”

  She squeezed tight, tugging as her thumb swept over the smooth, slick tip.

  He panted into her mouth, his entire body shaking. “Yes, like that. Bloody hell.” He seemed to swell within her grip, go impossibly harder. Holly flickered her tongue against his as she writhed beneath him, impatient, needing him to bruise her too.

  With a curse, he canted his hips enough to wrench her skirts up high, bunching them in a mess about her waist. And then the rounded, hot crown of his cock was at her opening. Not pushing in, but slip-sliding over her wetness. A tease. He stared down at her, his lips parted, his brows drawn tight as though he were in pain. Oh, but the look in his eyes, so filled with need and dark heat that her heart flipped inside her chest. She was empty. So very empty.

  “Will… please…”

  With his thighs, he spread hers wide.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said against her lips, and she whimpered again. Gods, but she wanted it. More than she’d ever wanted anything. She hated him for making her want him. But it only fueled her lust. Mad. She’d finally gone mad.

  Her hand ran down the hard curve of his arse and gripped it tight. “Then shut up and do it.”