Set in Stone: A Contemporary Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 1)

by Kylie Stewart

  “N-no.” I didn’t recognize my voice.

  “Ah, ah, ah, no one likes a liar, Alexandria.”

  I found my gaze dropping to his lips. His mouth curled into a devilish smirk.

  “Oh, what’s this? You’re doing it again. Saying what you truly want without saying a word.”

  “Let me go, please.” I sounded weak. The dark place in my head that consisted of carnal need and my hidden want for danger reared her head.

  “This is why I touch you . . . because deep down, somewhere, you want me to take you. I could do it now, Ms. York. Or we could continue our ride.” His fingers traced along my cheekbone, his voice dripping with seduction. “But don’t tell me you’ve never thought of having me because I’ve thought plenty about claiming you.”

  That intimate space vanished until my cheeks splotched red. He’d played with me for the last time.

  “I play to win, Your Grace. I’ve done my duty. You want me, yet you can’t have me. For you claim you do not take what isn’t yours.” Tilting my chin, I watched pain consume his beautiful face. “I belong to no one.”

  I heeled Cam into a trot, calling over my shoulder. “By the way, Lancer is coming tomorrow. I invited him. I hope you don’t mind since Caliburn was a home to him.”

  The trot turned to a gallop as I raced away from Avalon’s crestfallen face. Tears stung my eyes. I hated what he turned me into. I hated even more the way he made me feel.

  Lancer was safe, secure, warm, and gentle. Avalon was wild, terrifying, dangerous, and burning heat. I had been hoping for Lancer, even though I had told myself I had moved on. Avalon was the last thing I expected to find, and even worse, he made me curious for the unknown.

  When I had returned to the stables, Phoenix was already back in her stall. The large estate seemed empty as I wandered around, taking the time to be nosy. I poked my head into room after room. To my disappointment, I found some of the doors locked. And that was only on the ground level.

  I caught sight of M in the dining hall, organizing a drawer. I slipped in quietly, and he smiled as he looked up.

  “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  The older man studied my face before his sea-green eyes softened.

  “No need, Ms. York.” M chuckled. “One of our new hires just misplaced Orla’s fine linen. Now, it’s my job to retrieve it.” He winked.

  The pile in front of him was a bit daunting. “I really don’t mind. Do they need refolding?”

  He gave in and handed me a newly formed stack. “Fold them into squares. Thank you.”

  Inwardly, I high-fived myself. M was always so nice to me, but I had never shared an actual conversation with him. We worked in silence for a couple of minutes. Until my head was so full of questions for him about Avalon I thought I would burst.

  “Go ahead, Ms. York.” M broke the silence.

  I jumped. “Umm, with what?” A guilty laugh escaped.

  “You have questions for me.” He continued to work, folding linens. “I can answer some, but others I cannot.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.”

  M glanced over at me with an arched brow. A crooked smile crossed his lips.

  “Not I, Ms. York—Avalon would be the one in trouble . . . with you.”

  My face burned hot at that admission.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “Very well.” I paused, placing my hands over top of the neatly organized pile before me.

  “Why is your name just M?”

  A mischievous look crossed his face. “You would laugh if I told you.”

  “No, I won’t,” I pressed. “Tell me?” I held my breath, waiting for him to spill.

  “All right.” He sighed. “It’s Merlin.”

  “Like the magician in the old stories?” I couldn’t help but grin. “I think it suits you.”

  “Oh, you do?” He looked at me with interest.

  “You are kind of Avalon’s keeper.” I winked at him. “Wasn’t Merlin King Arthur’s babysitter?”

  The man actually laughed. The sound startled me, and I couldn’t help but join in. It was infectious, light-hearted.

  “Yes, I suppose he was, wasn’t he?” M removed his glasses to wipe his eyes.

  When the laughter died down, I tried another.

  “Does Avalon hate me?”

  M chuckled again, more to himself than to me. “No, Ms. York. He quite likes you, actually.”

  “Oh?” I allowed my fingers to twist together. “How old is he?”

  M’s hands paused on his work before he continued. “Old enough.”

  My brows furrowed.

  “Where was he born?” I kept on.

  “Corleon, Wales.”

  That answer took me by surprise.

  “He’s Welsh?”

  With pursed lips, M shrugged. “Partially.”

  I inwardly sighed. “Well, what is his true name? Like, he has to have a name other than Avalon?” I let a hand rest casually on my hip. “Avalon is a title, no?”

  M stopped working and turned to face me. “If the master wishes to give his true name—only he may grant it.”

  I gave into my childish urges. Dramatically rolling my eyes, I huffed. “Come on, M, you’ve known him for a long time. He’s a complete mystery to me. I’d like to know more about whom I am working for.” It seemed fair to me.

  However, M’s calm, fatherly expression was clear; he wouldn’t give Avalon away.

  “Ms. York.” He closed the space between us. “Allow me to be frank.” He took one of my hands in his and stared deep in my eyes. “Avalon is a complex man. He carries the burdens of his past with him every day. He cares greatly for you and will do anything to make you happy.” He patted the top of my hand. “Be patient with him. He may appear to be a hard egg to crack, but he is still merely a young man trapped in the past.” I didn’t know what to say to such an honest and cryptic answer. So I did the only thing I could do and nodded.

  “Good. Now, I shall take these to Orla.” M gathered the linens and began to walk away.

  Before I was able to stop myself, I blurted out. “You do more than just fold linens, don’t you? You aren’t just his friend but a father figure?”

  I sensed the hesitation in M’s shoulders suddenly going rigid. When he turned, the sad look in his eyes was one I’d have trouble forgetting.

  “I’m all he has, Ms. York. And I have been for a while, until . . .” His voice trailed.

  “Until?” I pressed. A knot formed in my belly.

  “Until you arrived.”

  Moving to the second floor, I continued my perusing. M’s words echoed in my mind over and over. As I entered the library, a familiar face greeted me.

  In the center of the room stood Legend. I walked over, happy to see he was well dusted and looked after. I took the time to run my hands down the curve of muscle and over the outline of his shape.

  “You really are a work of art,” I mused.

  In my head, I envisioned this man as a great warrior, like the Knights of the Round Table. He would have blond hair and vibrant emerald eyes. He would fight for honor and virtue. He would protect and never harm. He would respect and never debase. That was how I saw a legend—a man of his works and word.

  I let my hand run along his cheek and chuckled. “And to think the Dragon inspired you. If only I knew then what I know now.”

  A thought occurred to me. I traced the outlines of the figure’s face with my eyes closed. Every new feature my hands mapped out jogged an emotion, a touch.

  “I’m starting to think you have personal issues.”

  I gasped and jumped, my concentration broken. He was glowering at me from the doorway.

  “I was just . . .”

  “Let me guess, you’re an artist?” He brushed past me and stopped, staring at the statue. “Get out of this room.”

  “What? You said I could be in here.”

  His earlier rage and pain still hadn’t su
bsided. It radiated off him in droves.

  “Well, now, I say you can’t.” He reached up and put his hand on the sword the knight wielded in the air.

  “About what I said earlier, I’m sorry.” I wanted to apologize. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  A deep laugh rolled from Avalon’s chest. “You think what you say can affect me?” He turned his neck to look at me over his shoulder. “You can’t touch me. But I can.”

  “What?” I took a step back.

  “Your art is your safe haven, and this bloke looks quite familiar, hmm?” Avalon’s fist tightened on the sword.

  A sickening crack sounded as he severed the blade.

  Eyes wide with shock, I tried to keep from crying. He’d ruined it. He ruined something he’d inspired.

  “Stab for stab, I will win every time, Ms. York. Now, get out of my sight.”

  He dropped the broken piece and kicked it over to me. I picked it up, holding it gently.

  “You like ruining things, don’t you? You like building things up just to watch them crumble?” I found the strength to move toward him instead of away.

  Avalon quickly pivoted, eyes narrowing as I closed the gap. I was the hunter this time; he was the prey.

  “Ms. York, I’d advise you to keep your distance. I’m not very happy with you right now.” His eyes threatened.

  “I hate you right now, so you will listen!” I raised my voice, but he didn’t flinch.

  “Are you upset because I broke my toy?” He sounded as though I were boring him.

  “I’m upset because I don’t understand you.” I tossed the piece of the statue on a chair. “And yes, because you broke something I poured my heart into. Did you even know why I created that?”

  Avalon’s legs hit the front of his desk, forcing him to sit. “Why did you make it?” Rolling his eyes, he humored me.

  “I saw the most beautiful human I’d ever seen. Someone I expected to play a great knight or a warrior king in the pictures. So I went home and I created this.” I pointed at the incomplete statue.

  “He looks like every other Grecian copycat out there. This was nothing special.”

  “Then why did you pay so damn much for it? Because it was ordinary?” I bit back tears. “I wish I’d never made him.”

  “Why is that?” Avalon’s gaze bore intently into mine.

  Anger rose to the boiling point inside my brain. “You wanted to know if we ever had a moment. Well, there is your moment!” I pointed at the statue. “And you broke it.”

  His face took a few moments to register what I was saying. He stood quickly, lips parted, brows furrowed in disbelief. He gawked at me and then back at the statue, closing his eyes and scrubbing his face with a large hand.

  “You made this . . .”

  “After we first met, I went home, and I couldn’t sleep.” I wouldn’t tell him of my midnight stranger. “Needless to say, it was inspiring enough. And like the egotistical arse you are, you bought yourself.”

  I spun to leave, but he caught me at my waist. Air exhaled from my lungs as he pulled my back flush against his front. I raised a hand to try to cuff him in the head, but he caught it, forcing it to my side.

  “Will you stop fighting me just once, Alexandria?” His forehead rested against the back of my head.

  My heart was a sparrow, caged and beating to get free. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. He released my wrist, and his fingers moved my hair off my shoulder. Eyes that had been squeezed shut, waiting for pain, shot open when his lips brushed my neck. I wanted to break . . . to lean back in his arms and allow him to burn me, melt me.

  “We’ve had many little moments, Alexandria.” His thumb along my stomach stroked, sending tremors between my legs. “You just refuse to see what we have.”

  I snorted. “All you do is lie, Avalon.”

  “Oh, I lie?” He quipped.

  “Yes.” I hissed.

  “Did Lancer tell you about the ring he bought for you?” He spun me to face him.

  I felt lead in my stomach. “What, no . . . What ring?”

  “Did you know I was the one who pressed him on in his career and told him not to pursue you?” He held me so closely, so tenderly, I couldn’t bear it. “I didn’t even know you were the same person. I’ve been ruining your life from the start.”

  “I don’t understand, Avalon. Let go.”

  But I didn’t want him to. Not really. Somewhere between terror and guilt, there was a solace in his arms. Somewhere in that steel heart of his, warmth beat. The look on his face frightened me. It was so—passionate—as he tried to tell me things I didn’t know. It was as if he had to tell me, lest it would kill him.

  “You didn’t know about the ring?” A thick brow arched his upper lip curling into a snarl. “He never asked you or told you?”

  I shook my head. “He never asked me to marry him or to wait for him.”

  “Did you know he has had other women between then and now?” Avalon’s voice became softer.

  Painfully, yes.

  The tabloids weren’t a secret.

  All I could do was nod.

  He continued. “And what have you done? You moved on. Now, he’s come back, and he shows the slightest interest. Are you going to run to him again?”

  Those words echoed from the last time I dreamed of Arthur. He had asked me the same thing. A fear shone in Avalon’s eyes that I never quite understood. It always showed when things between us grew desperate.

  “I’ll hear him out; I’ll listen to what he has to say. I trust him. You raised a good man, Avalon.” I reached up to touch his face. Why? I didn’t know.

  At my touch, his anger vanished. I watched the fear, anxiety, and rage dissipate. His entire body relaxed from coiled muscle to slack. His eyes blinked fast as my thumb stroked over the scar on his cheek.

  “Alexandria, please stop. Please, just leave me alone.” His voice cracked and was thick with emotion. So the man did have feelings.

  “What are you so afraid of, Avalon?” My voice was gentle, trying to soothe the beast within him.

  His breathing grew uneven; his hands gripped my waist tightly. He was trembling. I tilted my head, begging him to let me in. His defenses were weakening. Between my attacks on him, earlier and now, I had struck a nerve.

  “I’m warning you, Ms. York.” He swallowed thickly. “Get out.”

  “No. Not until I know what has you so afraid to feel.” I let fingertips dance over the bridge of his nose. My pulse racing, I dared to trace his lips. That age-old question harassed me.

  What does he taste like?

  Avalon’s hands slid up my back, and one wrapped around the back of my neck. I froze. His eyes were hooded, and he was devouring me with his gaze. Our bodies hummed with electricity as he held me against him.

  “Please forgive me,” he said.

  His head moved lower until our noses brushed, and I smelled the hint of whiskey and mint on his breath.

  “F-for what?” My voice could barely be heard.

  His lips brushed mine like a whisper, and then his mouth crashed against mine. I didn’t know what to do at first. Avalon was kissing me. And oh, my God, could he kiss. It was deep, long, sensual, and soft. He dominated, possessed, and demanded more.

  Hands cupped my face, stroking my cheeks and caressing the way I longed to be kissed for so long. Parting my lips, I gave him entry, and his hot tongue dove into my mouth, seeking mine. We battled, warred. My hands gripped at his shirt, struggling to stay afloat. I was drowning. I heard a low moan rip through his chest, and my mind exploded.

  This man poured so much into that kiss; I was dizzy trying to understand it all. I pressed back, begging to know more. All too soon, his body tensed again, and he pulled away from me. It was all too sudden. I was left panting, stunned he’d had the balls to do such a thing after everything we’d been through. Gray eyes gazed longingly into mine.

  “Now that, Ms. York, was a moment.” His thumbs caressed along my cheeks. “And
it is one I shall keep.”

  Avalon stepped back, running a hand through my hair. Breathing hard, my lips parted and my heart burst with a strange calm. He walked swiftly out of the room, his hand covering his mouth.

  The urge to call to him threatened. The gravity of what had just happened hammered home. He had kissed me, and I had kissed him back. Worst of all, he had left me. He’d left me wanting more.

  Eighteen

  Avalon

  I knew I shouldn’t have kissed her, but at that moment, nothing but us existed. Nothing but her and me—a woman and a man. I longed for her touch, so when her hands caressed my face, my body didn’t know what to do. The questions in her eyes I couldn’t answer, at least not yet, plagued me as I walked away.

  I stopped in the silent hall and leaned my forehead against the wall, hands pressing on the wood. Alexandria loved another man. Alexandria swore she hated me. Alexandria had kissed me back with such force that I forgot who I was—what I was. For a brief moment, she gave me a glimpse of what life could be like if I were free. My yearning was worse, so much worse. I could smell her perfume, and it filled my senses. I could look into her blue eyes and she in mine without fear. I could touch her and feel the heat grow between us.

  Covering my mouth with a hand again, I bit back a moan. I could taste her. Everything about her was familiar and warm. She drove me mad. She gave me hope and broke me at the same time.

  M walked out from a room and quietly stood next to me. He paused, watching me for a moment before speaking.

  “Sir, may we?”

  I pushed myself back off the wall and glanced at him, unable to speak. I could only nod. He placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me down a side stairway and toward the formal parlor. I flopped into an overstuffed armchair, while he perched on a more ornate sofa across from me.

  “Things have transpired between you and Ms. York?” M took off his glasses and wiped them on his handkerchief.

  “She’s trying to give Lancer a second chance, and he’s coming tomorrow to stay for the weekend.” I rubbed my eyes. “How do I even look at him? He knew all of this was going to happen one day.”