His Absolute Betrayal - Elise's Love Story: The Billionaire's Continuum (#2) (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Cerys du Lys

  Fuck! Evan ran. He had time, they weren't too far apart, and he just barely made it. Jumping the last few feet, he caught her in his arms and fell with her, softening her fall with his body. They lay in a heap on the floor.

  Evan laughed. "Sorry about that," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  His hand touched the side of her arm and she was soft to the touch. And cold. Not too cold, but noticeably cool. He eased her off of him slowly and stood up, reaching a hand out to help her up. She stared at him from the ground, looking at him funny.

  ...

  I fell but he caught me.

  So tight and close, he must have jumped to reach me in time. He looked athletic from afar, more than capable of dashing forward and catching someone, but I honestly didn't know why he did it. I was so grateful, though. I wanted to cry for another reason now, but it felt so silly and inconsequential.

  He touched me, too.

  It sounded bad in my head when I thought of it like that, but that was exactly what he did. His gentle, warm hands held onto the side of my arms, rubbing up and down, relaxing me. His heat was like a blazing furnace to my cool body. I felt alive and warm under his touch, so wonderful and amazing. I knew this was how the others felt, why they rushed towards people in a frenzy when they saw them, but I'd never felt it before myself.

  He helped me off of him and stood at my side, smiling at me. Reaching out his hand, he wanted to help me up. I stared at him, still feeling his warmth, curious and contented.

  Like them, all I needed to do was grab his hand. He looked strong, but if I caught him off guard while he helped me up I could squeeze his hand tight in mine and pull him back to the ground. His throat seemed to shine like some bright beacon. If I scratched, bit, killed...

  I took his offered hand and held onto it tight and let him help me up off the ground. He smiled at me more and moved in close.

  "Are you alright?" he asked.

  I squeezed his hand and pulled him towards me. He came readily, watching me with interest. Lifting his hand up, I placed it on the side of my cheek.

  Fire!

  My cheek melted under his touch, feeling so wonderful and warm. I held his hand against my cheek and smiled at him.

  "Thank you," I said. "You're so kind."

  My eyes started to tear up and I knew I couldn't help myself anymore. Why was I crying? So dumb and silly, but I didn't think I could stop myself if I tried. He grinned and wiped the tears away from my eyes with his other hand. Warm, like the heat from a sauna, a few stray tears slipped down my cheeks, but he wiped those away, too.

  "You're—" he said, pausing, brow furrowed. "Different."

  "I'm a zombie," I said, feeling like we should get that out of the way.

  "I didn't want to say that because it sounds prejudiced," he said with a chuckle. "I can call you that if you want, but maybe... do you have a name?"

  "Sadie," I whispered. I hadn't used my name in so long, hadn't heard anyone call me that in months, but I liked it. I loved my name and wanted him to say it all of a sudden.

  He did. My name slipped out of his lips like a liturgy during Sunday mass. "Sadie," he said, grinning. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Evan."

  I wasn't crying anymore, merely staring at him with rapt fascination. The hand he'd used to wipe away my tears reached out. I accepted it, shook it, and held it tight, not wanting to let go. I did, though, I let him go. Bright tingles of warmth tickled through my fingertips and fingers, centered in my palm, so delightful.

  "Do you want to come sit with me?" he asked.

  I nodded, having no idea what to say to him.

  "Would you mind, um...?"

  I still held his other hand against my face, reveling in his warmth. He gently moved his fingertips, caressing my cheek.

  "Oh," I said. "Oh, I'm sorry." Reluctantly, I let him go.

  He took my hand, though; he didn’t let me go completely. I held his hand as he led me towards his spot in the library. At that moment, I thought I would have followed him anywhere if only he kept holding me. The glimmering afterglow of his hand against my cheek felt magnificent, and the constant, cozy warmth of his hand holding mine was pure bliss.

  We sat. He helped me into a chair and then he sat in the one next to me.

  "You're cold," he said.

  I frowned. "I know. I don't mean to be. I hope it's alright."

  "No, no." He shook his head. "I just... I don't know why I said that. Does it hurt?"

  "Does what hurt?" I asked. I felt lightheaded and happy, despite the fact he wasn't touching me anymore. His lingering warmth kept me feeling nice, like I'd just eaten half a can of molten hot soup and settled into my bed back home with my book.

  "Well, I'm warm and you're cold. Was my hand too hot? You looked—"

  "No!" I said in a panic. "No, no. Oh God, no. You... um..."

  He smiled and scooted his chair closer to me, right next to mine. "What?" he asked. "You can say it. It's alright."

  He touched me again. Both his hands reached for one of mine and he held my hand loosely in his own. I relished it and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. My body felt near orgasmic, alive, ecstatic. This was so remarkable and new to me and...

  He let go of my hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, startled. He grabbed his medical book, looked at it, shook his head, and slid it away as he stood up. "Are you in shock? I can help you. I used to be an EMT. I don't have any medical equipment here, but hold on, Sadie. Everything's going to be alright. Just..."

  I stared at him, blinking, then I laughed.

  He looked at me with the funniest expression of confusion I thought I'd ever seen. "Sadie?"

  "Ohhh." I grabbed his hand and pulled him back into his chair. "No. I'm fine. You're just so warm."

  "Oh," he said.

  "It feels nice," I said. "I like it." For good measure, I added, "I'm not trying to come on to you. I'm sorry if it sounds that way."

  "Oh," he said. "No, that's fine? Huh. So you like the warmth?"

  "Yes." I nodded. "A lot."

  "Why are you so cold?" he asked. "Is it because...?"

  Because I was a zombie. That's what he wanted to ask, I could tell, but I appreciated him being nice about it. "Yes," I said. "I think so. We're all like this. Me and the others."

  The others, I thought. I was one of them and Evan wasn't. He was someone else far apart from what I was or what they were. I didn't know if I really belonged here talking with him. I didn't know if it would cause issues with him, either. Did he have someone waiting somewhere? Would they know he'd talked with me? If I stayed near him, would he turn into a zombie too?

  "I want to help," he said all of a sudden, snapping me away from my depressing thoughts.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "There's something wrong. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if anyone knows, but there's something wrong with..."

  He paused. I finished his sentence for him. "With me."

  "No!" Evan stared at me hard. I could see the fire in his eyes like the warmth in his hands, steady and fierce. He touched me, placed his hand on my cheek again. "Ugh. I'm not good at this. I don't know how to say it. There's nothing wrong with you or anyone, Sadie. But... what's happened? Yes. What's happened isn't your fault, or anyone's fault, really. I want to fix it. I don't know how, or if I can, but I want to try."

  I stared at him, more attentive than I'd felt in months. The look in his eyes, the way he kept his hand pressed against my cheek, his steady demeanor and his refusal to back down; it captivated me. Pulsing, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat, waves of incandescent heat spread from his hand to me. I held my hands against the back of his, worrying he might let go of my cheek if I didn't.

  "I would like to think you can," I said. "I don't know how you would, though. I'm not sure it's possible."

  Evan nodded. "I don't know, either. I've been studying, though. See?" He grabbed his book with his free hand and showed it to me: Robbins Pathologic Basis for Disease. "Not that,
um, you have a disease or anything. I found the medical student curriculum in one of the offices here and this book was on the required reading list."

  "Are you a doctor?" I asked.

  "No. Not quite. I'm an EMT. Or..." He paused and looked at me with a strained look for a moment. Not quite at me, though, but past me. Through me. "I was an EMT. I'm not sure there's really such a thing anymore, though. I wanted to go to medical school and become a doctor. Or maybe a PA. I didn't have a chance before everything kind of went crazy. That doesn't mean I can't still do it, though. It won't be the same, but..."

  "You're brave," I said. "It doesn't matter if you can't technically do it. I think you're very brave for wanting to do it anyways."

  He smiled. "Thanks."

  I felt shy, unsure if I should do this, but I decided to go for it. Leaning towards him, I kissed his cheek.

  I nearly fell out of my chair, paralyzed by the feeling of his warmth against my lips. My body froze, tightened, and I couldn't move away. Nor did I want to move away. The heat, the pleasure, from something so simple as a kiss on the cheek exploded inside me like a fiery blaze.

  "Sadie?" Evan said; but I was somewhere far away and couldn't hear him. "Sadie! Sadie, are you alright?"

  He pulled me away and held my shoulders, looking hard at me. With my lips gone from his cheek, I felt some semblance of regularity returning. I'd felt imbalanced while kissing him, knocked out of equilibrium, like gravity had ceased to exist and I was falling forever.

  "I don't think I should kiss you," I said, laughing, giddy.

  "Oh?" He smirked. "Why not?"

  "That was very strong. I felt heat—a lot of heat—and it felt nice but I couldn't think straight for a second. I've never felt that way before."

  "That's curious," he said. "I wonder... what if I kiss you?"

  I didn't know. I didn't know but I wanted to know. I was no stranger to kissing, but I hadn't ever kissed someone like that before. Who knew that a casual, thankful kiss on the cheek could feel so passionate? That was the only word I could think to describe it, like the fire of pure arousal licking at my lips.

  "Sorry," Evan said. "I didn't mean that in a flirtatious way. I was just thinking out loud. Hypothesizing, if you will. I do that a lot now. Trial and error, right? It's a good way to educate yourself as long as you're careful."

  "Oh," I said. I wanted him to kiss me now, though. Was he going to?

  He gazed at me, into me. Our eyes met. I hoped he saw something nice in my eyes, something he liked. I definitely liked his eyes. They were a sharp, piercing blue and reminded me of something I'd seen recently, but I couldn't quite remember what.

  Bang! Bang! Slam!

  Jumping up, startled, I looked towards the front of the library where the noise came from. Evan stood with me, taking a place right next to me.

  Staring at us through the library's front windows was a small group of the others. They slammed on the windows, trying to crack them open and break in. If they kept it up, they probably would, too.

  "They shouldn't be in here," I said. "How did they get in? There's a chain on the front gates."

  Evan sighed. "I broke the lock to get in here. I thought if I left the chain in place no one would notice. I guess that didn't work out."

  "I know you want to help them," I said. Forcing myself to focus through the intense warmth, I placed my hands on Evan's face and made him look at me. "You need to run, though. They want to kill you."

  "I know," he said. "It's alright."

  Dashing a few steps away, leaving me cold and alone, Evan ducked under the library table and grabbed something from beneath it. When he returned and stood up, he held a crossbow and an arrow quiver full of bolts in his hands.

  My mind reeled and I stared at him, conflicted. "Evan, you can't. Please, don't kill them. You need to run to safety."

  He flashed me a grin while strapping the quiver and crossbow to his back. "No one's going to get hurt," he said. Without warning, he swooped forward and took my hand in his. "Let's go."

  ~*~

  You can find the rest of this story here: Breathless

  Sample (Spice)

  Please enjoy this sample from the steamy BDSM romantic comedy, "The Prince's Pet," part of the Roland and Elizabeth series, by Cerys du Lys

  ~*~

  Prince Roland was not the sort of person who liked being left out of things. In fact, if it were up to him he'd be included in everything. And he was, for the most part, except he'd missed out on this sudden craze sweeping across the kingdom. Nobles from nearly every important, sophisticated house were bringing pets into their households, and it irked him that no one had bothered to tell him about this. Especially considering they didn't tell him right before he arrived at a private party and saw every one of his friends with a pet in tow.

  Not normal pets, really, but it didn't matter. Oh, Roland could get a dog if he wanted(which he didn't), or a cat(he had one of those and he really liked him, but the cat didn't do much). This wasn't about that, though. The noblemen and women had people as pets, apparently. He wasn't positive on the specifics, but according to the rundown one of his closer acquaintances gave him after the party, it was somewhat like gaining a mistress.

  Instead of feeding these people, you gave them money and then they did things for you and followed you around. Except, as was clarified rather immediately, it wasn't to do anything important or sensible like keeping track of finances or acting as a secretary or anything like that. This was purely pleasure. Also, you did need to feed them, because everyone had to eat, but that wasn't the main point of it.

  Then, after you found one, you toyed with them. There was a certain amount of niceness involved, but that came later. Teach them who was in command! If they didn't submit, they'd get no money! Though don't make them submit to anything impossible, or too difficult. Learn limits, and all of that.

  That's how his friend explained it to him, anyways. And it sounded odd, but since everyone Roland knew now had a pet, he wanted one, too. It helped that he had just learned he held quite a sizable amount of money in his name. He asked the treasury for an estimate and the man hastily wrote a "one" on a piece of paper, trailed by nine "zeroes." Gold coins at that. A Prince could do a lot of things with one billion gold coins.

  Thus, he set a day to travel to the nearby village of Rosedale and pick his pet from amongst the masses. Preferably a very poor girl, because presumably that worked better, but he also wanted a good one, too. Poor, but pretty, and someone who wasn't a complete idiot. Also she needed to stand out a bit, but not too much. He just wanted the perfect girl to be his pet and he didn't think that was too much to ask.

  ...

  Elizabeth grew up in Rosedale. She'd spent her entire life there, and she rather hated it. There wasn't anything to do. Or, there was a lot to do, but it wasn't worthwhile. She could scrub dishes at the inn if she liked, or play as a waitress for the same place, but that wasn't exciting. Do laundry, possibly, except the old women of the village loved that task and spent nearly all day every day sitting by the river and washing, washing, washing, along with gossiping, gossiping, gossiping. It got old very fast, and Elizabeth just didn't think she could do it for long.

  And, anyways, she was a pretty girl. She had the most beautiful black hair and plush pink lips. Why should she hang around with the older women, or let men ogle her in a skimpy waitress outfit? Granted, the waitress outfit looked gorgeous on her, hugging the curves of her body and pushing out her bust so it looked bigger than it already was; which, from what she knew, was rather big enough. And actually, the older women weren't so bad, but they kept trying to set her up with their grandsons(who usually ended up being twelve years old). She constantly needed to explain to these women that she was twenty-two and nearly twice as old as their grandchildren, over and over.

  None of it worked out well. She tried waitressing once and everyone thought she was a prostitute. Which, she wasn't, and if she were she wouldn't have slept with ninety-nine percent
of the men who propositioned her(she held out that last percent just in case, but she'd never met a man who fit the bill). And when the older women weren't trying to set her up with their young grandsons, they constantly said she must pad her bra, and wouldn't listen when she denied it. She didn't like cleaning clothes much, anyways, and the batty women made it even worse.

  She did like sales, though, and her glasses made her come across as more knowledgeable and intelligent, but the shops she'd worked at disapproved of her tactics. Shameful, they said. Sell the customers what they want and don't hassle them. Was it her fault if she knew they'd need something else later. Or maybe they wouldn't need it, but if she convinced them they did she could sell it to them anyways. She made plenty of money, but the shopkeep she worked for didn't like it, and when she went to another shop to get a job the shopkeep from the first told the man from the second and...

  So, Elizabeth didn't do sales out of a shop anymore. She ran her own business instead. Nothing extravagant, but it provided money for everything she needed. Which was to say, quite a lot. She needed to pay taxes for her mother and father's home, plus her grandparents house. And her sister wasn't doing so well, so she helped her out, too. She wanted her little brother to get a decent education, instead of listening to the crazy old man prattle on by the well in the center of the village square; which was how most parents went about educating their children. Odd, that, since the man never said anything good. She didn't understand how parents thought he could teach their children when he didn't know anything himself, but most of them still did it.

  Elizabeth used books to tutor herself, which seemed best. Now, she knew she wasn't the smartest person ever, but she'd read quite a few books. Four hundred and seventy six at last count. Some of the books weren't useful, but she liked them still, and usually she gleaned some type of useful information from every book. Like, for example, she'd read a book about a girl pricking her finger on a spinning wheel and falling asleep for a hundred years and decided soon after she would never sew. Not that she thought the same would happen to her, but sewing was a bore, and whenever someone asked her to do it she told them how she was dreadfully frightened after reading that story and she just couldn't! Not ever, not at all.