When Rebecca closed the door behind her, the tell-tale snick of the lock clicked into place as Liam walked over to the dresser and poured some water into the basin. “You’re drinking ginger tea? Is your stomach ill?” Even his voice sounded tired.
“It was. But the tea is helping a bit. I feel stronger after getting something into my stomach.”
He swished the soap bar in the water and then set it back in the porcelain dish. Opening a top drawer, he pulled out a clean washrag and dropped it in the basin before pulling off his shirt. Even weak from illness, she did not fail to appreciate the impressive expanse of his shoulders, the muscled outline of his back, and trim, lean waist. She could watch him forever...surely a more stunning specimen of male perfection had never been created.
“Liam?”
“What?” He wrung out the rag and put it to his chest before running it down his corded biceps.
“Are you all right?”
He rinsed the rag in the water and started on his other arm. “I’m fine—just a little tired. I’m relieved to see you’re awake and sitting up. You and Rebecca seemed to be having a nice talk.”
She finished her tea and set the cup on the nightstand before climbing out of bed. “We were. She really is a lovely woman. I’m afraid I’ve prematurely judged her.” Standing at the bedside, she took a moment to acclimate before slowly making her way to the dresser.
Olivia took the rag from his hand. “Let me help you,” she offered, stepping behind him and dragging the moist cloth across his shoulder blades.
Planting his palms against the dresser to brace his weight, Liam’s chin dropped to his chest. His exhale sounded exhausted, the soft groan rumbling in his throat was one of pure bliss. “I should be taking care for you,” he whispered.
“You have been. You saved my life—again. Now, let me take care of you.”
His muscles tensed when she pressed her lips against one of the diagonal scars on his back. This time, his exhaled groan was rife with sensual torture. The erotic cadence awoke that delicious ache deep in her core. As she reached around him, refreshing the rag, her cotton-clad breasts pressed into his back. The subtle arch of his spine and quickened breaths were quickly turning what she’d intended to be a thoughtful gesture into so much more.
When she finished washing his back, she reached around to the front of his waist and unfastened his pants. They dropped to his ankles and he stepped free of the hobbling jeans, posting his stance in erotic submission of his raw, masculine power and strength.
She continued to wash him, the cloth, her hands, exploring and cleansing, teasing and touching. She remembered that night in the bathroom in Vegas—remembered it well—the one when he’d so erotically whispered in her ear. “Does this remind you of something?” she teased, slowly dragging her tongue up the center of his spine. “You never told me how the story ended… Perhaps I should use my own imagination.”
Much like that night, she washed him clean, except this time when she finished, Olivia snaked around his body, ducking beneath his outstretched arm and dropping to her knees.
She felt his startled breath ripping into his lungs, all the way to her core. On unsteady legs he stood before her, one arm locked at the elbow, bracing his solid weight, while his other hand slipped from the dresser and into her hair. How long had she dreamt of loving him this way—all the times he’d denied her intimate contact—all the times he’d selflessly given her pleasure at his own unfulfilled expense. She remembered. She remembered it all… Each touch, every kiss… And she wanted to return all the love he’d given her and so much more. His sacrifice for her had been great, and she vowed to spend the rest of her life making sure he didn’t regret a single moment of it.
“Olivia…”he rasped, a broken whisper on panted breaths. “You must stop…” But even as he begged her to show the restraint that failed him, the light, rhythmic pressure on the back of her head begged to differ. She slid her hand up his thigh, around his lean hip. Her thumb dipped into the muscled dimple, nails scoring his flesh in a wordless warning not to pull away.
A tortured groan rumbled in his chest, his massive body towering over her—tensing. He shuddered a moment before her name tore from his throat in a broken shout of tortured bliss.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rallying his strength, Liam scooped Olivia into his arms and carried her back to the bed. Sliding in beside her, he tucked her slight frame against his exhausted, yet surprisingly still hard body, and pressed a kiss against her temple. “That wasn’t how that night ended,” he whispered against her silky hair.
“I know, but I wanted to give you my version of how it would have gone down if you would have let me have my way with you.”
He suddenly tensed. Rolling up on his side, Liam propped his head in his hand as he stared down at her—a mixture of hope and dread like fire and ice in his veins. “You know…don’t you.” It was a statement more than a question. The knot in his gut already told him all he needed to know.
She looked up at him from her prone position, her hair a raven’s halo splayed across the pillow as those mischievous emerald eyes watched him closely. “I wanted to tell you earlier. My memories…they’re back.”
“All of them?”
She nodded. “I think so.” The smile lighting her beautiful face filled his heart with a shred of hope that perhaps she could forgive him for the wrong he’d done her, for leaving her—twice—for violating her free will, for walking out on her that morning at the resort when he found Mitch passed out in their bed.
He’d told her she owed him nothing. That he was her guardian and she was his assignment. It was the truth or he’d never been able to speak it. But in withholding his words, he’d effectively lied to her that morning by allowing her to believe he was done with her—the anger, the heartbreak of their impossible situation, his unwillingness to listen to her, to let her explain. Those mistakes had been all his. He knew not what transpired between the time he’d left her and then found her in that demon bar with Haden, Cale and Rhen. But what he did know was that whatever had happened, he was most assuredly to blame.
Perhaps she saw the guilt and self-condemnation in his eyes, because like an incoming storm, Olivia’s smile suddenly fell. Her delicate brows drew tight, her verdant gaze fixed on him, sweeping away his hope like a tide rushing out to sea. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you. Something I should have told you a while ago.”
Bloody hell. He knew it’d been a piss-poor idea to bring her here. His mind raced with different scenarios of how this could go down, what she could say. The damage control he’d have to do… “Olivia—” Perhaps if he apologized now, she would be gracious enough to forgive him. Maybe he could avoid having this conversation altogether, when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and never let her go. What if she couldn’t get past the mistakes he’d made? Would he be able to let her go? He knew the answer in his heart before he’d even finished the thought. Olivia belonged to him—now and forever. He couldn’t stop loving her any easier than he could tell his heart to stop beating or his lungs to quit drawing breath.
She placed her fingers against his lips to stay his apology and shook her head. The sadness and regret that darkened her countenance broke his heart. “Let me finish, Liam. I have to say this. There has been too much that has gone unsaid between us. That day that I fell in the brier, the morning I realized my memories had returned, I was actually coming to find you. To tell you—”
Aww… fuck. His chest tightened until his lungs couldn’t draw breath. Now she looked nervous. Nibbling at her bottom lip, she paused, as if taking a moment to draw courage before continuing.
“I was coming to find you because I had to tell you…that I’m sorry.”
What?
“I’m so sorry for hurting you, Liam. I’m so sorry for all the stupid mistakes I’ve made, for all you’ve had to sacrifice because of me.” Tears filled her eyes, making them shine like emeralds. “Will you ever be able to
forgive me? I have hurt you so much. And that morning at the resort—”
With a burst of preternatural speed, he rolled on top of Olivia and crushed his mouth to hers—effectively ending her wholly unnecessary apology. If anyone should be apologizing right now, it should be him. He couldn’t bear listening to another word of her misplaced regret—couldn’t stand the remorse in her broken voice, or the pain in her soulful eyes. Not for one more second.
She returned his kiss with equal abandon, offering him absolution he never expected to find—not like this—not so easily. “I love you, Olivia,” he whispered the vow against her lips before claiming them in another searing embrace that left them both breathless and hungry for what one could give the other.
Forgotten was the exhaustion that dogged his body, dulling his senses. Every last bit of his energy was centered on Olivia, focused on forging a new beginning with his female—his life—his mate. Consecrating himself unto her—body, mind, and soul. With her memory restored, there were no longer any unknowns standing between them, and he vowed not anyone, or anything, would ever tear them apart. She now truly belonged to him.
Olivia awoke with the dead weight of Liam’s arm across her chest; his leg flopped heavily across both of hers. Careful not to disturb him, she glanced over to the window. Since losing those days to the poisonous thorns, her internal concept of day and night were lost. The balcony door was ajar, letting in the serenade of crickets and bullfrogs, a soothing auditory oasis. Closing her eyes, she laid there in bliss, listening to the beautiful melody until her stomach joined in with a much less pleasant song of hunger.
Rebecca hadn’t come back as promised, at least not that she’d heard, and as much as she hated to disturb Liam, the many calls of nature could no longer be denied. Slowly, she slipped out from under his arm and leg. Smiling at her stealth, she pulled on the nightgown Rebecca had given her and padded across the cool mahogany floor.
Stopping at Liam’s side of the bed, she stood there a moment, appreciating the way the moonlight bathed his handsome face in a soft glow of masculine perfection. Locks of his hair, shaded black, hung down, adding a boyish youth to a timeless face that—Lord willing—she’d wake up next to for eternity. Unable to resist, she reached out and brushed his hair from his eyes and bent to softly kiss his forehead.
He didn’t move. He didn’t even stir. And a jolt of alarm slammed into her heart. “Liam…?” She shook his shoulder.
No response.
“Liam.” She shook him again.
Nothing.
Dread gripped her heart, squeezing until she was certain her chest would explode. Panicked, she felt his neck for a pulse and exhaled the breath trapped in her lungs when the slow, steady rhythm met her fingers. Pushing him onto his back, she bent her head, hovering close to his face. Her knees nearly buckled from relief when the heat of his shallow breath caressed her cheek.
Thank God, he was alive. But why wasn’t he awake? Why couldn’t she rouse him? Angels didn’t sleep.
Desperation sent her feet moving before her mind could convince her otherwise. When she hit the bottom of the stairs, she came to a stumbling halt. Sitting on the sofa before a small crackling fire were Rebecca and Niall. His giant black wing was stretched behind her, wrapping around her shoulder like a second arm as they snuggled together. Both of them held a glass of red wine in their hands, their voices hushed whispers.
Niall leaned forward and sat his glass on the coffee table. Then, he took Rebecca’s from her and bent close, murmuring something in her ear. At her sultry laugh, he closed the distance and kissed her. And not the shy, tentative kiss she’d expect a male to give this sweet southern bell, but a darkly possessive, hungry kiss that seemed to be every bit as dominating as the rouge angel himself. What left her frozen and awkwardly standing there gawking at the two, was her surprise to see Rebecca actually melting for this warrior. She showed no fear, no hesitation to be with a male that surely knew not the meaning of the word gentle, patient, or kind.
Olivia had been in the receiving end of his hands, and pleasant it was not. Hefting her over his shoulder, handling her like a sack of grain—
“Miss Olivia, you’re awake.”
Henry’s voice startled her. Rebecca jumped, parting from Niall as she pressed her palms against his chest and shoved him back. Skittering out from under the massive warrior, her cheeks flushed brightly, whether from Niall’s touch or discovering they’d been seen, Olivia couldn’t know.
“Olivia,” Rebecca greeted, straightening her gown and swiping the wrinkles from the folds as she approached. “How are you feeling?”
Niall moved with the speed and elegance of a begrudgingly disturbed jungle cat sunning itself on a hot afternoon. Slow, fluid, lazily, he left the couch and approached Rebecca, not even trying to disguise the sapphire blaze burning in his hungry, predatory gaze.
“Much better. Thank you. I’m sorry to interrupt—” Rebecca’s cheeks burned brighter, a becoming flush against her alabaster skin. “—but I’m worried about Liam.”
Before she could finish explaining, Niall stormed past her, taking the stairs three at a time, leaving her and Rebecca to run after him. Where hunger would have left her weak, adrenaline kept Olivia going, fear substituting nutrition, fueling her starving body.
By the time they reached the bedroom, Niall was already stepping away from Liam. The concerned scowl he’d worn only moments ago turned to wry smugness.
“He doesn’t sleep, so why isn’t he moving?” Olivia demanded, when the dark angel gave her no explanation.
“Perhaps you’ve broken him.”
His arrogant humor sparked Olivia’s temper. It pleased her greatly when Rebecca gasped in utter outrage, whacking the angel in the arm with the back of her hand. This was serious. Something was terribly wrong.
“That’s not funny!” Rebecca snapped.
“It wasn’t a joke.” But the chuckle in his low voice and humor dancing in his mischievous eyes spoke to the contrary. “You forget I have an acute sense of hearing. I think she broke him.”
“I’m going to break you if you don’t get serious and tell us what’s wrong with him!”
Niall’s dark gaze swung on Rebecca, making Olivia wonder what in the hell that sweet, proper woman could possibly see in that untamed, unmannered, angelic rebel.
“You promise?” he growled, his black brow arching sardonically. The wicked grin tugging at his top lip made him appear fearsomely dangerous, and oh hell, even she had to admit it, stunningly sexy in an I-just-might-devour-you-after-I-make-love-to-you sort of way. Poor Rebecca…
“Niall!” the woman chided, sounding properly offended.
He chuckled darkly. “All right, all right... The Seer is correct. We don’t sleep. But we can, however, reach a state of total exhaustion where our bodies enter a form of stasis. We’re nigh impossible to rouse until our energy is restored. We eat and drink for pleasure only. Our nutritional demands—our strength—comes from supernatural power. It’s dangerous to become this depleted because, well, as you can see, we’re vulnerable to attack. But essentially, you did break him. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
“When?”
Niall scowled. “How would I know? Probably sometime between, ‘Don’t stop, don’t stop’… and ‘Oh, Liam!’”
“Niall!” Rebecca gasped, sounding completely scandalized.
Damn, Olivia hated this angel. Was it a sin to loathe one of God’s creatures?—because she held zero affection for this brute. “Ass…” she grumbled under her breath. “When will he be ‘fine’?” Olivia clarified through clenched teeth, struggling to reign in her temper, refusing to let him get the better of her.
“Oh,” he said, feigning ignorance, “that... It depends.” He shrugged negligently. “Twenty-four, thirty-six hours…”
Great—two, maybe three more days of living under the same roof with this snarky angel? Just fucking fantastic...
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-four hours came
and went, yet Liam showed no signs of life beyond the slow beat of his heart and the shallow breaths that barely raised his chest. And she checked—often. Not only in concern for him, as she was seriously starting to doubt Niall’s word, but she was going stir-crazy, confining herself to her room each evening to avoid any more unwelcomed run-ins with the dark angel.
The days passed quickly enough. After a few good meals, her strength had quickly returned. Aside from being a bit off from time to time, which was nothing a cup of ginger tea couldn’t fix, for the most part she felt pretty normal. Each day, she and Rebecca worked in the garden together, tending the orchard and taking their lunch on the balcony. She’d become genuinely fond of the woman and enjoyed the opportunity to get to know her better.
Niall stayed away during the day, busy helping Henry with whatever it was they did. Each evening just before supper, he returned to the house, where they would all take their final meal and then he and Rebecca would spend the evening together.
She’d yet to ask the woman what she saw in the rogue angel—honestly, the curiosity was killing her, but she and Rebecca were not yet so comfortable in their friendship where one could ask the burning question: “What on earth are you thinking?”
There was no denying Niall was a war-hardened male with a droll sense of humor who seemed to think mincing words was a waste of time, and tact an unnecessary hindrance. Just because he couldn’t lie, did not mean he needed to speak the truth so freely. His mere presence exuded power and authority that made him—well…dangerous. And Olivia had no doubt he was that. But for some unknown reason, Rebecca loved him—deeply. And though it was near impossible to imagine Niall capable of returning such emotions, she had no doubt that he loved her as well.
Pacing the path from the balcony to the door for what must have been the one-hundredth time, Olivia stopped, once again, beside the bed and attempted to rouse Liam. Unsuccessful and restlessly irritable, she left the room in lieu of an evening stroll. Unsure of where Niall and Rebecca were, and out of respect for their privacy, she quietly slipped down the stairs and out the back door.
Courting Darkness Page 27