feel.
No matter how much it hurt.
***
Duncan paced the confines of the emergency waiting
room. He itched to be a part of the posse Savannah was
arranging to go after Betise and Iyona, but his first priority
was Neva and her safety. But once he had her tucked
securely away, he was going after the two bitches. No
matter how forcefully Savannah had ordered him away.
And yet even as he paced he knew the anger that
burned him was not so much the need for revenge, but
rather annoyance at Neva’s continuing insistence that this
was nothing more than a moon dance. Because of who he
was. Because of what he’d done. And because of her
parents.
His mother had once told him that fate had a way of
catching up and making you pay. He’d thought jail time
had been his punishment, but this was far worse than
anything he’d faced in the few days he’d spent in jail. He’d
once been sure there was never going to be anyone out
there for him. To actually find her and hold her, and yet
be faced with the knowledge that she might never admit
to what lay between them, was surely a punishment that
far outweighed any of the crimes of his past.
But as he’d told Savannah, the past was something
he could do nothing about—beyond regret it. It had shaped
him, had helped make him what he was today, but it
wasn’t who he was today. Surely time would make Neva
see that. If she’d give him time. Right now, he doubted
she would.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. He looked up and
saw a nurse wheeling Neva towards him. Her face was
pale and she looked tired, but the smile that touched her
full lips made his blood surge.
“The doctor says I have to take it easy with my arm for
the next day or so.” Her green eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Looks like you’re going to have to do all the work tonight.”
He fell into step beside the wheelchair as they headed
toward the exit. “I was under the impression I was doing
all the work anyway.”
A slight blush crept through her cheeks, and she cast
a sideways glance at the nurse, who was grinning with
delight. But if Neva was at all worried about what the
nurse might be thinking, her next words belied it.
“And who approached whom to start with?”
“Ah yes,” he said softly, his gaze meeting hers. “An
amazing experience I shall never forget.”
The bloom of heat in her cheeks grew. But so did her
smile. “Well, there you go. Having done all the hard work
to begin with, I deserve to sit back and enjoy it for a while.”
“Then I shall endeavor to see that you do.” He swung
her out of the wheelchair and into his arms, kissing her
briefly but passionately before glancing at the nurse.
“Thanks.”
Still smiling, the nurse nodded and retreated back
inside. He glanced down at Neva. “Ready?”
“That depends on what I’m supposed to be ready for.”
Her voice was low and sexy as hell, and heat shot to
his groin. She smelled so good, so damn desirable, it was
all he could do not to take her right there and then.
He forced his feet to move down the pavement. “To go
home, witch.”
“If that’s all you’re offering, then I guess so.”
He couldn’t help smiling. In a couple of days she’d
gone from a reticent lover to an all too willing participant.
She was amazing. Totally amazing. “Let’s get out of the
snow first.”
“I’ve never done it in the snow,” she said thoughtfully.
She was running her fingers up and down his arms, a
gentle caress that burned deep.
And making it damn hard to walk. “It’s cold.”
“But romantic.”
Her breath was warm and sweet against his neck, and
the smell of her arousal stirred his senses and made him
hunger. Half a block had never seemed so far away.
“Hypothermia is never romantic.”
She raised an eyebrow, eyes glimmering with green
fire in the darkness. “You only get hypothermia if you’re
out in the cold a long time.”
“I plan for it to be a long time.”
“With the moon rising high and the urgency I feel
beating through your skin? Doubtful.” She paused and
looked around. “This is not the way to my house.”
“No, it’s the way to mine.” Luckily, the lodge was down
the other end of the street from the hospital, otherwise
he’d be calling a cab. She might want to make love in the
snow, but right now she was beginning to shiver.
She frowned. “I don’t want to go to the mansion.”
“Good, because we’re not going there.”
Her surprise rippled around him. “You own a house
here in Ripple Creek?”
“Sort of.”
“What’s ‘sort of’ supposed to mean?”
“That I own it, but it’s not a house.”
She gave him a long look that was filled with
annoyance. “Then what is it?”
“It’s Snowflake Lodge. My mother left it to me when
she died.” And he’d already called ahead to ensure one of
the cabins was open and ready for them.
“Really? I thought the Harpers owned it.”
“They manage it on my behalf. I doubt Betise and Iyona
would think to look there, as it’s one of the smaller lodges
and definitely middle range.”
“And the Sinclairs are well-known for their deluxe
tastes.”
“Exactly. You can stay there until I get this all sorted
out.”
Fear touched her eyes, and the warm caress of her
fingers against his skin stopped. “You keep saying I rather
than we. You’re going after them, aren’t you?”
“Yes. They have to be stopped.”
“Savannah and the rangers will stop them.”
“I intend to be there as backup.” Not that he distrusted
the abilities of Savannah’s team. He just suspected Betise
and Iyona would not be so easily caught. Not if they’d
been planning all this for a long time.
He walked down the lodge’s driveway, past the main
lobby entrance and through the terraced gardens. The
cabin they’d been assigned was at the rear of the property
and extremely private.
“You’re leaving once they’re caught, aren’t you?”
He hesitated. “For a while.”
“So this could be our last night?”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t dare, lest he blurt out exactly
what he was feeling. She wouldn’t believe it. Not until
she’d reached deep inside and discovered the truth for
herself.
He placed her gently on her feet then opened the door
and had a quick look inside to ensure all was ready. The
room was warm, lit by the golden light of the fire burning
in the huge stone fireplace. Two sofas and a couple of
well-padded chairs corralled the fire, and on the other
side of the room, there was a TV and a bar. The bedrooms
comfortable.
“After you, my lady,” he said, turning around.
Only to discover she’d stripped. For one brief second,
he allowed himself the pleasure of simply looking at her,
letting his gaze travel down the long length of her neck,
taking in her small but perfectly formed breasts, watching
their peaks harden with desire. Her breathing was quick
and sharp, every intake seeming to shudder through her
entire body. Her desire stung the air, a rich scent that
called to the wildness in him and made him harder than
he’d ever thought possible.
But the full moon was too close, and if he started loving
her, he might not want to stop. And she was injured, and
he had villains to catch.
“Neva—”
“No.” She stepped into his arms, her words hot and
breathy against his lips. “Just dance with me. Right here,
right now.”
He took a deep breath and puffed it out. “It’s better
that we don’t—”
“Don’t what?” she murmured saucily, her fingers cool
against his chest as she slipped her hands under his
sweater.
He pulled her hands firmly away. “You need to rest.”
“I need to dance.” Her gaze searched his, eyes gleaming
in the darkness. “Are you going to take me up on the offer,
or shall I go find someone who will?”
Even a saint would not be able to resist such an
invitation—and he was a long way from sainthood. He
crushed her close, his mouth finding hers almost savagely.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight,
matching his urgency. Desire shimmered between them,
but even a heat so fierce was not enough to stop her
shivering. He picked her up and carried her inside, kicking
the door shut before making his way across to the sofa
nearest the fire. Once he’d placed her on her feet again he
stepped back and quickly stripped. The musky scent of
her desire grew stronger, fueling the need already raging
through his veins. But rather than pulling her close and
claiming her as he ached to do, he reached out, running
his hand down her neck. She trembled, her pulse galloping
beneath his fingertips.
“I don’t want to dance,” he said softly.
Her gaze swept down his body, and a smile teased her
kiss-swollen lips. “Well, certain parts of your body are
belying that statement.”
“That’s not what I mean. I want to make love to you.”
Confusion flickered through her bright eyes. “They’re
the same thing.”
“No. Dancing is for pleasure. Making love is something
more.” And he ached to show her what he dared not say.
She ran her tongue across her lips. He had to resist
the sudden urge to follow that moist trail with his mouth.
“In what way?”
Though her voice was calm, panic gleamed in her eyes.
She understood all too well what he meant. He let his
hand drift past her throat. Her already puckered nipples
seemed to become harder, as if straining for his touch. “If
you wish to discover the answer, you have to play the
game.”
He brushed his fingers across the top of her breasts,
circling but not touching the dark centers. She took a
deep, shuddery breath. “What game?”
“Pretense.”
“Which is?”
“Let’s pretend we are lovers. Let’s pretend it’s the night
before the full moon, and we are about to promise our
souls to each other.”
She studied him for several heartbeats, her expression
a mix of confusion and alarm. “Why?”
“Because I’ve never had a true lover, just dancers.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure this a game I can play.”
“Why not?” He gently plucked one nipple.
Goose bumps fled across her skin, and her pupils
dilated, almost swallowing the new-leaf green of her irises.
“Because I don’t see the point of it.”
He shifted his touch to her other breast, this time
rolling the firm nub between his fingertips. “It’s not the
night of promising, Neva. No harm can come from
pretending.”
“Can you be sure? The magic might lie in the ritual
itself rather than the night.”
“Have you ever heard of the ritual being performed on
any other night but the one before the full moon?”
“No, but—”
“No buts. Just yes or no.”
Neva took another deep breath. His gentle touch
shuddered through every fiber of her being, and though
she wanted him with a fierceness that was almost painful,
she feared to pretend what lay between them was anything
more than just a dance. Because such pretense might
lead to the examination of feelings she’d managed to avoid
up until now. “What if I say no?”
“Then you go to bed and rest as the doctor ordered.”
“That’s sexual blackmail.”
“No, that’s honesty. This one time, I want more than
just a dance.”
She closed her eyes. It was a risk. She knew in her
heart it was a risk because no one truly knew any more if
the magic of promising was confined to the one night.
And because, deep down, she knew her heart was already
on the line, and this might tip it over the edge and down
the hill toward heartbreak.
But could she let him walk away tomorrow or the day
after without knowing what it might be like to be truly
loved by this man?
He raised a hand, cupping her cheek. It felt like he
was branding her skin for eternity. “Your answer?”
No. “Yes.”
He smiled, his dark eyes filled with a heat that caused
a meltdown deep inside her. He caught her hand and
tugged her onto the rug near the hearth. The thick fur
pressed against her toes, and the warmth of the flames
caressed her skin but seemed oddly cool compared to the
fire burning inside and out.
He pressed her fingers against his chest. The heat of
his body and his warm, woody scent washed across her
senses, stirring her in ways she’d never thought possible.
And the wild beat of his heart under her fingertips only
fueled her desire to greater heights.
“Does my lady know what night it is?”
His voice was little more than a stroke of sound, yet it
seemed to sing through every part of her. She took a deep
breath and released it slowly. His question was the start
of the ritual. If she replied, if the magic could be raised on
nights other than the one before the full moon, she could
bind herself for eternity to a man who did not love her.
Because once begun, there was no retreat. Not unless the
participants were familiar with the paths of magic.
But if she didn’t reply, if the magic couldn’t be raised
on any other night, she’d miss the chance to know what it
might be like to be the woman he loved enough to commit
Pretense, he’d said, nothing more. She could pretend
she loved him. Pretend that he loved her. Even if it broke
her heart.
“It is the night before the full moon. The night of
promises.” She briefly closed her eyes against the sudden
sting of tears. Deep down, part of her wished that this
was real. That the words were real. That he truly did love
her.
He stepped closer. Her breasts were pressed against
his warm bare chest, and the heat of his erection scorched
her stomach. “Or the night of destiny.”
The air seemed to stir around them. Or was it merely
his breath stroking her mouth with warmth?
“You are my heart, my soul.” And knew even as she
said the words that she shouldn’t have started this.
Couldn’t pretend, because she did care, as much as she’d
tried not to admit it.
“I can’t do this,” she added. “Let’s just dance.”
He didn’t hear her. Or maybe he chose not to hear
her. “Kneel with me.”
“We can’t do this.” Because she didn’t want to pretend
when part of her ached so fiercely for it to be real.
His eyes were black fires of determination that burned
through her soul. “Kneel with me,” he repeated and tugged
her down in front of him.
“Duncan—”
He stopped her with a kiss that was both ferocious
and passionate. One that left her mind reeling and her
body aching.
“Dance with me,” he said, voice so husky, so damn
sexy, chills ran across her skin. “This night and the rest
of our nights, for as long as the divine light shines in the
evening skies. For as long as we live beneath it.”
The air seemed to thrum, to burn, at his words. Magic,
or her imagination?
“No,” she choked, trying to pull away.
His touch slid past her hip to cup her rear, holding
her in place, his grip gentle but firm. “Pretense,” he
whispered, brushing a kiss across her lips. “That’s all it
is.”
This was more than pretense. Something was
happening. Surely he could feel it. Surely the tingle in the
air wasn’t just her imagination.
He caught her chin, raising her gaze to his. His eyes
were ebony pools she wanted to lose herself in forever.
“I feel nothing more than desire. Want nothing more
than to love you as you should be loved. Pretend with
Arthur, Keri - Beneath a Rising Moon.txt Page 28