by AJ Nuest
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight, the silky strands of her hair tangling in his fingers as he palmed her back. “You must pledge to me, on your honor, you shall not return to your father’s side until we’ve been given more time to ferret out our next course. He is too powerful for us to face him unawares.”
God dammit. Rhys closed his eyes. She had a point. Tonight they’d stumbled into Leo’s trap like two innocent babes lost in the woods. Before going back to face him, the more information they had about what he was up to, the better. A little internet research should do the trick.
“Okay.” He hugged her to his chest, then chuckled into her hair as her sigh of relief heated his neck. Hell, if avoiding Leo was all it took to make her happy, that shit was done and done. And if his father got in their way, if he showed up and tried to drive a wedge between them, Rhys would happily break the fucker’s nose.
Not that it mattered. Not anymore. Because his angel finally believed they belonged together, exactly like he always had. She’d used the word “we” and, moving forward, that meant they faced whatever odds Leo stacked against them, together.
Rhys sat back from his laptop, rotated his shoulders and tipped his head back and forth to work out the stiffness in his neck. Off to his left, Faedrah mumbled in her sleep. He leaned to the side, stretching in the seat to check she was still asleep. She rolled over under the blankets and flopped a hand across his empty side of the bed, but only a second passed before her deep breathing settled into its normal pattern.
Good. He relaxed against the chair and cocked a brow at the search image on the screen. Google was one condescending bitch. No, he did not mean “austere,” dammit. He snatched his pen off the table and slashed several hard lines through the words “Austiere company name” he’d jotted on his list. Just like he hadn’t meant “Galileo” when he’d tried searching out Leo’s fraudulent investment firm, or those obscure references to some fairytale wizard who’d supposedly lived in the fourteenth century.
He jammed his thumb and forefinger into his tired eyes and then winced as the left one watered. Christ, this was like trying to find one specific grain of sand on the entire stretch of Chicago’s lakefront beaches.
Shoving the pad aside, he stood and strolled the quiet loneliness that typically accompanied midnight in the train yard. Leave it to Leo to name his company after an imaginary jackass from history. Unfortunately, that little tidbit didn’t do Rhys a damn bit of good. The information he needed had to be current. A corporation that had popped up within recent months.
He tapped the end of the pen against the center of his palm, stopping before the mural of Faedrah spanning his north wall. By the time they’d arrived back at the warehouse, she’d relaxed enough in his arms he’d gotten the sneaking suspicion she’d dozed off. And once the driver opened the door and she squinted into the overhead light, rubbing her eyes and mumbling an apology, his assumptions had been confirmed.
Not that he blamed her. Shock did strange things to the body, and witnessing the deterioration of his father’s condition, that toothy grin coupled with those sunken, anorexic cheeks, had been enough to make even Rhys gag on his tongue. Asking the driver’s help with the gate, he’d carried her into the elevator, up the three levels to his floor and tucked her into his bed.
The heat of her soft curves molded against his side made his hands impatient to stroke every arc and dip. The unending questions and constant replay of that sickening scene at Leo’s, had all combined into a fucking assault on his brain. It took every ounce of his willpower not to roll on top of her and kiss her awake so he could sink deep, make her shudder around him over and over until they’d worked out some angst.
Muttering a frustrated curse, he’d snuck from the bed and opened his laptop to see what, if anything, he could find.
He crossed his arms, squinting at her picture. By no stretch of the imagination would he describe himself as a whiz at navigating governmental websites, but not locating her birth records at all? What was up with that? In fact, he’d found not one stitch of proof her family existed. No references to any kingdoms had popped up. Same with searching out corporations using the name Gaelleod, either solely or under the McEleod umbrella or its subsidiaries.
Raking both hands through his hair, he laced his fingers along the back of his neck. Four hours later, and he had nothing to show for his efforts but a big, fat dead end. He strolled to the side, his focus pinned to Faedrah’s brown eyes. Maybe that was the problem. He’d been thinking too big.
Or maybe the problem was that he’d been thinking at all.
He pivoted back to the table, grabbed his sketch pad and flipped to a clean page. He’d always trusted his gut, especially when it came to drawing Faedrah’s picture. Hell, back in the day, his instincts had been the only thing to guide his hand over the page. If he could somehow recreate that same intuitive style, lapse back into what he’d always known, maybe his subconscious would provide some hints about what he’d been missing.
It was either that or he was apt to blow a gasket.
Lowering onto the chair, he slid back the wooden cover on his box of charcoals, propped his heels on the edge of the table and settled into work.
Striving for perfection quickly became a waste of time. If the lines he sketched refused to focus, he tore the sheet aside and began again. He left off shading as the bowed sides of the armoire converged on the paper. Same with the gilded mirror and Faedrah’s golden key. His hand circled each of the objects, jotted a quick arrow from piece to piece and he tore the sheet off to start fresh.
The high turrets of a white castle were next, and his brows lifted in surprise as the addition of a king, queen and princess came into view. The caricature of an evil wizard worked the muscles of his stomach, but he couldn’t help chuckling at the dark eyes and freak show sneer. Before sliding the drawing to the table, he smirked and added Leo’s name to the bottom, and then laughed again as the prank brought back memories from his days as a rebellious kid.
He didn’t bother counting the pages. If the heel of his hand smudged the charcoal, he swiped it along the thigh of his jeans and kept drawing. Faedrah floating, tumbling naked to the floor with a thump. One where she appeared lost in a hallway with several doors. Asleep in bed, hands fisting the covers while she fought the terrors of a nightmare. The day she showed up at the gallery and flipped him on his ass to the ground.
Whatever image came to mind, he didn’t fight it. No more second-guessing or removing an element just because it didn’t seem right.
As the sky outside his windows pinked with the incoming dawn, he ripped the last sheet from his pad, tossed the final sketch to the table and released the charcoal to flex his sore fingers. He dropped his heels to the floor and stood, stretching his arms overhead, his jaw cracking with a deep yawn. A glance at the jumbled mess he’d made and he shifted the pages here and there, trying to rearrange the pictures into some sort of chronological order.
An errant sheet wafted off the table, and he stooped to rescue it from the ground. A scowl tightened his forehead as he scanned the image. Wait, hold on. When the fuck had he drawn this? His knees gave out and his butt slammed back onto the chair.
The sketch showed Faedrah coming through the mirror, her hair a tangled mass whipping around her head, arms forward, fingers splayed, the key dangling between her two luscious, naked breasts.
He dropped his hand to his thigh. Well, that couldn’t be right. A second passed before he wrenched forward and sorted through the other pictures littering the table.
Sweet Jesus.
The air eked from his lungs like a deflating balloon. It was all there. A step by step illustration of the past week, every action she’d taken right up to the day they’d met. And he’d drawn every—single—fucking—picture as if they’d been stashed away in his brain.
Each moment following, every split second they’d spent together since, screamed a complete one-eighty and he shoved to his feet, his ears ringing lik
e a struck tuning fork.
That was it. The way she talked, her references to those damn goddesses. Her hesitation over the music and food. The way she fought.
Jesus Christ, even her virginity fit the bill!
He strode to the end of the bed and stared at the woman who was the epitome of everything he’d ever wanted. Her limbs lay tangled in his blankets, the hint of one bare shoulder peeking through her black strip of hair, thick eyelashes spread like two dark fans on her cheeks.
He fisted his hands against the urge to shake her until she woke up, so he could tell her exactly how crazy, horny, fucking over the moon she made him.
He scanned the length of her body, his focus lingering on the patch of morning light hitting her lower back. His cock stretched and flexed against his button fly as he imagined running his tongue along that soft stretch of skin.
Or better yet…
Lowering his chin, he bit back an evil chuckle. His sneaky little muse thought she could keep him in the dark? She twisted him in knots all while side-stepping his questions?
Pivoting away from the bed, he grabbed his dress shirt and leather jacket off the back of the chair, stepped into his boots and clomped toward the elevator.
He would let her sleep. For now. But once he got back?
Stealing one last glance at the vixen in his bed, he stepped onto the elevator and closed the gate. All this time, he had everything backward. And she’d been only too happy to keep him guessing.
Her being here didn’t have anything to do with where she came from. The answer he’d spend all day coaxing from her, was when.
Chapter 2
The distant roar of Rhys’ mechanical horse pulled Faedrah from the shadows of slumber, and her eyes popped open to find his side of the sleeping pallet unattended. As the rumble increased, she rolled to the center of the bed, yawned and stretched her arms across the pillows.
ʼTwas of no surprise he had arisen early to retrieve their transport from her uncles’ quarters. Regardless of the events they might face this day, the expediency of such a conveyance was a luxury they could not afford to dismiss.
The snarling abruptly ceased and, a moment later, the creaking gears of the building’s rickety trestle took up their baleful song. Faedrah smiled and shimmied lower beneath the blankets, closing her eyes to feign the continuance of sleep. If luck stood with her, perchance she could catch her captivating artist unawares. She would creep up behind him and pounce, and then demand he use the morning to instruct her how to cast him into the throes of utmost pleasure.
The rigid strength in his arms as he’d carried her into his chambers the previous evening, the tender assurances whilst he’d removed her shoes and tucked her snugly abed, proved he’d spoken true. Yet his love for her had never been in question. The depth of his devotion had all but arrowed into her heart from the first moment he’d glanced upon her face.
ʼTwas his masculine pheromones lingering on the pillows which had sharpened her desires to the point of an unrelenting itch. The dim glimpses she’d stolen of him in the gloaming of deepest night. He’d been bound by a trance, feverously working the kohl over parchment, and she’d been too mesmerized by the energy sizzling off his skin to interrupt.
Yet this fascination had not stopped her from delighting in every curve of taut muscle, the broad span of his chest, his corded forearms or the raised web of veins that trailed down the insides of his arms. The profound concentration furrowing his brow had not staunched the heady pulse between her thighs as she envisioned capturing his lips for a kiss, flicking her tongue along the generous bow of his mouth whilst saddling the tension in his thighs.
Only Rhys, and no other, could lessen the persistent ache which had wound a tight desire through her body. And if he cut short their fulfillment, if he solicited the details of her quest, she would speak any truth, she would soothe his unkempt worries and endure whatever action necessary to verify he’d more than earned her trust.
If that did not snare his full attention, she would strip off her confining gown and walk bare-assed around his chambers as if she hadn’t a care in her head.
A rumble shuddered the floorboards with the lift of the gate, and a waft of fresh air coursed her cheeks; a hint of spring mingled with the sultry scent of warm leather and the gear-gnashing taint of worn oil.
Crinkling broke the still silence, and she peeked through the fringe of her lashes. Rhys pulled several white bundles from his saddle bags, flinched and muttered a curse. A juggle of the packages to one hand, and he reached inside the flap of his leather jacket to retrieve his cellular device.
“Hello.” He spoke softly, toeing off his boots and leaving them a pace apart as he strode toward the table. “Yeah, I kinda figured you’d call. Not to worry. She’s here with me, safe and sound.”
Wizard Oliver…or perchance the speaker was Sir Jon. None other in this realm would be allowed the ease of such a confidence.
“Not great.” Rhys set his burdens upon the table and shrugged his jacket down his arms. “We left before dinner even started.”
Wrinkles creased the sleeves of his formal white shirt, the unbuttoned cuffs flopping around his wrists, the sides hanging open to reveal the form-fitting undershirt beneath. Black smears marred one thigh of his faded blue breeches, the pockets frayed and a threadbare tear near his right knee.
“Hey listen, Forbes, does the name Gaelleod mean anything to you?”
Great tits above, no! Faedrah sprang to sitting and slashed her hand back and forth across her neck. Whilst she had every intention of relaying the details of Gaelleod’s appearance to her uncles, announcing the news so unexpectedly was liable to propel them into to fits of apoplexy!
Jerking his head aside, Rhys grimaced as Oliver’s squawk reverberated through the earpiece. Faedrah slumped and rolled her eyes. So much for her devious scheming.
Rhys turned toward her with a smile, and she gasped and slapped that same hand over her mouth. A dark purple bruise hung beneath his left eye, the surrounding skin slightly raised and undoubtedly tender to the touch. Sweet tears of the nine, what had she done?
“No, no, she’s fine. She’s still asleep, but I’ll tell her to call once she’s up.” He winked and strolled toward the sleeping pallet, lowered to the edge and cupped his large hand along the back of her head. The soft press of his lips warmed the center of her brow. “’Kay. Talk to you later.”
He thumbed the screen and set the gadget on the crate to their right, and the rasp of his shortly trimmed beard prickled the inside of her palm as she turned his cheek to better inspect the damage she’d wrought upon his lovely face.
“I am fully prepared to forfeit any ransom you may deem necessary to gain your forgiveness.” She smoothed her thumb along the bottom curve of the wound. “Does it cause you much distress? Helios wept, I am an addle-brained fool.”
“What, this?” He squeezed the eye closed, shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, it doesn’t hurt that much. But I could name a few other body parts that are aching for your attention.” His brows bounced a suggestive wag.
Delight cascaded through her belly over his tempting invitation, and she cleared her throat to disguise a breathy laugh. Thank the nine, his desires matched hers. The anticipation tingling her skin had her close to snapping. “As are mine, to be sure.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, the mischief in his eyes sparkling more than Helios bright rays spilling through the windows, and Faedrah dropped her hand to more carefully read the measure of his gaze. How odd that, after last night’s fearful events…his impassioned pleas to share in her secrets…instead of being angry with her, this morning he seemed quite playful.
Hesitation plucked her nerves, and she squinted. Something in his demeanor had changed, yet she could not fathom the cause of his good humor any more than she could unravel the clues to the devilish smirk upon his face.
The slightest tip of his chin, and she received the distinct impression he played the stalking cat to her caged canar
y.
Heat blossomed in her chest, yet she shivered under his dark perusal. Any uncertainties she might have held about the wicked curl of his lips vanished like a puff of smoke.
The man meant to claim her, body and soul.
She exhaled a steadying lungful of air. Though to allow such a thing before she’d confessed seemed an ill-advised path to trod. Placing her hands upon his shoulders, she stared him hard in the eye. “I have not forgotten my vow. Ask me what you would, and I swear on the nine to satisfy your queries to the best of my ability.”
“Yeah, about that.” He dropped his focus to her mouth and leaned in until his breath warmed the moisture on her lips. “I’m not really in the mood to talk.”
Her heart leapt, and she tightened her grasp on his shoulders.
Sliding a hand under her hair, he clasped her nape and lightly swept his mouth across hers, over and again until sparks shimmered at the edges of her vision. A whimper scuffed the back of her throat. A warm coil unfurled in her belly as he nipped little love bites along her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered and she rolled her head back, allowing him to bury his cheeks in her neck.
The curve of his lips brushed lower, the gruff texture of his beard shivered her skin, and a sigh escaped as he nibbled and sucked on her earlobe. “I say we table all discussions until later. That is, unless you’re planning to disappear once I’ve had my way with you.”
She nearly laughed. Helios wept, did the man not have any idea the influence he had upon her body? “I fear my knees shall be too weak to vacate your chambers.”
Besides as much, even if the notion did not cause panic to race through her veins, she’d nowhere to go. The veil remained closed to her.