Silver Mist

by Raine Cantrell

  “If he’s down here, you won’t have to run up and down the stairs to tend him.”

  The words lingered in her mind as she pressed a cold wet cloth against the swelling on her father’s head. She knew he was resting peacefully due to the brandy Eden had managed to get him to drink. Cyrus had been awake and aware for a few minutes, just long enough to tell them that he had heard a noise and had tripped coming down the stairs to investigate it.

  She took the basin into the kitchen and Eden followed her. He set the lamp and the decanter he carried on the table, refilled his glass, hesitated a moment, and then stepped forward.

  Dara lingered over washing the basin and her hands, sensing his presence behind her. When she knew she had regained her composure, she turned around, her gaze fastened on the linen towel as she dried her hands.

  “There’s no need to worry, Dara. He’ll be fine.”

  “I believe you. I owe you an apology, for you’ve more than proved your skill. I don’t think Sophy or a doctor could have cared for him any better.”

  “Praise, Dara?”

  She flung aside the towel. “Must you mock me?”

  “You invite it, sweet darlin’, with every lash of your tongue.”

  Dara didn’t answer. She knew she wouldn’t win any verbal sparring, and her exhaustion left her at a distinct disadvantage. He sipped from the glass he held, then frowned, staring down at the liquor.

  “Is there something wrong with it?” she asked, just now realizing how late it was and that they were alone. Fear for her father had wiped out thought for anyone else, but worry crept into her mind. Neither of her brothers had returned home.

  “It should be warm,” he noted.

  “Warm? What should—”

  “The brandy,” he explained. “Forgive my lack of manners. Would you care for a taste?”

  Her chin lifted, her voice starched as she removed her glasses. “I do not drink spirits.”

  “Ah, yes. Back to being my prim miss.” His grin was rueful as he noted the shadows beneath her eyes, the tiny wisps of hair escaping her neatly coiled braids, the water spots that dampened the front of her cherry and cream striped silk gown, and found himself instantly aroused.

  “That was an ungentlemanly remark!”

  “Remind me to teach you what the word gentleman means. And it’s nothing your mother taught you.” Her gaze locked with his, and he waited, believing it most uncivil to rush a lady one intended to seduce. Not the right time or place, but Dara, left to her own devices, would never create one. In absolute defiance of what was right, he knew he was not going to stop himself from what he was about to do. When awareness of him as a man brightened her eyes, he closed the distance between them.

  Dara forced herself to lower her gaze from his and turned her head aside. Exhaustion fled as a surge of dangerous excitement filled her. He had mocked her innocence, and she had sworn he would never have the opportunity to do so again, but he tempted her with his taunts that she not only wasn’t a woman, but could so easily be one with him and for him. She recalled his earlier promise on the rain-swept porch and wondered if she would see desire in his eyes and her own gaze a mirror of it. Shamed by the direction of her thoughts, she felt the need to escape him.

  “I’m grateful for all—”

  “Spare me the platitudes, Dara.” His fingertips brushed her chin, silently urging her to face him. “Coward,” he murmured. He could almost feel the tension in her body, knew her fear, but he did not offer her soft coaxing words. “Share this with me.”

  She stared down at the glass he held, at the way his hands cupped it between them, and watched him gently roll it back and forth. The motion mesmerized her, but only for a few moments.

  “I think it’s best if you leave now.” Her hip brushed the counter behind her, cutting off her unconscious retreat. “My brothers will be…” His hand on her cheek stopped her.

  “Do you think you need protection from me, darlin’?”

  “Yes,” she admitted with innate candor. Dara knew it was a mistake to look up at his face. Thick black lashes framed the pewter shade of his eyes, but there was a glint of mischief within them that his keen gaze did not disguise.

  Eden slowly rotated the glass in his hand, then sniffed appreciatively before taking a sip. His smile was both predatory and satisfied. “It’s almost the perfect temperature,” he noted softly, “for you to taste.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Where’s that forthright honesty, darlin’? You do want.”

  “You can’t know that.” Her startled gaze met his. But it wasn’t his look that brought forth another denial. It was his smile. Those finely molded lips of his held a sensual promise that tempted her. “No. I—”

  “Hush, darlin’. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Dara held tight to the edge of the counter. Her pulse raced wildly and her heart began to pound along with her blood, which seemed to rush headlong through her body. Fine tremors spread upward inside her when his gaze became thoughtful for a moment, then changed to one of understanding and something akin to pity.

  “I told you how it would be between us, didn’t I?” Without taking his eyes from hers, he dipped his thumb into the glass and glossed her lips with the sheen of brandy. “Now, taste it.”

  There was nothing seductive in his voice for all that it was soft. It was a man’s demand that challenged her. Dara thought of refusing him, feeling the warmth of the liquor steal the coolness from her mouth. But the emptiness of her days and nights entreated her to give in to the wild impulse to explore the emotions he effortlessly called from her.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to use caution, and felt her blood rush down a path marked Danger that this man had beckoned her toward from the first. Parting her lips slightly, the tip of her tongue glided across her bottom lip.

  “That little bit didn’t hurt, did it?” he whispered, not waiting for her to answer. “We could try again,” he suggested indulgently, willing to allow her the choice.

  Dara wanted to reply, what, she didn’t know. His thumb nibbed brandy once again across the satin sheen of her lips, taking her silence as consent. Air eased out of her aching lungs, and she moved her head ever so slightly to retain the feel of the warm, rough texture of his thumb. Eden’s reaction was immediate. His eyes brightened and hot tension ran through his body as he leaned closer.

  He had carried her scent inside himself from the very first day, and now, warmed by the excitement that flared in her eyes and quickened her breaths, he inhaled the subtle fragrance of feminine arousal that heated his blood.

  “Do you know,” he inquired with soft, measured patience so at odds with his state of being, “that I’ve wanted to kiss you again for hours, little saint?”

  With his body angled to one side of hers, he lowered his head, waited a moment, and then gave her no choice. His lips brushed across hers once, twice, and then returned for a leisurely sampling. With unhurried grace he licked each glistening bit of moisture he had placed on her luscious mouth. Using the barest of touches, that teased rather than sated, Eden softly nibbled, slanting his mouth first one way, then another, but never, never lost contact with the satin warmth of her lips. “Perfect,” he whispered but once, his free hand spanning the boned confines of her rib cage with a languid caress.

  Dara knew it was wrong to follow where he was leading her. But he wielded a dark magic so skillfully that he called her senses to life. Sensations whirled and danced away before she could identify them, leaving only his tender mouth teaching hers lessons she was more than eager to learn. When he leaned his head back for a moment, her breath rushed out and she dreamily opened her eyes.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered, “there were so many ways to kiss.” A blush tinted her cheeks with shock for her boldness.

  Eden merely smiled. “There’s m ore.” His soft laughter held a wicked note. “If you
want, darlin’,” he added with rich, sensual humor, nuzzling her petal-soft cheek, “I’ll show you all the ways there are.”

  It was the temptation of forbidden pleasure in his voice that lured her. Dara swayed where she stood, locked between his body and the counter behind her. She had no fear left, not now, though there was but a hairsbreadth space between them.

  His smile was at once charming but at odds with the glint of mischief in his eyes. Dara knew he was daring her, and she longed for the courage to accept.

  “Say yes, Dara.”

  His hand on her waist tightened a fraction, taking the decision from her. He smoothly turned her, holding the glass aside. Playing hide-and-seek with her mouth, which delightfully followed his, he walked her backward toward the table. When she reached its edge, he leaned into her, ever so gently, unwilling to alarm her, and eased her onto its broad, solid surface with his hand guiding her down at the small of her back.

  “I think …” she began, gazing up at his face.

  “Don’t, love,” he softly ordered, setting the glass on the table beside her head.

  Dara stayed absolutely still. He framed her face with his hands, leaning over her from one side. Eden lowered his head, saw her eyes wide and startled, but their velvety brown depths held the hidden passion he was rather impatient to call from her. His control was his pride, but he couldn’t help but catch his breath when her lips parted in innocent invitation.

  Eden wasn’t about to refuse the delectable lush mouth offered so provocatively. “So very much a contradiction,” he murmured, shaping her cheeks with his fingers, kissing her lightly. But teasing games belonged to the boy he once was, and within him a restless and sudden uncontrollable tide surged up, turning an indulgent kiss into a man’s demand. The ache of physical hunger that sprang to life inside surprised him. He tilted her face upward, wanting a deeper mating with the mouth that had tantalized him.

  There was no escape for Dara until he lifted his head a fraction. Their breaths mingled with an intimacy that forced her to admit she was afraid.

  “Hush, darlin’. Just let me—”

  “You’ll catch what I have.”

  He found her chin needed kissing. His eyes caressed her delicate features, dwelling on her inviting mouth. He didn’t think he would ever have enough of it.

  “Oh, please, listen to me. You’ll—”

  “What, sweet?”

  With a restless move of her head, she glared at him. “I don’t quite know. It’s—” Dara stared at his lips hovering over her mouth. Her senses reeled beyond caution hearing his faint groan against her hair. “Eden,” she called, moving her head to realign their mouths. She lifted her head to close the tiny space between them, no thought for her bold move crossing her mind as she dared to imitate the tiny licks he generously offered her at die corner of his mouth.

  His chest brushed the lush fullness of her breasts straining upward, and he felt the tremor that passed between them. “Tell me,” he urged, chasing the tip of her tongue that eluded him far too quickly. “I’ll promise to make it better for you.”

  “Can you?” She found the strength to raise her hand, noted its faint tremble, and placed it against his cheek. The beginning of his night beard chafed lightly against her palm. “Eden, I’m shaking and…” She couldn’t finish until he stopped shaping her mouth with his fingertip rich with drops of brandy, heating it with his breaths before he once again licked away the moisture.

  “The taste,” he said with a husky note, his smile ever so reassuring, “improves immensely.”

  “It’s like a fever,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “And there’s a deep ache inside that—”

  “Oh, sweet, sweet little saint,” he murmured with a note of soft laughter, “your innocent candor will be my undoing. But I promise,” he added, kissing the tip of her nose, “to make it all better.”

  With a sigh, Dara managed to raise both her arms and drape them over his shoulders. “Then please do,” she demanded in a voice quite unlike her own. She excused it, for her body did feel fever-flushed, and there was a building ache that spread inside her.

  Eden pushed aside the glass, lifting her up against him, taking her mouth possessively. Her body seemed fragile, almost boneless in his arms, and she lifted her head, her mouth greedy for what he offered. With her neck arched, she pressed her breasts against his chest, her moan softly satisfied with the relief this closeness brought to sensitive skin restricted by her clothing.

  He sat down with her on his lap, the chafing confines of his own clothes an irritant and a belated warning. The silk of her gown rustled with her restless move to settle her body to the contours of his. She gazed up at him with dark brown eyes glazed with passion’s beginning and then shivered uncontrollably.

  “Do you know,” he whispered, “I believe your warning came too late, sweet.”

  “Too late?” she repeated, dazed by the need that urged her closer to the warmth of his body. She knew this was wrong, but the lamplight cast the most intriguing shadows on his face, and his eyes held both amusement and a glow of smoldering desire. She no longer wondered if her own gaze held the same reflection. She could feel the desire that flowered open just as she had dreamed it could.

  “I think,” he suggested gently, flexing his spine languidly to settle her deeper against him, “that I’ve already caught what you have. And darlin’,” he added, gliding one finger up the row of buttons on the front of her gown, his eyes brightening to a silver sheen, feeling her fingers dig into his back, “this is only the beginning.”

  “We should … stop,” she managed to say, snuggling her head against his shoulder with a sigh of pleasure. Dara felt the instantaneous tension in his taut muscular legs beneath her own and the distinct ridge of his aroused male flesh that warned her she was in danger of losing any chance to keep control. The thought was hazy, Clay was the one who demanded control, and Eden, ah, Eden, he had tempted her, and now, now she wanted to know where that temptation would take her.

  Eden slipped his arm around her slender waist, his palm enticed to rub her silk-clad hip. Dara arched like a petted cat. His other hand shaped her shoulder, sliding down her arm before interlocking her fingers with his. He raised their joined hands to his lips, kissing hers before he freed it and placed it around his neck. “Better, love?” he asked as she curled with a soft moan against him. Her temple attracted a kiss, then each of her fluttering eyelids. He couldn’t resist the tip of her nose and forced himself to ignore for the moment the pouty offering of her mouth lifted to his. There was softer skin that invited his lips on the undercurve of her jaw, and he lingered there.

  “Do you think,” she asked, shaping his ear and finding to her delight that the skin behind was downy soft, “the brandy makes me wanton?” Her fingertips caressed that one spot, and she smiled up at him to learn that her untutored touch could bring a quickening of both his breath and his heartbeat.

  Her own heartbeat was erratic, but her breathing eased as he deftly opened the tiny pearl collar buttons.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?” he inquired in a night-dark voice. “You do feel”—his lips nuzzled the newly exposed skin of her throat—“better now, don’t you?” he finished; his long fingers, adept with a gun or cards, dealt just as effectively with the long row of restrictive buttons that hid the lush silk of delicately hued skin.

  “Will you kiss me again?” she demanded, a long-denied sensuality blazing as she guided his chin upward.

  The pressure of his mouth was too hard and hungry. He knew it and waited to seek out her tongue even as need became savage. Restraint was maddening, and yet the reward was incredibly rich, worth his frustration as she responded.

  Her soft moan fed his urgency. He meant to ease his way into her mouth, to gently coax her tongue out of hiding, and with the beguiling skill he had learned to perfect, persuade it into a game of submit and conquer.

  But Dara parted her lips for him, her desire as fierce
as it was innocent, and she willingly offered him the virgin secrets of her mouth. His pleasure erupted in a groan when she set her tongue timidly against his. Eden forgot restraint, forgot her innocence, kissing her hard, deep, the way he wanted and needed to kiss her. She twisted upward, breathlessly yearning for more, and his grip tightened on her waist, his mouth fastened over hers, demanding surrender.

  Alarm turned to panic and Dara felt her heart give a sudden, nervous jolt. Her attempt to push him away was feeble, and she was conscience-stricken that she had to force herself to offer this token resistance. Gathered tight to his body, she felt his strength and size, and even as she despaired of fighting the wildness surging up inside her, her fingers flexed deep into his shoulders, pulling him closer. Her head was flung back over his arm, her upper body lifting, molding itself to his, and she felt the incredible tension spread between them.

  “You bastard! Get your hands off her!”

  Chapter Seven

  Eden reluctantly released Dara’s mouth in a gentle fashion. His hands soothed her back, his voice soft as he hushed her bewildered cry. With a glance at the doorway and the man framed within it, Eden felt his sexual tension quickly dissipate. His order to get out was issued from between his clenched teeth, his move calculated to shield her from her brother’s eyes.

  Dara couldn’t seem to marshal her rioting senses and clung to Eden. It was the tension of his body that forced her to look up at his face. Swallowing, she followed his narrow-eyed gaze toward the door.

  “Pierce!” Her shocked whisper fell between the three of them. Complete attention was focused on her brother, his features twisted with rage, and Dara sat immobile, willing time backward, unable to utter a sound. She struggled against Eden’s hold, and to her mortification, the front of her gown slid open to reveal her lace-trimmed undergarments. Dara grabbed the edges together, her guilt-stricken gaze divided between both men, unaware of the control that Eden exerted to master his own passions and to protect her.