BLADE'S LADY

by Fiona Brand

  "Good." He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing to glittering slits. "Then now is as good a time as any for you to tell me why you can't marry me when I know damn well that you love me."

  "Because I don't think it will work," she said bluntly. "How can it? The whole thing has been a – a fantasy. You can have any woman you want. Why would you want me beyond some kind of novelty value?" There, she'd said part of it, even if she was holding back on the worst bit. "There were the dreams, and then there was all the danger. Nothing about our relationship has been normal."

  He gave her a disbelieving look. "And you think that if we have a 'normal' relationship neither of us will be interested?"

  "I didn't say that. When I said 'I love you,' I meant it."

  "What happens if you're pregnant? When we made love, I didn't wear a condom."

  She went weak at the thought. The mere idea of growing Blade's baby inside her filled her with an aching hunger. "Even if there's a baby," she said in a voice so flat and toneless she hardly recognised it as her own, "we don't have to get married. People don't, these days."

  He dropped his hands to his sides and stepped toward her, so close that his heat and scent, the hot wash of his vitality, swamped her. "If there's a baby, we'll be married," he stated.

  His jaw was set, his eyes hooded and burning like live coals. "And while we're clearing the air," he said silkily, "what took you so long to call me?"

  It took a moment for what he meant to sink in. "Call you?"

  "Yeah, as in Starship Enterprise to Earth, beam me up, Scotty."

  Her hands curled into fists at his sarcasm. "I've never beamed anyone up yet."

  "Don't sweat it," he muttered. "There's still time."

  "I know I'm … different, but I'm not that strange."

  "Couldn't prove it by me." Blade wheeled away from her and stalked to the centre of the room, as if he needed to work off some of his restless tension. Firelight gleamed on his broad shoulders as he spun to face her. "Most women I know like to call me. They appreciate that I'm interested in them, that I care about their safety. They would love to know that I was worried about them. Some of them would even get a thrill out of knowing I'm primed and ready to kill for them." He eyed her broodingly. "Maybe I've been spoiled, but that's the way it's been for me so far."

  Anna eyed him warily. He had wanted her to make contact with her mind?

  Blade's mention of all the women he'd known, and probably made love to, in the past stung. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he couldn't have picked a better way than letting her know she was just one of many.

  Her temper stirred. The "many" probably stretched into an army of satisfied women. "Maybe you should go and call one of those women right now, if they're all so hot for you," she snapped. "And I 'called' you just as soon as I could."

  He eyed her moodily, his bad temper a tangible presence in the cavernous room. "It wasn't soon enough for me."

  "You … didn't mind that I—"

  "I was waiting for the damn call. It killed me inside when it didn't come."

  He prowled toward her. His hands landed on her shoulders, his grip firm. She got the impression he would have liked to shake her and was barely managing to hold himself in check.

  "I was drugged," she said dazedly. "When I woke up, I thought about calling you, but I didn't want to put you in danger if there was no need."

  No need. Blade listened to her with mounting fury. He had been imagining Anna hurt, bleeding, maybe even dead.

  No, not dead, he decided savagely. He would have known if she was dead.

  Acknowledging the link between them only fuelled his temper, reminding him that for years he had been forced to watch while, time and again, she escaped death by the skin of her teeth. But this time, when he had been ready and able to save her, she had been debating whether or not she needed his help!

  "So what made you call?" His voice was little more than a whisper. He was afraid that if he allowed any more volume out, he would end up yelling.

  "Henry had organised a trap. They were going to kill you. I couldn't let them do that."

  Oh, yeah, he could see her logic now. "So you called me for my own protection."

  "Yes."

  He surveyed the tilt of her chin, the stubborn set to her mouth, the faintly narrowed gaze that hinted at the redheaded temper he knew lived under all that frosty control. Satisfaction curled inside him. He was finally getting under her skin. "Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to be protected from Henry?"

  Her eyes widened fractionally.

  "I know this is probably an old-fashioned notion," he continued softly, "but then, despite the way the tabloids paint me, I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy. In my version of a perfect world, I get to slay the dragon, and I get to protect the woman I love. That kind of thing is important to me."

  She didn't nod, didn't move, just stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns.

  Blade's jaw clenched even tighter. He was dying inside by inches, but he couldn't stop now. "One of my fields of expertise is hostage recovery. I've snatched a British diplomat from a South American compound crawling with trigger-happy militia. I've crawled through an underground sewer and penetrated a city building in an Arab state to rescue some of our own men who had been taken prisoner and tortured. I have done a lot of things that could be construed as hazardous to my health. On that scale, de Rocheford and his sidekick, Seber, qualify as little more than a pain in the ass. For years you've called out to me," he said grimly, "and I haven't been able to answer. This time I was able to do something. This time I could save you. Now do you understand what it did to me to wait?"

  "The other reason I didn't want to call you," she said woodenly, "was because I was afraid you wouldn't … like it."

  "Not like it?" He swore beneath his breath. So that was what was wrong! Relief flooded him. "I don't understand how you do it. Hell, I don't understand how I pick up whatever it is you do, but I don't care. Baby, in future, if you need to, you will call me at any time of the night or day, is that clear?"

  "Yes."

  She didn't believe him. She was still shutting him out, pulling that damn self-sufficiency she'd got so comfortable with around her like a cloak.

  Well, he'd had enough. He had held back, played the gentleman as much as he was able, intent on giving her time to get over the shock of being kidnapped and incarcerated, but the consideration and coddling hadn't helped; they had made things worse. Then he had muddied the waters further by losing his temper.

  For a man who prided himself on knowing how to deal with women, he was making a mess of this. He should have followed his damn instincts all along.

  In the dreams they'd shared, Anna had demanded his attention in a sensual, completely feminine way, enticing him to the point of madness, until his control had disintegrated and he had given her what she needed: his utter, focused attention. When he was buried inside her, he had known exactly where he stood with her; he had known she was his. The act had been raw and primitive, stripped to its most basic components. There had been no foreplay, precious little afterplay, just a burning need for each other. Existence had narrowed to what they shared together – and he knew now that what they had shared had gone far deeper than any physical joining.

  He began unbuttoning her shirt.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm stripping you naked. Then I'm going to make love to you."

  His fingers halted, he met her gaze. He'd thought once that her eyes were shrouded in mist and shadows, but he knew her better now. The mist and shadows hid uncertainty and the same terrible need that burned through him. He was staking his whole future that he wasn't wrong. "That is," he said quietly, "if you're still interested."

  "I've always been interested. I was afraid you might not stay interested."

  His breath caught on a surge of elation. He'd never been vulnerable emotionally, never been unsure with a woman. Sometimes it seemed that he'd led a charmed existence; everything th
at he had wanted, he had generally got. Anna was the exception to the rule, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything. He knew in that moment that if he didn't have her, his life would be flat, empty.

  She knew him. Knew the needs that seethed at his core and that he had never unleashed with anyone but her. She had seen who he was, known who he was for years, and revelled in it, demanded more. The dilemma of control versus passion dissolved in that instant, cancelled out by the simple fact that Anna was his, his mate, the woman who matched him and complemented him in every way. He didn't have to control or hide what he was from her; all he had to do was love her.

  He tossed her shirt aside, picked her up and carried her across to the mattress, laying her down on top of his sleeping bag. It was crude, as far as beds went, but he would make it up to her later. He had plans for a massive four-poster, the kind of bed whole dynasties were founded in. He looked forward to the founding process.

  With satisfaction, he saw that her shield of remoteness had been replaced by wary surprise and the same bone-deep longing that was burning him from the inside out. He eyed the splay of her limbs with satisfaction, the silky tumble of her hair and the solemn mystery of her eyes. For the first time since he'd met her, he knew he had her full attention. He meant to hold her attention for a very long time.

  There would be no more evasions, no more hiding. No more tiptoeing around her. He understood why she was so skittish. She was worried about his reaction to her psychic talent, and she needed to be sure of him – but he was every bit as hungry for that certainty. She had haunted him, shared his dreams, called out to him when she needed him. Now he needed the certainty of knowing that she would stay with him, be with him.

  His hands shook as he tore off his jeans.

  With the candlelight and shadows it was like plunging into one of the dreams, only this time it was more urgent, more intense. He had a frightening thought that if he didn't win her now, he never really would, and he couldn't bear to lose her. She had brought a flood of richness to his life. He was like a blind man who had just discovered colours, their special link, strange as it was, just another layer in the richness.

  If he wanted to pull the response he wanted from her, he would have to use what he had learned in the dreams – that he wasn't nearly as civilised as he had thought, that somewhere buried deep in his psyche were the same primitive needs that had driven his reaving ancestor to take hold of what he wanted. The dreams must have been prophetic, he thought, as he lowered himself to the bed, control spiralling away even before he touched her. This was much more his style.

  Anna gasped at the first touch. In the candlelight, with his hair a tangled mane clinging to his damp shoulders, dark eyes slitted with intent, Blade looked as sensual and untamed as he had in her dreams.

  His mouth brushed hers, startlingly soft, warm, his breath washing her cheek. He moved lower, his hair trailed like warm satin over her skin and the musky, hot scent of him filled her nostrils.

  He reared up, looming over her, reminding her of the moment, several nights ago, when she had opened her eyes in the ditch and seen him for the first time. Firelight limned his shoulders now, the fluid shift of sleek muscles turning his skin to molten gold.

  He picked up her hand and placed it over his heart. "I need you … here."

  For an odd, suspended moment, Anna couldn't move, couldn't think, as if his simple action and words had paralysed her inside. His hand tightened on hers as if he would press her hand deep into his flesh, and all the pent-up emotion she'd stamped on and suppressed burst free, and with the release, something else happened … like the ripping away of a veil. Suddenly she could feel the extremity of his need, the fierce inner hope, that matched her own. He loved her. More … he needed her. The moment was as pure and golden as the glow of the firelight that spread through the room. He wasn't an angel, she thought – he had never been an angel. He was, quite simply, hers.

  "And here," he said with a wry groan, guiding her hand lower.

  Anna's fingers closed around him, and he came to her in a lithe flow, as bonelessly graceful as a big cat.

  He let her guide him, then began entering her, the penetration a slow hot burn of pleasure as her body stretched to accommodate him. Anna shivered in delight, wrapping herself around him as his heat poured through her and the firelight flickered around them in a mellow nimbus of soft light.

  He caught her face between his hands, and his hair fell in a curtain around them, enclosing them in heat and darkness. "I need you," he stated bluntly. "I love you. If I have to shackle you to my bed, I'll do it. There'll be no more running away. I want you here beside me, so that if anything happens, I can deal with it. It's driven me crazy for years that I couldn't reach out and touch you. I want to reach out and touch you any time I feel like it. That means we get married. ASAP. If you want a big church wedding, we can do that later, but I want the paperwork done and that ring on your finger this week. Have you got that?"

  Anna shimmied beneath his hold, and he groaned hoarsely. He was supporting most of his weight on his arms, but she was pinned beneath him, and he was buried deep inside her as if he felt the need to anchor her to his bed. Wonder pulsed through her – she wasn't going anywhere unless he threw her out.

  *

  A long time later, Anna moved restlessly in sleep, caught in the dark current of a dream that swept her along and threatened to pull her beneath the surface where there was no air and no light penetrating, where it was dark and cold and terribly still. She fought the current, fought the cold, crying out in protest.

  The answer when it came was a low, crooning rumble she turned toward instinctively. The man, for it was a man, was like fire. The warmth from his body poured over her, beating back the cold, and that low, hypnotic voice continued to cajole, pulling her from the dream.

  Her eyes flickered open. Blade was cradling her, his shoulders outlined by the dying glow of the fire. Her arms wound around his neck, and she clung to him, taking the comfort he offered.

  "I love you," she whispered into his neck, a rush of love squeezing her heart so tight she felt like it was being crushed in her chest.

  He continued to croon, telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her, how long he'd waited for her, how lonely he'd been. His voice was low and rough, almost unbearably tender, and all the while, he stroked her back, her hair, giving her the magic of his heat, his touch.

  He kissed her, his lips soft and lingeringly sweet, then he settled her on top of him so she was sprawled on his chest, and slowly entered her.

  Instead of making love, he just held her, the hot throb of his flesh warming her from the inside out.

  "Go back to sleep," he whispered.

  He draped the sleeping bag over them both, and Anna let her eyelids drift closed and her breathing even out, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, the physical link of penetration. Her last coherent thought was that somehow Blade had understood that her coldness had been internal – a deep-seated fear that she would lose him – and he had responded by banishing that fear with the only thing that could, the overwhelming certainty of his presence.

  *

  She awoke to feel him still lodged inside her and fully aroused.

  She lay in the dark, enjoying the slow building pleasure of just having him there, aware that Blade, too, was awake and enjoying the same sweet torment. After a period of time his hands closed on her hips, his thighs pushing up and out, parting her legs until she straddled him. Anna gasped at the abrupt depth of his penetration.

  "Better?" he murmured.

  Anna levered herself up fully, the puffy softness of the sleeping bag falling away. She rose up, then slid back down in slow increments. She couldn't speak, could barely think; the sensation was almost too intense to bear.

  Blade's hands tightened; a low satisfied groan rumbled from deep in his belly. "Oh, yeah, that's it. Just there."

  The dying glow from the fire illuminated the room, dim light ca
tching the muscular beauty of the torso beneath her hands, the wild mane of black hair spread across the pillow, the darkness of Blade's eyes fixed on her as if, even now, he was afraid she would shimmer into mist and disappear. She rode him slowly and for a long time, utterly absorbed by the heavy fullness of him inside her, the novelty of having his big body sprawled beneath her – hers to play with, hers to love – the flex of sweaty muscle beneath her hands, the shudders that shook through him every time she took him deep.

  His hands came up to cup her breasts, and she lost her train of thought as the rough pads of his fingers caressed nipples that were already tightly beaded. She was sensitive to his lightest touch, her flesh tender and aching with a sweet heat, as if she would burst at the next light brush.

  His fingers tightened, and hot pleasure burst through her, taking her by storm, so that her whole body tensed, her heart pounded, and her head swam. Her vision receded, as if she were caught in the whirling centre of a storm, blind to everything but Blade. She felt the moment he lost the battle for control. He arched, his hands clasping her firmly against him as he drove deep. He went rigid, trembling against her, his head flung back with a hoarse groan, and she felt the hot, pulsing flood of his release.

  No condom again, she thought hazily, as she collapsed on his chest and he gathered her in close.

  *

  It was dawn when Anna next awoke to find herself pinned to the mattress by an arm slung possessively over her middle. The fire was no more than a smouldering pile of embers. At some point in the night, Blade had opened up the sleeping bag, turning it into a quilt, but he was so hot to sleep with that, in the end, they'd pushed it down until it was bunched around their hips.

  She turned her head on the pillow and looked directly into Blade's warm, intent gaze. Anna remembered something he'd said last night. She touched his stubbled jaw. He looked wild and uncivilised, a dissolute barbarian prince, with his jaw so dark and the earring glinting in the tangled mane of his hair, and she trembled on the edge of an incredulous smile. "You've never taken a girlfriend home to meet your family?"