The Raven Master

by Diana Whitney

  His reply was cold enough to freeze meat. “I didn’t.”

  She glanced up quickly. “But you excused her behavior.”

  “No.” The sudden sharpness in his voice was startling. “I understood her behavior. I never condoned it, I never excused it.” He faced Janine, his dark expression chilling her to the bone. “And I never forgave it.”

  She sat beside him and took his hand. “You have a right to be angry.”

  He looked away for a moment, and when he turned toward her again the anger had drained from his eyes. He regarded Janine intently, as if measuring the depth of her soul. After a moment, his gaze dropped to her lap where his hand was cradled between her own small palms. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

  She was vaguely aware of her fingers tightening around his hand and surprised herself with a throaty response. “I’m not tired.”

  Quinn’s arm trembled slightly, and she noted a subtle stiffening of his shoulders. For a moment she thought he would send her away. That panicked her, although she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on exactly why. All she knew was that his nearness was intoxicating. His scent filled the room, the heat from his body warmed her skin and softened a secret place deep inside. She wanted to hold his head against her breast, caress away past pain, past betrayals, murmur words of solace and comfort. And more.

  She yearned for another taste of the sweetness she’d experienced that night in the ravine when he’d kissed her with breathless emotion and her spirit had soared with an exuberance she’d never known.

  As she tentatively caressed Quinn’s stiff fingers, he made a sound deep in his throat then stood suddenly, forcing her to release him. “Go back to your room, Janine. I don’t need your pity.”

  Momentarily speechless, she struggled for a response. “What happened to you was tragic and senseless and desperately unfair. I sympathize and share your outrage but how could I or anyone else feel pity for a man with such uncommon strength and determination of spirit?”

  Before he found his voice—or she lost her nerve—Janine stood and faced him squarely. “What I feel for you, Quinn Coulliard, is admiration and…and…” The revelation was cut off as a lump of pure terror suddenly wedged into her throat. If she admitted that she was falling in love with him, would he reject her? Regard her with revulsion? Laugh in her face?

  Intuitively she knew that he’d do none of those things but years of abuse had taken a heavy toll. She lowered her gaze, feeling foolish and inadequate yet somehow mustering the courage to confront her deepest fears. “I want to stay with you,” she said simply, then stared at her shoes.

  After several silent moments, Quinn urged her chin up with his knuckle. “I’m not what you need.”

  Embarrassed, she tried to maintain eye contact without tearing up. “I’m not asking for a lifetime commitment.”

  “I know that.”

  “I just want to spend time with you.” Inside she was cringing. Her words sounded trite, repulsively bland when compared to the sensual images in her mind, and she barely recognized the strange voice that spoke with such clear certainty, such brazen intent. “The last time, in the ravine, I wasn’t ready for…for intimacy. Now I am.”

  “Perhaps.” His thumb grazed her cheek. “I see the man you want, the man you deserve, reflected in your eyes. I’d give anything in the world to be that man.”

  “You are.”

  “No.” He shook his head sadly. “I want to be but I’m not. You don’t really know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  “You know only what I’ve told you. I could be lying.”

  “You’re not.” Janine touched his beautiful face. “I’ve seen your kindness, the gentle side that you try so diligently to conceal. I know the kind of man you are, Quinn. I know it in here.” She lifted his hand and pressed his palm over her heart.

  He took a ragged breath but made no move to withdraw his hand. Slowly she met his eyes, searching and finding a desire that matched her own. A stranger blossomed inside her bosom, a woman of passion and love, a woman who forgot past rejection and focused only on a burning need to give, to heal the heart of this wounded man. Her hand slid up the full expanse of his muscular chest, over warm flesh and hard bone and rested against the pulsing cords of his firm throat.

  Her own heartbeat escalated, pounding against the masculine palm pressed over her breast. When her tongue darted to moisten her lips, his pulse raced against her fingertips. She felt empowered, confident, seductive, all heady sensations that made her even bolder. Standing on tiptoes, she brushed her lips across his mouth, then the kiss deepened and became more intimate.

  Quinn’s body quivered. He growled deep in his throat, suddenly embracing her with a fervency that would have been frightening with anyone else. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Quinn Coulliard, her soul mate, the man who had ignited her feminine power and made her feel whole.

  Her heart soared. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his thick hair, pressing him closer, harder, deeper. He responded instantly by sliding his hands over her bottom and lifting her off her feet. With a gasp of pure pleasure, she instinctively locked her legs around his hips, her mouth seeking his with a wild abandon that she’d experienced only in her dreams.

  Suddenly she was floating, swirling, vaguely aware that the walls were turning. She didn’t care. A burning passion had ignited her soul as she kissed every inch of his face and neck, tasting, nipping, clutching at his body with her lips and her hands and her legs.

  Then his mouth was on her throat, blazing a hot trail where her skin was exposed by the V-neck of her plaid shirt. With her clasped hands buried beneath his flowing mane and her ankles locked behind his waist, she threw back her head and moaned softly.

  As her back arched, Quinn’s lips moved from bare skin to blaze a trail over the thin plaid fabric. When his moist heat permeated her flimsy bra, she whimpered softly. Her hips moved without conscious thought. She squirmed restlessly, pressing herself sensually against the bulging evidence of his manhood. Tightening his grip on her buttocks, he rotated her hips to increase the erotic friction of her intimate caress.

  Suddenly Janine was crazed, frantic to satisfy the strange hunger burning inside. The denim barrier frustrated her to the point of frenzy. Hanging onto his strong neck with one hand, she clumsily tugged at the metal button on his fly. When her frantic effort proved fruitless, she was agitated to tears.

  Quinn gently kissed her earlobe. “Shh,” he whispered. “All in good time.” With that, he bent forward, lowering her carefully until she felt the soft mattress at her back. Standing between her encircling thighs, Quinn unbuttoned his jeans and shrugged out of his T-shirt. His magnificent hair, displaced when he pulled the shirt over his head, cascaded over his sculpted shoulders like an espresso waterfall.

  She gasped, so awed by his masculine beauty that she barely noticed when he unfastened her own garments. He parted her shirt as though opening a precious gift and brushed the fabric back over her shoulders. She yanked out her arms and tossed the garment aside.

  “Lift your hips,” he murmured.

  Reluctantly releasing her leg-lock around his torso, she gasped when he slid her jeans down her thighs then knelt to kiss the exposed flesh. His lips moved just above the sliding fabric, blazing an erotic trail down to her knees, her calves and her ankles. After the denim pooled on the floor, he retraced the same path upward then pressed his face against her smooth belly. His hair fell across her skin, a thousand feathery caresses that thrilled her to the core.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her quivering flesh. “So perfect. You take my breath away.” As he spoke, his hands encircled her slender waist then slowly moved up her rib cage until his thumbs brushed the tips of her breasts. She bit her lip and swallowed a cry, turning slightly when one hand edged under her shoulder blade. His fingers pinched the narrow band of her bra, then the binding loosened and the nylon wisp was swept away.

  A
ir cooled her bare breasts but a moment later his mouth warmed them. Startled by the incredible sensation, Janine reached above her head and tangled her fingers in the bed-clothes, moaning aloud as his lips teased each sensitive tip. No one had ever touched her with such tenderness, such reverence. Blissfully closing her eyes, she wondered if it was possible to die of sheer ecstasy.

  Then he straightened, leaving her bereft and silently screaming for more. A cold terror settled in the pit of her stomach. She’d done something wrong. He was angry with her, disappointed. Her eyes flew open, and she nearly cried out in relief. He had removed the rest of his clothing and was returning. Apparently he recognized and misread the fear in her eyes, so when he hesitated she opened her arms. His smile sent chills down her spine.

  Moving carefully, he nested his hips between her thighs and supported his weight on his elbows. Janine stiffened, clutched at his shoulders and waited for the pain.

  But Quinn made no move to enter her. Instead he softly caressed her face. “Are you frightened?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He kissed her sweetly. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She regarded him skeptically. Sex always hurt. A woman’s duty was to stoically endure. Her mother had issued the warnings; Charles had proven them true.

  With a knowing smile, Quinn brushed a damp strand from her cheek. “I promise that nothing will happen until you want it to.”

  That confused her. “I want it now.”

  “Do you?”

  She was baffled by the question since they were both completely nude and arranged in the proper position. “Of course.”

  “Hmm.” He kissed a corner of her mouth. “Then perhaps you’ll be patient with me. I think I’d like a little more time.”

  That made no sense whatsoever. Janine had enough experience to know that the masculine equipment pressed against her thigh was as ready as it would ever be. She posed a tentative question. “Time for what?”

  “Time for this,” he murmured, then slid his lips down to her breasts. At the first flick of his tongue, an electric shock jolted her to the core. She gasped, stunned by the force of her own reaction as the sweet assault continued until her body writhed beneath him and she could barely suck air into her convulsing lungs.

  Not an inch of her body was neglected. He explored her secrets with his lips and his hands and fingers until he’d created a burning knot in her belly. Liquid fire seeped from her innermost core, and when he touched her there she cried out in pure joy. She didn’t understand what was happening but it was glorious.

  Still, she needed more. There was a fiery itch deep inside, driving her to the brink of sweet insanity. She dug her fingernails into his hips, trying to drag him inside her to quench the frenzied fire.

  His voice was a soft rasp against her ear. “Are you ready for me, honey?”

  At that moment, she’d never been more ready for anything in her life. She was ravenous, starving, doomed to die in agony without the nourishment of his love. But her throat was paralyzed. Unable to verbally respond, she slid her hand between their slick bodies and grasped that which she so desperately wanted.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She moaned in anticipation. Quivering, she thrashed her head anxiously, certain she couldn’t endure even another moment of waiting.

  “Janine?” From what seemed a great distance, Quinn’s voice penetrated into her passion-fogged brain. “You have to let go first.”

  Dazed, she could only blink helplessly.

  He reached down and brought her hand up. Their fingers laced together as he cherished her lips with his mouth, kissing her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.

  She sensed a sweet pressure between her legs. His hips moved slowly, increasing her pleasure with each gentle rotation until he had slowly, surely, filled the aching void deep inside. Overwhelmed by the wondrous sensations coursing through her, she moved with him, her hips instinctively swaying rhythmically then frantically as the thrusts became deeper, more urgent.

  Then something amazing happened. She was rocked by an explosion deep inside her, an eruption of electric spasms that shook her to the bone. Quinn groaned, embracing her tightly. Colors swirled and lights flashed through her mind as her body vibrated in erotic release.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the dizziness dissipated as she floated back to reality. Breathing hard, she raised a limp hand, peeling a moist lock from her face.

  Quinn lay beside her, his eyes closed, an expression of contentment on his face. Her heart swelled with emotion as she nestled in the crook of his arm and laid her cheek against his damp chest. He caressed her bare back, drawing unhurried circles on her skin with his fingertips.

  Janine had never in her life felt such a sense of belonging. She was his now, and he was hers. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, they had bonded so intimately that she was certain no couple on the face of the earth had ever experienced such rapture.

  Smiling to herself, she tucked her head beneath his chin and cuddled closer. So this was how love felt. No wonder poets wrote odes to its power. She loved Quinn Coulliard with every fiber of her being. Suddenly she heard her own voice uttering the sacred words. “I love you.”

  Quinn went rigid. An ominous stillness enveloped the room, broken only by the sounds of hushed breathing. Then Quinn stirred and moved away. Instinctively Janine reached out to stop him, to retrieve his soothing warmth. But it was too late. In all ways that mattered, he was already gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dazed and heartsick, Janine scrambled to her knees, dragging the bedclothes with her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Quinn presented his back and pulled on his jeans. “It’s late. You should go back to your room and get some sleep.”

  “I don’t understand.” She bunched the bedclothes under her chin. “Can’t I stay here…with you?”

  “No.”

  “But why? Have I done something to displease you?”

  When he turned to face her, his eyes were veiled and unreadable. “We’re both tired. It’s time for you to leave.”

  She recoiled as though slapped. Suddenly unable to breathe, she found herself picking frantically through the mussed covers for her clothes. “Of course,” she mumbled, trying to focus through a blur of tears. “Just…let me…find…”

  A denim blob plopped onto the bed. She bit her lip, tasted blood, then snatched up the jeans and clutched them to her breast, humiliated to realize that she couldn’t dress without exposing herself.

  But then she’d already been exposed, hadn’t she?

  This was foolish. How do consenting adults behave in this kind of situation? What was the proper etiquette? She didn’t know. A sob caught in her throat. She didn’t know how to be a lover. She didn’t even know how to be a woman.

  Charles was right. Charles was always right.

  The realization that Quinn, too, had been disappointed was shattering, further proof of her inadequacy. Panicstricken, Janine was desperate to get away, to hide her shame and suffer in private. Without bothering to search for her underwear, she yanked on her jeans, stuffed her arms into the crumpled shirt she’d found on the floor and stumbled toward the door.

  As she reached for the knob, Quinn came up behind her and gently took hold of her shoulders. She stopped, staring sightlessly ahead. “Please understand that this isn’t your fault,” he whispered. “You’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known.”

  Clutching her gaping shirtfront, Janine blinked back tears, and unable to trust her voice she remained silent.

  His fingers flexed, hugging her upper arms. “It’s my problem, Janine. If this had happened at another time, in another place—” A ragged breath cut off the words and his hands fell away. “I’m no good for you, honey. You deserve better.”

  Janine felt ill. Even now, he continued to utter kind platitudes. Only this time she was wise enough not to believe them. The fault was hers. She didn’t know why�
��perhaps she never would—but she was completely convinced that in some profound way she had let Quinn down.

  A white blur caught her attention, and she numbly realized that her lacy undergarments were nested in his palm. She stiffly retrieved the filmy things, yanked the door open and almost fell into the hallway.

  Behind her, the latch shut with a soft click. Instantly Janine slumped forward, burying her face in the soft nylon to muffle her sobs. Hurrying toward her room, she was startled by a sharp gasp. She looked up and was horrified.

  There was Edna with her knuckles pressed against her mouth, staring in shocked astonishment as Janine tried frantically to cover herself. As the woman lowered her hands, her expression flickered from disapproval to revulsion and finally pity.

  Completely mortified, Janine fumbled with the doorknob, stumbled into her room, collapsed on the bed and wept.

  With a furious oath, Quinn smashed his fist into the wall.

  Ignoring the raven’s indignant screech, he raked his hair, angrily kicked the wadded T-shirt across the floor, then paced the room with increasing agitation.

  The first time he’d looked into Janine’s guileless eyes, he’d known that he was in trouble. But even though his gut had twisted and his heart had done a double take, he’d sworn to himself that this wouldn’t happen.

  Another broken promise.

  He punched a pillow and flung it across the room. The indignant raven extended its good wing, arched ominously and hissed a warning.

  Quinn was too distraught to notice the irritated bird. He was furious with himself for having so little control over his emotions. When he’d heard Janine murmur that she loved him, something deep inside him had cracked. Once, he’d yearned to hear those precious words yet now realized that from Cynthia they’d have meant nothing. From Janine, they meant the world.

  It had taken every ounce of his strength to send her away.

  He scoured his eyelids as though the futile gesture could erase the haunting image of her wounded expression. It couldn’t. Nothing could.