Defying Destiny
Page 8
could honestly say he had never wanted
anything more in his life. As his arousal
intensified, he became aware of his human
male part lengthening, thickening, and
growing hard with need. He touched
himself with a trembling hand and backed
away from her at once. The thing was huge
and unyielding. No matter how much he
wanted to mount her, he couldn’t force that
thing into her body. It would rip her apart.
“I—I apologize,” he gasped, retreating
from kitchen. He sprinted to his room and
closed the door, leaning against it and
panting in the darkness. He doubted he’d
ever be able to face her again.
CHAPTER 7
Maralee pushed herself up from the table.
The throbbing, achy moistness between
her thighs confused her. Nash confused
her. Her own behavior confused her even
more. She glanced at the doorway he’d
disappeared through. What exactly had he
been doing to her? And more importantly,
why had he stopped? Every nerve ending
in her body tingled with an unusual
awareness.
As her frustration mounted, her anger
intensified. How dare he take such
liberties with her body without asking! He
must know how upset she would be. That
must be why he was hiding from her.
Well, she wasn’t about to let him off the
hook so easily. A man couldn’t just nuzzle
a woman’s private areas that way. Right?
She wasn’t well-versed in such things, so
she wasn’t sure what went on between a
man and a woman, but surely that wasn’t
acceptable. They scarcely knew each
other. He had taken advantage of her. And
what was worse, she’d allowed it.
Maralee took the glowing candle stub
and marched through the house, eyes
narrowed dangerously, free hand balled
into a righteous fist. She stopped outside
his bedroom door, and pounded on it
furiously.
“I know you’re in there,” she called to
him, her voice raised in anger. “Just what
did you think you were doing?”
He didn’t answer her. She pounded on
the door again and then pressed her ear up
against it, listening. She could hear his
ragged breathing.
“What are you doing in there?”
“N-nothing,” he replied breathlessly.
There was a long pause, during which,
neither of them made a sound. “Go away!”
he demanded finally.
“I’m not going away until you
apologize.”
“I already apologized.”
“That wasn’t a proper apology.”
The door burst open and he glared at
her angrily, his eyes glowing gold in the
candlelight. “I’m sorry,” he bellowed, and
then slammed the door in her face.
She made an exasperated sound and
stormed away from the door and back to
the kitchen. She’d been about to prepare
dinner before she had been so rudely
— blissfully—distracted. To hell with him
and his contradictory behaviors, she was
hungry. As soon as she ate, she would
demand repossession of her sword. And
then she was going back to Sarbough and
hoped she never saw the man again.
A small door in the kitchen led to a
cold room. Inside, she found every kind of
game meat imaginable and selected two
large venison steaks from his abundant
stock. With a little more searching
Maralee discovered there was absolutely
nothing in the kitchen to round off the
meal. It was as if the man was a
carnivore. Hadn’t he ever heard of a
potato? She lit a fire in the stove with a
long match and settled for broiling the
steaks. Perhaps with a little food in her
belly, she would return to a rational state
of mind.
Nash was wise to shut himself in his
room while she remained hostile. Still,
she couldn’t understand why he’d stopped.
Couldn’t he tell she had liked what he was
doing to her? Should she have told him
that she wanted to feel his mouth against
her there? Because she had. She’d been
cursing the presence of her pants. She’d
never been with a man before. She wasn’t
sure if his behavior had been abnormal or
mundane. All she knew is that she’d
wanted it. Wanted... whatever it was he
had been initiating. If he would have just
asked her, she would have encouraged
him to continue. Perhaps he had wanted
her to resist. Her aunt had told her men
did not like easy women. They enjoyed the
hunt more than the prize. Maybe Aunt
Bailey had been right.
When the steaks were done, she went
back to Nash’s room and knocked lightly
on the door.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, calmly.
“Dinner is ready.”
After a moment, he opened the door,
his face flushed with embarrassment. He
was looking less like a wild animal and
more like the respectable man she was
quickly growing to admire.
“I really am sorry about my behavior,”
he said, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know
what came over me.”
“Forget it,” she said.
“You forgive me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Nothing really
happened.” She sounded a hell of a lot
calmer and self-assured than she felt.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Did you
cook?”
She nodded, and he smiled, still
flushed, but at least he was able to meet
her eyes now. What an intriguing man of
contradictions. Aggressive one minute,
passive the next. She suspected he would
never cease to amaze her. She wasn’t sure
which she liked better—his dominating,
out of control side or his tender,
levelheaded side. It wasn’t important, she
decided. They were both a part of the
same man and she had to admit she liked
all of him.
“Have you ever heard of a potato?”
she asked as they walked back to the
kitchen.
“Potato?” he echoed, pausing with
thought. “Isn’t that some sort of tuber?”
She laughed. He did love to tease her.
“All I could find to cook was meat.”
He glanced at her, seeming sincerely
confused. “Is there something wrong with
that?”
She scratched her head. “Well, I guess
not; if you’re a carnivore. People,
however, are omnivores.”
“I suppose,” he agreed. “We could go
to Sarbough tomorrow and purchase some
plant products for your satisfaction.”
She laughed again. “You’re a funny
guy, Nash.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny strange?”
“Both.”
either. I apologize in advance for doing
anything you would consider uncouth.”
She looked up at him and she could
see he was trying to understand her, just as
she was trying to understand him. “Stop
apologizing to me, Nash. I like you fine
the way you are. Just be yourself.”
She expected this to put him at ease,
but it seemed to make him even more
nervous. “Be myself,” he whispered. He
glanced at her briefly before staring down
at the floor. “I just don’t think you’re
ready for that yet.”
She shook her head, at a loss once
again. “You’re being funny strange again.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Sorry.”
“Nash!” she admonished.
“Sorry.” He laughed uneasily, and
raked a hand through his hair. The lock of
white hair partially covering his left eye
moved
aside
momentarily,
before
returning to rest in its previous position. “I
could use a cigarette.” He glanced at her
for her reaction.
“If it will calm you down, by all
means, smoke ten of them.”
“But you’ve prepared dinner. It would
be rude to let it grow cold.”
“It’s better than watching you twitch
like you have a nervous condition.”
“I suppose,” he agreed, taking a deep
breath. “I’ll only be a minute.”
He headed for the door, grabbing his
long leather coat from a hook before going
out onto the porch. She sighed, hoping his
cigarette would allow him to collect
himself. Apparently she wasn’t the only
one who’d been unsettled by their brief
encounter on the kitchen table. Maralee
returned to the kitchen and rummaged
around, looking for utensils. She found
several knives, but no forks or spoons.
She poured two cups of clean water from
a large pitcher and had just sat down to
start on her steak when the front door
opened. She heard Nash remove his coat
and place it on the hook, before his
footsteps crossed the living area and he
appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
His expression was unreadable in the dim
light given off by the candle.
“I couldn’t find any forks,” she said.
“Forks,” he murmured as if he had
never heard the word before.
“To eat with.”
“Don’t you eat with your mouth?” he
asked her, tilting his head to the side as he
assessed her. He moved forward and sat
down across from her at the table. He
carried the mild fragrance of smoke with
him. She took a deep breath through her
nose to draw in his scent.
“Well, of course,” she said, grinning
broadly, “but you put the food into your
mouth with a fork.”
“That’s what fingers are for.”
She paused, thinking he was joking at
first and realized he was being completely
serious. She nodded then. “Right,” she
agreed. She picked up a knife and whittled
at her steak. Nash watched her with
interest for a moment as she cut off a bite-
sized piece of steak and used her fingers
to put it in her mouth. After a moment, he
mimicked her actions, still watching her
as if learning by example. She got the
impression he had never used a knife in
this manner, and was doing so only for her
benefit.
“Even though you live close to
Sarbough, I find your culture is a lot
different from theirs,” she said.
Nash caught her eye across the
candlelit table. “You can tell?”
“I think…I think it’s interesting,” she
said. “I like that you’re not like everybody
else.”
He smiled at her and touched her hand,
which was resting lightly on the table.
“You are more open-minded than most,”
he said. “There may be hope for you yet.”
She moved her hand away from his,
hiding it beneath the table as it had begun
to tingle beneath his feather-light touch.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. He changed
the subject. “This steak is good. I usually
prefer it rare, but I like this.”
She didn’t respond to his compliment.
She was still puzzling over his previous
comment.
He tried distracting her again. “How is
your shoulder? Does it hurt?”
Mentioning her wound brought up
memories of the feel of his tongue against
her skin. The tips of her breasts tightened
and her breath caught. “I…it…um…it’s
good.” She placed the last piece of steak
in her mouth, chewing slowly and
watching the ceiling so she wouldn’t have
to speak again.
“I should clean it again,” he said.
“Scratches can get infected and I don’t
think you can reach the wound yourself.”
She forced herself to swallow the
venison in her mouth. “I suppose that’s
true.”
“When I take you back to Sarbough
tomorrow, I’ll get you a new shirt as
well.” His eyes were focused on the
bloodstain on her shoulder.
“You’re taking me back tomorrow?”
His gaze moved up to hers. “Don’t you
want to go back?”
She had. But she so enjoyed his
company.
“I…I…well, yes. I suppose it is best. I
mean it must look improper for the two of
us to stay together alone in the same house
and everything. People will probably
think…people will think…” She trailed
off, suddenly lost in his intense stare.
“My people will not think anything of
it,” he said. “If you want to stay with me,
then I would be happy to have you as my
guest.”
“My things…are…” she lost her train
of thought once again. Was she brazen
enough to stay here with him? She had to
stay in the area until the next full moon.
She had at least thirty Wolves to slay
before she could move on to exterminate
the vermin of the next village, but to stay
here with Nash... She had known him
scarcely twenty-four hours. How could
she even entertain such a thought?
“We could go get your things from the
inn after sunrise,” he said. “I’ve been
meaning to do some shopping. It seems
I’m all out of forks.”
She smiled and then laughed. “Okay,”
she agreed, her heart thumping hard in her
chest.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” he said,
standing up from the table and stretching
his arms up over his head. She caught
sight of a flash of bare skin at his waist, as
his sweater rose above his leather pants.
Her eyes settled on a line of dark hair
beneath his navel and traced its path until
it disappeared into the waistband of his
leather pants. Her breath caught and she
squirmed in her chair. Why did he make
her feel this way? She had never panted
after a man before, had never even been
interested in men really. What was so
special and appealing about this one?
“Come,” he said, holding his hand out
to her. “Let’s go warm ourselves by the
fire and I’ll tend your wound.”
She took his hand and stood up from
the table, following him to the living area
without a word. He coaxed her to sit on
the thick bearskin rug near the hearth and
added a log to the fire before taking a seat
beside her. He gazed into her eyes for
several long moments until she lifted her
hands and began to unbutton her shirt. He
needed access to her wound if he was
going to treat it again, she told herself. She
pushed her shirt off one shoulder and he
looked down at the scratches above her
collarbone, touching them lightly with his
fingertips.
“This looks fine. I should probably
leave it alone,” he said.
“It still hurts,” she lied, tilting her
head to give him access.
He hesitated briefly, before leaning
closer and drawing his tongue over the
wound. She shivered, eyes drifting closed
with bliss.
“Are you cold again?” he asked,
drawing her closer to share his warmth.
“Yes,” she lied again, gasping when
his tongue returned to her shoulder.
“Am I hurting you?” He lifted his head
to look at her with concern.
“No, please don’t stop.”
He lowered his head again and she
sighed contentedly, burying her fingers in
his thick black hair. She didn’t really
mean to, but she pushed his head lower
and arched her back until his delightful
tongue caressed her breast above the cup
of her bustier. When he nudged the fabric
lower with his chin and drew his tongue
over the swollen bud at the tip of her
breast, she collapsed with a gasp, drawing
him down on top of her.
“Oh,” she breathed, as he stroked her
aching nipple with his tongue. It was even
better than she imagined. A throb pulsed
between her legs, her flesh swelling and
moistening.
She
wanted
something.