Jaded (27 page)

Frowning and staring into the flames dancing in the hearth, he took the glass from Alek and downed the fiery alcohol in one gulp. His head lolled to regard Alek in the other chair who was sipping his drink instead of tossing it back. “So, what is your great insight into the inner workings of Lilya’s mind?”

Alek smirked into the lip of his glass before taking a drink. “She loves you.”

This time it was Byron who snorted. He gazed into the fire. “No. Lilya loves no man, but all men love her. Like you, Alek. You love her. I can see it when you look at her.”

Alek let out a long, slow breath and set his glass on the side table. “Lilya is very different from Evianna.”

He stared hard at him. “No matter. You’ve still fallen for her.”

“Maybe. I don’t know what it is I feel.” He looked down at the carpet. “I know I care very deeply for her. Maybe I’m starting to love her. I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I could say I loved a woman. And what about you, Byron? How far do your feelings go for our little blushing courtesan?”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “You make her sound harmless when she’s not. She seems soft, Alek, but she’s strong.”

“I know that. You’re avoiding the question.”

“You know how I feel.” He practically snarled the words. “I’ve loved her since I nursed her back to health. Six years she’s out of my life and I still love her.”

“Why don’t you tell her, then?”

He shook his head and smiled a cold little smile. “And end up another dead soldier in her ring drawer? You’re not listening to me, Alek. All men fall in love with her, but she falls in love with no one.”

“You may be different. Your relationship with her is different.”

He shot up from his chair and began to pace the room. “Stop it. Down that path of thinking lies despair and disappointment for me.” He stopped and speared him with a hard stare. “Didn’t you listen to her tell that story about her life with Ivan? Didn’t you hear what happened to her? All of that has made her incapable of trusting in one man, investing in him.”

“She trusts you. I think she’s beginning to trust me. You’re not giving her enough credit. In fact, you’re insulting her.”

“Stop it. I would never insult her.”

“You’re telling me she’s incapable of love, Byron. That she’s too broken for it.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I disagree. That bastard hurt her, but she’s healed.”

He shook his head. “You don’t ever completely heal from something like that.”

“Maybe not.” Alek stared into the fire. “Maybe it’s a little like grief. You never heal from the loss of someone you loved. You never heal when you lose part of yourself.” He paused. “But you do learn to live with it. You learn to go on, live your life, and find happiness. You learn to identify the destructive patterns of behavior you have as a result of your trauma and move past them. You learn to risk yourself again because not risking yourself means a life lived in misery.”

Byron turned away and looked out the window. Snow was falling again. He didn’t want to listen to Alek. He didn’t want to hope for Lilya. Hoping for her and then being denied her would be more than he could handle. He wasn’t as strong as Lilya. Hell, he wasn’t as strong as Alek. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment and rejection if Lilya pushed him away.

Behind him, he heard the chair squeak as Alek rose. “She’s hurting and I’m going to her tonight.” He paused. “Do you have any objections? After all, you did bring her here
for me
. . . right?” The end of the sentence was laden with sarcasm.

Byron closed eyes and his hands fisted at his sides. He wanted to turn and punch Alek in the face right now. He didn’t want to imagine Lilya and Alek alone in her bed tonight. But he needed some distance. Needed to pull back away from Lilya to protect himself. He needed to let this happen however much it might hurt. “Go then,” he said hoarsely.

Alek didn’t move for a full ten seconds. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

 

 

“Ouch!” Lilya dropped the book she’d been reading into her lap and held her hand. She given herself a paper cut while turning the page.

Someone knocked on the door.

She held her hand, blood welling, and closed her eyes. She’d didn’t want to see either of the men tonight. She wanted her pajamas, her bed, a warm fire, and a good book. Sighing, she relented. “Come in.”

The door opened and Alek came in. “Lilya?” His gaze dropped to her hand. “What happened?”

She laughed. “It’s nothing, really.”

He went to the water basin, found a towel, and wet it. Then he walked over to her and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Let me see.”

Hesitating for a moment, she gave him her hand. “See? It’s just a dumb paper cut.”

“Yes, well,” he murmured as he wiped the blood away, “dumb paper cuts hurt like a son of a bitch.”

She drew an unsteady breath as his hands held hers. His touch was becoming like Byron’s, something irresistible to her. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone for the night? Every time he touched her, she felt more for him. “Yes, they do.”

“Byron went to bed. I just came in to check on you. You seem disturbed this evening.” His head was down, examining the cut.

She didn’t want to talk about this, so she changed the subject. “When you look at a wound, do you feel the impulse to heal it?”

He looked up at her, surprise in his dark eyes, making them seem a shade lighter. “Sometimes.”

She placed her other hand over his. “Try it. Try it now. I know it’s just a paper cut, but—”

He looked down and away. For a moment she thought he might bolt. Anything reminding him of Evianna made him want to run, she suspected.

Her unwounded hand closed over his. “Alek, please?” She only had a week to do the impossible thing that Byron had brought her here to accomplish. That meant she needed to push him a little.

He looked back at her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I care about you, Lilya.”

She tried to smile. “I know you do. I can feel it.” She held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “And,” she murmured against his lips, “I have come to care very much about you.”

He increased the pressure of his lips on hers and pushed her back into the pillows. Alek was like a gathering storm, quiet, intense . . . then explosive. From the moment she’d leaned in toward him, she’d known what she was inviting.

Joshui help her, she knew she should push him away, demand that he leave—but she couldn’t. She wanted his hands on her, wanted the sensation of his warm breath on her skin.

“Stay with me tonight, Alek,” she whispered against his mouth.

In reply, he pulled his shirt over his head and she ran her hands down his chest and up his arms, over warm skin and bunching muscles. Dropping to his pants, she undid the button and zipper, urging him to be free of them. Her fingers closed around his cock and found all his sensitive places, making him groan her name.

He slid bare into her bed, his warm body against her silky nightgown. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft material and yanked it upward, working it over her head and off so that they were soon skin against skin.

He rolled her under his body, his mouth on hers, lips kissing and teeth softly nipping. She explored his powerful torso as his hands slipped over her breasts, between her legs, stroking, petting, making her wet with need. Her fingers curled around his cock and she caressed him until he gave a low groan of arousal, a sound that went right through her, making her shiver.

His head dropped to her breast as he speared two fingers deep inside her and thrust. Her back arched and she moaned his name, her fingers curling in his hair. Alek touched her the way Byron did—made her melt, made her senseless with want. Alek was rougher, more demanding, but he found all the places that made her purr, including the very sensitive one deep within her.

His tongue swirled around each nipple, making them wet with his saliva and hard as pink pebbles while he thumbed her clit, making her moan as he coaxed it into plump need.

When he’d made her mindless with the desire to come, he kneed her thighs wide and slipped between her legs, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. He stayed that way, hovering over her, his gaze intense and hot on hers. Then he slid inside inch by mind-numbing inch as he stared into her face.

She gasped at the stretch of her inner muscles, her lips parting and her eyes going wide. Then he was seated as deeply inside her body as he could get. She licked her lips, her eyes fluttering shut.

He took her wrists and gently pinned them to the mattress as he began to move in and out of her. He stared down into her face the whole time, a strangely intimate act that heightened her pleasure. Keeping his pace slow, he thrust in and out of her body, letting her feel every single inch of his cock as it moved inside her. His body rocked against her clit, sending spasms of pleasure through her, making the world seem far away—as if only he existed, the play of his body on hers and the pleasure they gave each other.

“You feel so fucking good to me,” he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment. “Like hot silk.”

She pushed at him, urging him up. He rolled and she went with him so she was on top, taking control from him. She sat on him, rolling her hips and taking him even deeper into her body. Flipping her head back, her hair cascaded down her spine as she sighed out his name.

He found her clit and petted it as she rode him. His hands roamed her breasts and stomach, explored the place where her sex and his cock met. Then it was back to the relentless pressure on her clit until she exploded in orgasm, bucking on him and moaning as her sex spasmed around his length.

Before she knew what was happening, she was on her stomach, hips high in the air. She clawed at the bedclothes for a moment, empty. Then he was there, thrusting into her from behind with a feral sound growling out from his throat. He held her hips in place and took her fast and hard. Their bodies slammed together, making pleasure race through her with every inward thrust. He moved a hand down past her abdomen, between her thighs, finding her orgasm-sensitive clit and stimulating it.

So much for taking control. Alek had all of it now.

She gasped, her fingers finding purchase in the comforter and holding on for dear life. He pushed her past the postclimax sensitivity in her body and straight back to teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Come again for me, Lilya,” he growled.

She complied. It burst over her like a bomb, making her cry out. She shuddered and moaned, her internal muscles milking his thrusting cock. Behind her, he shouted her name and his cock jumped deep inside her as he spilled.

“Sweet Joshui,” he groaned as he collapsed. He pulled her toward him, kissing the top of her head. “You kill me every time, Lilya. It’s always so good with you.”

She snuggled against him, her body humming in the aftermath. Her muscles would hurt in the morning, but it would be worth it. “We go well together, you and I.”

“Like you and Byron.”

She took a moment to answer. “Like me and Byron.”

“We all go well together, don’t we?”

She nodded. “I have never been with men who were your equals. Never.”

He turned her to face him and kissed her lips slowly. “I know you’re not lying when you say that.”

She smiled, looking anywhere but at his eyes. “Are you really so sure of yourself?”

He tipped her chin up, forcing her to hold his gaze. “No. It’s because you can’t lie worth a damn, Lilya.”

“Ah.” Her smile slipped. “That’s true enough. Never could. It’s what made me a beggar on the streets instead of a thief. I’m honest by nature.”

His fingers skimmed the shape of her cheek. “I can see almost everything on your face.”

She returned his gaze steadily, silently daring him. “Can you?” Could he tell she was falling in love with him?

He kissed her forehead, tucking her head against his chest. The fight went out of her, postcoital satisfaction ringing the last bit of awareness from her body. She closed her eyes and slept.

When she woke, the sheets and blankets tangled and still warm from Alek’s body, she caught a glimpse of her hand.

He’d healed her paper cut.

S
he came downstairs and into the kitchen, wrapping her robe around her midsection, her hair still damp from her morning bath. Byron sat at the table with a book and a cup of coffee.

Her stomach in a knot, she poured herself a cup and sat down beside him. “Alek used his magick last night.”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. “You thought it was magickal, did you?” He murmured it and it sounded a little antagonistic, though his voice lacked heat.

She dipped her head and blushed—it wasn’t from embarrassment; it was from anger. “I meant his magick to
heal
.”