Soul Surrender (20 page)

His fingers circled the base of my neck from under my curtain of blond hair. He dipped his lips to mine, nudging them open with his tongue. The hand that trailed a light touch at the back of my neck raked into my hair, tugging me deeper into the kiss.

The kiss ended with several smaller kisses, and through my teary eyes Damien's beautiful face was distorted. Like I was looking at him through a water glass. He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to mine, now cupping my face with both hands.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered again.

His head shook against my forehead, and I heard his sniffle. Stepping back, he looked me over from head to toe again and nodded. “Bye, Monica.”

I ran out the door, not daring to look back.

New Jersey, 1776

 

T
om and I lay next to each other on a woven rug in front of the hearth in my bedroom. The fire popped and licked the metal grate, craving to get at us. I lay on my stomach, and Tom had his head rested at the small of my back, each of us with a book in hand.

He had been secretly spending a lot of his time at the brothel—particularly with me. He glanced to me through the corner of his eyes, a smile curving his lips. He flicked back and forth between the page and me. Finally, I laughed, looking back over my shoulder. “What?” I giggled.

He shook his head, closing the book and letting it rest on his chest. “I've never met a girl who can read so well. Let alone one who . . . does what you do.”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “My brother made sure I had the best education possible.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, rolling onto his side and propped his elbow onto my back. “So that you could then become a lady of the evening?” He raised an eyebrow. “It sounds awfully strange to me.”

I cleared my throat, flipping the page and not meeting Tom's eyes. “As you can imagine, neither of us imagined this life for ourselves. We fell on hard times and were left with little options.”

Tom shook his head and pulled up to a sitting position. “Even in the hardest of times, I don't think I could ever ask of my sister what Lucien has asked of you.”

I went back to my book, and after rereading the same sentence twice, I felt the heat of Tom's gaze still on me. Sneaking a glance again, I found those amber eyes burning into me. “I'm trying to read!” I laughed and smacked him across the shoulder with the book binding.

“I still don't believe it,” he said through a grin. “Read me a sentence . . . prove that you are literate.”

His tone was playful, and I matched his smile with my own. “Absolutely.” I cleared my throat, making a show of the sentence to come. “ ‘Thomas,' she begged. She pleaded. ‘Don't be such a dolt and throw more wood on the fire.' ”

“That is not what it says!” He laughed and scrambled over me, reaching for the book. With my head tossed back, my own smile was larger than it had been in years. It stretched across my face and was more refreshing than a splash of cool water.

I slammed the book shut and tossed it across the room. “You'll never know!” I said with a smirk.

He shifted off of me, lying on his back. Our shoulders brushed, and there was a low heat in my belly. I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored the sensation. “I suppose I'll simply have to borrow the book after you in search of a character named Thomas whose job is to put more wood on the fire,” he said. “Ironic, isn't it? That the passage you were reading happened to be about needing wood when our fire is dwindling as well?” He raised an eyebrow, and I shot a look to the dying embers.

“And yet—there are still no additional logs for our fire.”

He rolled onto his stomach next to me. “When did you last see my father?”

My entire body tensed with the question. “Why do you wish to know?”

He shrugged, fiddling with his fingers. “Just curious.”

“A few days ago. He's been busy with the preparations of the Hessians coming.”

“Ah, right. The secret plan I am not entirely privy to,” he cracked.

I rolled onto my side to face him. “There really is nothing more to know of the plan. The girls and I plan to tire out the garrison so that when the battle commences, they'll be exhausted. Any idea of when the Patriots plan to attack?” I swallowed, of course leaving out the part where we would drain the men of their lives as much as possible prior to battle.

“It's so treacherously cold out. It will probably be a while.” Tom played with the edge of the rug, glancing back to me. “Your plan seems rather thin, I must say.”

I shrugged. “We all do what we can, Tom.”

An idea dawned on me, sending a jolt through my body. “How would the Patriots feel about attacking on Christmas Day? The Hessians won't expect it. They'll be exhausted, and most will likely be drunk—”

Tom cracked a laugh. “Why, that's just ridiculous! That would mean Washington's troops would need to cross the Delaware in the dead of winter to make it here in time for Christmas!”

“What's wrong with that?”

“They'll die out there! Do you know how difficult it is to cross that terrain in this weather?”

I paused. “But it's not impossible, is it?”

Tom chewed his bottom lip, regarding me with skepticism. “I suppose not.”

I nodded. “This could work, Tom. This could change the war entirely in our favor.”

Tom grinned and tugged on one of my spiral curls falling out of the coif sitting high on my head. “You are an odd little bird, you know that?”

I returned his smile. “You think it may work, too, don't you?”

He nodded, crunching one shoulder to his ear. “It could.”

“Don't speak a word of this to anyone yet. I must first bring it to Lucien to decide.” My grin stretched all the way to my ears. “But I have a feeling he'll believe us to be geniuses.”

“Your children will be unstoppable someday, you know that?” he added quietly.

The comment knocked the wind out of me, and I was certain it showed on my face. Tom's immediately fell as well, crumpling from playful to concerned. “Oh, damn. Did I say something stupid again?”

I shook my head, offering him a weak smile. “No, no, of course not.”

Tom shimmied his body closer to mine, and the mere proximity flared heat through my body. It tore into my core, ripping through to my limbs in a searing pain. “Tom, no—”

But it was no use arguing it. His hand was behind my neck and the pulsing—no, raging—heat between my legs was too intense to ignore. I groaned as he caught my bottom lip with his teeth.

A hand slid down my bodice, cupping the heavy, swollen flesh of my breast, and he kneaded through my dress. Grasping the edging, he ripped it down past my breast, springing my rosebud nipple free to the chilly bedroom air. He grazed his teeth along the peak, suckling and licking in a spiral around the sensitive nub. I moaned and tossed my head back, arching into his mouth.

“Tom—no!” I said, more forcefully this time, shoving his shoulders away. I slipped my dress back in place. “We can't.”

He chewed the corner of his lips defiantly, a resolute look etched onto his face. “Why not?”

I shoved off the floor, yanking a log from the pile beside my bed. “Do you even need to ask that?” I threw the log on top of the fire and poked at the embers with the steel end of my poker. “You promised. That we would not—” I gasped as he crept behind me, his hand cupping the cleft between my legs.

He tugged the other side of my bodice and my other breast sprang free. “I did say that,” he said, brushing his lips along the length of my neck. “But I'm not paying for your company.” He raised his gaze to mine and pressed his lips together. “And you actually want to be with me.”

He rested both hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. “And you are far too good for my father.”

I swallowed. I did like Tom. I wanted to touch him. Make him moan and cry out my name in a passionate moment.

But I couldn't take his life—it would be wrong. And detrimental to the battle. If my vision of Jack was correct, Tom didn't have long for this world as it was. The thought landed heavy in my chest, simmering low in my heart.

“You are correct. About everything. I do like you. I am too good for your father. But, you, Tom . . . you are too good for me.”

His hands traipsed down my arms, and each cupped breast. He bent, kissing each budded nipple. “That's ridiculous—”

“No,” I interrupted. “It's not.” Grabbing his face, I pulled his focus back to my eyes.

His eyes darkened to a smoky taupe. “I hate that you are with him. I hate that he has seen you and knows how your body works. I hate that he gets all of you and I get only a portion of you.”

My pulse pounded heavy in my ears. “All he has is my body. Everything else is a lie—even our intimacies are a lie. He has none of me.”

“Except for what's between your thighs.” Tom turned, bending at the waist and snatching his book from the floor. “I should go,” he muttered.

“No, don't leave like this!” I grabbed his elbow, tugging him back to me with a little more strength than I intended to use. He barreled into my body, and we fell to the ground, Tom landing on top of me with a heavy fall.

“Christ! Are you well?” His pink tongue circled full lips, and they glistened with moisture.

“I apologize,” I nodded.

“Where did you get that sort of strength?” His eyes traveled over my entire body, finally landing back on my eyes.

I shrugged, not knowing how to answer that. Thickness pushed through his trousers, nestled between my legs. My sex jumped, pulsing with the desire to feel him deep inside of me.

I held my breath. The slightest movement and I was certain my pheromones would seep out.

“Bloody hell.” The words sprung from him like a leaky roof. “You are aroused, aren't you?”

My eyes sprung open, and I hoped they didn't reveal the panic I felt strangling me inside. “No,” I answered quickly.

His grin widened and he rolled his hip over me in a fluid motion that made me lose my breath. “Yes, you are.”

I made a noise, something between a gasp and a groan. My sex pulsed, swollen and needy. I wanted his seed inside of me. Instead, I squeezed my knees together.

I dragged my fingers down his arm until I had his hand in mine. “Please, Tom. Don't do this.”

“May I kiss you?” he panted, his lips only a breath away from mine. “A real kiss. The kind that you would never give to my father.”

“It's a dangerous door to open. . . .”

“I know. I need this. I need something that he doesn't have.”

“You have everything of me that he doesn't, Tom.”

“And yet, it's still not enough.”

“Promise you will stop?” I asked the question, but knew he wouldn't. My lips would never satisfy him fully. He would never stop trying, because that's my poison. It's addictive.

He paused. “I promise.”

I wet my lips, only the tip of my pink tongue peeking out to run along the seam, and Tom stiffened above me.

“Is that a yes?” His voice was deep and rich, like a plush velvet brocade, and I nodded.

His eyes grew large, and a smile twitched before it was replaced with a determined, sexy pout. His hand snaked around the back of my neck and lifted my head from the floor. Curling his fingers around my tendrils, he tugged—the movement gentle and yet completely dominant.

I rested my hands on his broad shoulders and stroked them to his upper back. Taut muscles roped through the thin fabric.

He pressed his lips to mine, gently at first, working my lips in the smoothest movement. He tasted of tea, and his tongue dipped into my mouth, gliding against mine. My nipples responded, hardening and aching for his touch.

Tom angled his head and deepened the kiss, his groan vibrating deep inside of me. Desire flared deep in my core, and the itch for his life force flared like ale being thrown on a fire. I clamped my thighs together, but the sudden pulse only made the itch worse.

Before I could stop myself, I purred into his mouth, a breathy moan, and my hips bucked against his manhood.

The absence as he tore his lips from mine was a hollow coldness. I took a moment to collect myself before opening my eyes again. His breath was heavy above me, and fire danced in his eyes. “A promise is a promise,” he husked, then pushed to his feet, offering his hand to me as well.

I adjusted my dress to a more decent state, then took his hand. “But,” he continued, tugging me into him once more, “if you ever change your mind about us . . . don't hesitate for a moment to tell me.” He grinned, and it momentarily took my breath away. I couldn't tear my eyes from his mouth. That full, wet pout that I wanted to see between my legs.

“What?” he asked, blinking and glancing over my face.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Come, now. No secrets.” He chucked a finger beneath my chin, forcing eye contact once more. “Tell me.”

“Really. It's nothing.”

He shrugged, that playful smile not dissipating in the least. “Very well. Don't tell me.” He lunged for my ribs, shifting the mood from sensual to playful, tickling until I collapsed into his arms. My laugh exploded in the room, and I wrapped my arms around his belly, tugging him down onto the floor beside me and rolling on top of him. The itch cooled slightly but still stayed as the constant reminder to what I was giving up. But I didn't care. Tom's life was spared, and that's what mattered. A small period of my discomfort was worth it. I pinned his wrists above his head, and my hair draped into his face.