Ignoring the dull throb behind his skull, he pushed to his feet and dragged himself through the door. If she had run, if she had played his weakness to her advantage …
The thought came to a skidding halt as he spied her asleep on the couch. Relief washed through him with such force he sagged against the door frame and expelled a heavy breath. She had not run. Had merely left him in solitude.
While he watched, she shivered.
Cool air kissed his bare chest, and he realized the chill in the room. Grumbling to himself, he crossed to her side. Touching her was the last thing he cared to do. Yet he could not leave her in discomfort. She had sacrificed her warmth, and he would not leave her in misery. Not when she had tended him with so much care.
Unwilling to wake her, he scooped her into his arms. His breath caught as she turned her face to his chest and nestled her cheek against his skin. Though he would not admit it, he liked the feel of her. The way she molded into him. The way one hand clutched at his shoulder as if she sought to bring him even closer.
Her cat padded along behind him as he carried Noelle to the oversized bed. With some difficulty, he managed to keep her from tumbling loose whilst he pulled down the thick mound of blankets. Yet when he sought to disentangle himself and lay her against the pillows, her fingers bit into his arm, refusing to let go. He leaned back to give her a perturbed scowl. Instead, he found half-open eyes looking up at him.
“Sleep, damsel. I have brought you to your bed.”
“Stay,” she murmured, once again snuggling in close. “I’m not scared when you’re here.”
Her confession bottomed out his stomach. For several heavy heartbeats, he froze, unable to make thoughts or words form. Stay with her. The invitation could not be more clear. Yet if he stayed, he could not be certain Alefric and Brighid would not return.
Through the haze of conflict shrouding his mind, one whispered word echoed louder than the rest. Scared. She was afraid. And that fear he alone could carry the blame for. He had brought her here. Had forced her to this place she did not understand. He could no more turn away from her request than he could deny their fated pairing. He owed her the security of her dreams, at least.
“Shh,” he soothed. “Let go. I will stay.” He slipped his arms from behind her and lifted a hand to stroke her silken hair. “Sleep, Lady Noelle. Sleep.”
The fleeting realization he had called no one Lady since Brighid passed through his head as he eased himself into the bed beside her. When his head hit the pillow, she surprised him by rolling into his arms and setting a delicate palm over his drumming heart. Sensation shot through his body, tensing every muscle in an instant. He blinked against the pleasant contact and lay utterly still, afraid if he moved she would either roll away or snuggle even closer.
Which he desired most, he did not know.
After several never-ending minutes, the even cadence of her breath brushing against his skin spoke of heavy sleep. Hesitantly, he set his hand on her hip. This was uncharted territory. He could not remember the last time he spent a night with a woman at his side. Even Leah, he left when the lust in his loins cooled.
Noelle, however, felt good. And the pleasant scent of jasmine that floated to his awareness beckoned him to press his nose to her hair and inhale deeply. He followed the urge, closing his eyes to the sweet comfort her warmth offered. Instinctively, he wound his arm around her waist and pulled her in tight.
CHAPTER 18
Bright sunlight lulled Farran from the feel of soft curves melded against his body. He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to confront the light of day, longing to remain in the sweet haven of dreams. As he lay still, absorbing the full pleasure of a willing woman tucked within his arms, a quiet, feminine murmur triggered awareness.
’Twas not a mere dream. Noelle lay folded against his chest.
He cracked one eye open, hesitant to believe she would not fade away with the light. At the sight of her parted lips and lowered lashes, a deeply buried knot slowly unraveled. The sensation sparked pleasant heat within his blood, and he breathed in her sweet perfume. Against his thigh, he felt his cock thicken.
Taken aback by his body’s profound reaction, he eased his chin free of her hair to better study her face. Lighter skin across the bridge of her nose and near her temple reminded him of the glasses he found so compelling. She had not worn them last eve, though he had not realized it until now.
He allowed his gaze to travel the length of her elegant neck, across a shoulder his palm could easily cover. The sensations stirring in his veins intensified at the discovery her fingers still pressed against his pectoral, and that tempting mouth nearly touched his bare flesh. He shifted a knee to ease the growing discomfort in his loins, only to have his thigh tumble against hers. With widened eyes, he shifted to inspect her positioning, and sucked in a sharp breath on finding her leg wedged between his.
Jesu. ’Twas no wonder his cock swelled. She fit against him as if they shared a night of intimate pleasure, not a mere eve with their clothes on.
He closed his eyes to an inward groan and lay unmoving. Sensibility urged him to disentangle their bodies. But the idea of removing himself triggered a far more primal response. His body tensed in violent protest. Something inside his chest that he could not name squashed in on itself. He could not move. He could scarcely draw a normal breath.
She stirred, drawing his eyes open once more. He looked down to find her fawn-colored gaze heavily laden with sleep. Yet as he held her quiet stare, those fathomless eyes drew him in so deep he could not hope to surface. The heat in his veins rose to intolerable limits, and the overwhelming desire to revisit the kiss they had shared before possessed him. Though it defied all logic, he must have one more taste of her. Must discover if the velvety slide of her tongue offered as much promise as he recalled, or if ’twas just a fragment of fantasy.
Rising to his elbow, he lowered his body into hers and eased her onto her back. She offered no protest, despite the way his knee slid between her thighs. To his astonishment, she did not encourage by shifting her body to give him room. Unlike the other women he brought to his bed, Noelle ignored the blatant press of his hips and offered only the faintest hint of a smile.
Even on his wedding night, Brighid welcomed the invasion of his body by lifting her head in search of his mouth. But then, he had learned not long after, he had not wed a maiden.
Farran ordered the wayward thoughts aside. Brighid had plagued him enough last eve. He would not allow her to intrude on this unexpected delight.
He dipped his head to Noelle’s and brushed his mouth against hers, seeking entry. She parted her lips ever so slightly, her response as light as a feather’s caress. What manner of kiss was this? Did she seek to play the innocent, or did she wish for him to stop?
Intrigued, Farran traced the seam of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Beneath him, she shivered. The response rolled through him, vibrated down his spine, and stirred his swollen shaft. Fierce desire leapt to life, and he slipped one hand into the silken lengths of her hair. Curling his fingers against her scalp, he angled her head where he desired it and nudged her lips apart.
No more play. ’Twas time to make his intent unmistakable. If she wished to refuse him, she must speak now. For he intended to take full pleasure in the gift of waking beside her. He had spent too long away from Leah, and his body would not stand another moment of this ache.
Noelle met the urgent foray of his tongue with hesitant strokes. Unlike the kiss he recalled, she did not answer with hunger. The fleeting brush, the hesitant retreat, stoked a memory of the serving girl he had cornered behind the stables when he was but a squire of fourteen. She had tittered with laughter, blushed profusely, all evidence of her …
The meaning hit him with the force of a fist. Jesu! Noelle was innocent.
Stunned, he froze, his lips clinging to hers. He had kissed her in the adytum. He had been so affected by the tenderness his scar elicited, he had not given the stolen moment consid
eration. Yet now, as he replayed the brief encounter, he realized ’twas he who dominated. Even then, Noelle’s response lacked the familiarity of one well practiced.
With a low groan, he succumbed to sensation he had never imagined possible. Untouched. Naive.
His.
It took every bit of self-control he possessed not to ravage her mouth and lose himself in her sultry flavor. With measured breaths, he encouraged her, told her without words what he desired. Proving herself a quick study, she responded eagerly. Velvety strokes sent his senses careening into one another. Moist heat that carried the lingering flavor of mint sent his heart thudding into his ribs.
Innocent. His seraph had never known a man.
Over and over, the discovery echoed in his mind, until he could not kiss her deep enough. Could not mesh himself close enough. He sank his body into hers, a slave to the tide of feeling that roiled inside. A light mewl that escaped the depths of her throat provoked his own hungry groan, and he gave in to the need to feel her flesh beneath his hands.
He slid his free hand down her arm, roamed his way up her ribs. His thumb stroked the fleshy side of her breast, and Noelle sucked in a gasp through her nose. He lifted his head to give her a moment to breathe. But holding her gaze, he covered her breast with his palm. Her eyes lit with liquid warmth. Her lashes fluttered against her high cheekbones. As he rolled a taut nipple beneath his thumb, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.
A crisp, demanding knock at the door stilled both his hand and his mouth. Curses, more vile than he would gift Azazel himself, screamed inside Farran’s mind as Lucan called out, “Farran, the hour approaches noon. Mikhail orders your presence.”
* * *
As Farran rolled to his back with a hiss, Noelle’s mind reeled. Every fiber of her body pulsed with sensation. Every nerve ending arced as if live current ran in her veins. Her breath came in short, quick bursts that added to the rising heat in her cheeks.
He had kissed her. Not the aggressive pressure that came with his brief foray in the house in D.C., but something entirely different. An encounter Noelle couldn’t describe with words. The only thought that rose was that he’d mastered her. And, damn it all, she didn’t want it to end.
“I must go.” Farran sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Mikhail would not demand my presence lest something important has occurred.”
The Sudarium. Noelle knew it in an instant. Mikhail had discovered her bag was empty. She bolted upright and fidgeted with the blankets as Farran gathered his belongings. “Farran, I need to talk to you.”
“’Twill wait. We should have risen earlier.”
“But—”
He glanced over his shoulder with a shake of his head. “Nay, damsel. There is not time.”
If it was the Sudarium, she didn’t intend to wait. She had to get out of here before someone tried to tie her up and stuff her down in that stone maze because she’d duped them all. Legitimate relic or not, they believed in it. She needed to get Farran on the path of returning it—and her—before he sided with his friends.
“Let me go with you then.” At least that way, she could plead her case before someone sentenced her.
“Nay, you were not summoned.” He stuffed his feet into his boots and adjusted his jeans.
On a wince, she groaned silently. This wouldn’t end well for her—she could feel it in her bones. Kiss or no kiss, by the time Farran returned, whatever had softened inside him would be as hard as coal. The truce they’d established last night would disappear. And she’d lose complete control of her fate.
A finality she couldn’t allow to happen. “Farran, wait. Listen to me. You just … we just … I can’t…” She floundered, then settled on, “We have to talk.”
In the doorway, he paused to give her a backward glance. It was then she noticed he’d removed her bandages. Unbelievably, the ripped skin beneath pulled into a neat pink line. What the …
For a moment, a smile caught the corner of Farran’s mouth, before it faded into passive nonchalance. “You have my apologies, Noelle. I swore you had no cause to concern yourself with my advances, and I broke my word. Rest assured, ’twas only a product of waking to find a woman in my bed. The kiss would have happened were it you or any other maid.”
His words cut through her like knives. Sliced to the very core of her being, she recoiled. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she covered a gasp. Nothing. The kiss had meant nothing. While it had given her soul wings, to him it was little more than instinct. Testosterone overload.
Tears welled as he gave her his back and strode to the door. His steps held no hesitation, no indication his words were anything but truth. The proud lift of his shoulders, the way he didn’t lift his eyes to so much as glance at her as he put on his sword belt, confirmed the harsh reality.
She knew men were capable of intimate acts without the involvement of emotions. Science proved that time and again. They lacked the branching networks in their brains to link everything together. But how a man could kiss with so much feeling and remain indifferent, she couldn’t comprehend.
When the door closed with a firm thump, her tears broke free. Hating herself for caring, for allowing him to wound her so easily, she grabbed the pillow and clutched it tight. She knew where she stood. Knew he found her unacceptable. And damn it all, he was crazy—she shouldn’t be this affected.
Still, she wept, as she had so many times before. Just once, she’d like to be desirable, to wield the power so many other women possessed. Even if her target needed psychiatric help, she’d like to hold the upper hand and the ability to bring a man to his knees because he found her irresistible. Dr. Martin, the forensic anthropologist who worked next door to Noelle’s lab, could wag a finger and men fell at her feet.
Scat Cat leapt to comfort her by cleaning his teeth on Noelle’s jeans-covered knee. On a watery sniffle, she lifted her head and dragged her fingers through his fur. “Scat, I want to go home,” she whispered.
As if he agreed, he lifted golden eyes to give her a mrrph.
A shudder drifted through her as she met his unblinking gaze. What Scat Cat and she wanted didn’t matter. In a few hours, maybe less, she’d find herself prisoner, and she had no doubts that Farran would make good on his promise to tie her up.
Possessed by the thought and her imagination’s vivid illustrations of some dark dungeon amid the corridors below, she pushed Scat Cat aside and leapt off the bed to race to the dresser.
She had to leave. Before she couldn’t.
As she yanked open a drawer and grabbed for a pair of clean jeans, pressure on her left bicep sent pain arcing down her arm. With a strangled cry, she clutched at the torc, attempting to pry it loose. Yet the more she pushed, the more fingers she tried to stuff between the band of bronze and her skin, the more the pressure intensified. Like hot coals pressed to her skin, heat inflamed her arm and scalded through her veins.
Unable to bear the torment, she dropped to her knees and doubled over with an agonized groan. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. She fought for the ability to breathe. Distantly, the memory of Farran’s words rose.
The torc recognizes you. ’Twill use whatever means necessary to ensure you assume your place.
* * *
At the bottom of the stairs, where the cool air could temper his heated blood, Farran set a hand on the thick stone and let the myriad of sensations flow through him. He had wounded Noelle, aye. A blind man could have read the hurt reflected in her eyes. He had not meant to. Had pulled the only words he could find to mask the way his insides quivered. She had wanted to discuss their circumstance, and he did not possess the answers.
He lifted a hand to inspect the wound near his temple. It had healed … overmuch. With his soul so tainted, it should have seen the passing of a good three days before it began to scar. But this, like the flesh upon his chest he had glimpsed whilst he dressed, was undeniable. Could she have contributed to the healing?
He shook his
head. She threatened all he understood. Ignited hopes experience told him were a fool’s pursuit. Moments ago, he had yearned for nothing more than to lose himself within her embrace. He could have so easily forgotten his purpose lay in obtaining her oath. So easily discarded all but the physical pleasure.
And that fact alone terrified him more than any shade, nytym, or demon Azazel spawned. Noelle could make him vulnerable. Could turn him weak. With this accursed immortality, he dared not chance she might tear open the scars on his soul and make him bleed again. One betrayal he had survived. Another, he would wish for death—a fate duty to the Order forbade him.
Nay, the only course he could choose was the one he first assumed. He must obtain her oath, then take his leave. Before she could push him into senselessness.
He steeled himself against the twist of anguish that accompanied his resolution and strode down the darkened hall. It mattered not how much he craved her kiss, he would serve his purpose better without the worry she created. And once she said the oath, he need not worry about her safety—immortality would claim her as well.
With the light of angels in her soul, not even a Templar blade could take her life.
He pushed open Mikhail’s door to find Merrick, Declan, Lucan, and Caradoc assembled inside. Added to his familiar band of brothers, he found Anne perched in a nearby chair, worrying her fingers in her lap. A frown tugged at his brow on seeing her, and he lifted an inquisitive gaze to Mikhail. “You summoned me?”
“Aye, we have waited all morn for you to decide to wake,” Merrick teased. “’Tis high time you climbed out of bed.”
Mikhail gave Merrick a scowl meant to scold, but humor crinkled the corners of his eyes, spoiling the effect. He openly displayed his smile. “Have you succeeded in obtaining her oath?”
“I am making progress.” Farran choked back a snort. If indeed insulting her counted as progress, he had no doubt when he returned she would offer her vow willingly. Quite likely, he would find himself spending the rest of the afternoon trying to persuade her.
Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars) Page 16