Wayward One (17 page)

He walked Sera to her room, enjoying the feel of her hand on his arm. As if he were truly assisting her, when she was a woman who needed no such help. She stood on her own feet just fine.

At her door, he hesitated. He knew no politely conscripted phrases to say in such a situation. After a long moment, he settled for, “Good evening. I hope you sleep well.”

“Wait.” She set her free hand high on his arm. He twitched under the light touch. “I’ve something to show you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sera had made a slight misstep. Under her hand, Fletcher’s arm turned as hard as the marble balustrade. The edge of his jaw went somehow sharper, though she wouldn’t have believed it possible. She drew in a slow breath through her teeth and stepped backwards. The same bright flame she’d seen in him after this afternoon’s kiss burned yet again.

Even worse, seeing that hunger in him called to the base part of her. After she’d successfully dampened those embers to the point of extinction. Deep inside something sat up and took notice. Drank in every bit of the attention, then rolled over and exposed its tender underbelly, absolutely ready to receive a long caress.

“Just…wait right here,” she said.

She scurried to collect the half-crumpled note from where she’d left it and then scurried back to the door just as quickly. She couldn’t risk that Fletcher would attempt to come in.

In her current state, she was likely to let him.

He didn’t say anything when she handed over the note, simply raised his eyebrows. Words fled her, leaving her unsure of what to say. Surely the note would explain itself.

“Where did this come from?” He flipped it over a couple times before opening it.

“I found it in my room after…after.”

His brows lowered as he read and reread the few words. A martial anger flickered across his gaze. His countenance turned frightening indeed as he glowered. “It seems someone doesn’t like you.”

“I’d begun to assume the same. I can’t imagine why. I’m an entirely lovable person.” She’d tried to make a joke of it, pushing her lips up into a smile, but the smile broke and her voice wavered. She looked down the hallway, frantically blinking back her tears. Sera had yet to overhaul this floor, so she focused on the painting at the end of the hallway. A woman stood before an open window with artfully tweaked curtains to conceal her.

“Hey,” Fletcher said quietly. “Hey now. There’s no crying allowed around me.” He curled a hand over the back of her neck then rubbed his thumb over her cheek to sweep away the tracks of her tears.

Her smile felt wobbly but more real. She leaned into his touch. “Ridiculous, aren’t I? Some spineless little cretin attempts to frighten me, and I permit it.”

He tugged her near. Slowly, so slowly, she went. Allowed her back to unfold, allowed herself to bend her head to his wide chest. She hadn’t been able to rest in someone else’s shelter in years. It exhausted her to even think about how long since she’d been told her mother was dead.

He stroked over her back, then up to her hair, petting her like a kitten. “It’s understandable. Only cowards strike through anonymity and yet they can be the most dangerous of all.” His voice rumbled from his chest to hers.

How familiar it was, and yet different. She’d hung on to the memory of his comfort for a very long time. She had it again, but there was a different element. Her body thrilled to his. They fit against each other perfectly, her softness to his hardness.

Her tears dried, but still he didn’t let go. He leaned against the hallway wall where anyone could see them, and yet she couldn’t seem to make herself pull away.

She risked a look up at him, half afraid of what she’d find. Boredom, perhaps, at being forced to give comfort to one so needy.

His mix of expression defied explanation. His pale eyes were filled with compassion, yet a small frown lurked between his brows and on his mouth. Completely at odds with the gentle strokes over her back, a muscle in front of his ear clenched.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what came over me.”

“It’s nothing.” The arm around her waist didn’t loosen in the slightest. She tried vainly to hold back a shiver. The way she let him affect her was depraved. She wanted more. “Are you all right?”

If she lied, she could keep his arms wrapped around her. She couldn’t keep him by artifice. It simply wasn’t in her. She’d reduce his comfort to another sort of philanthropy. “I’m fine now.”

“Good,” he growled and swooped her into a kiss that spun her head.

This kiss resembled the one they’d shared earlier only to the smallest extent. That had been a gentle benediction.

This was a taking.

She adored it.

She bent under the pressure of his mouth and the dart of his tongue. Her hands clutched at his jacket, but not from any sense of fear. When Fletcher was near, the fear she felt was never the chilling sort she often lived with. Instead it was heat. She wanted and wanted. And wanted more. She kissed him back, mouths clashing and teeth nipping.

She pushed her hands up over his broad shoulders, locked them deep in his blond hair. It was like silk over her fingers, and she fretted over pulling too tight. He only groaned into her mouth.

He pushed her back into her room and kicked the door shut behind them. She wrapped her forearms around his thick neck, knowing he’d support her. He gripped her hips and lifted until the juncture of her thighs met his hips in a shocking, searing contact. Her toes dangled in the air, inches above the ground, but she didn’t feel unmoored.

She felt found.

How strange to finally be seen for once, and by a man who himself floated at the edges of society, never quite a part of it all. Two outsiders, connected by dynamic lust that threatened to consume them.

He pushed her up against the post of the bed. When his mouth left her, she was bereft. He traced the edge of her jaw with wet nibbles, then down over her neck. His teeth scored her flesh, and she shivered and wrenched her arms around him.

She could so easily give herself over to him. Close her eyes and allow the bodily sensations warming her to take everything she was. Between her legs she was slick and needy, and her breasts throbbed with the desire to be touched. Held. Sucked.

As if reading her mind, he cupped her breast. Even through layers of fabric and corsetry, the touch was everything she’d dreamed of. She gasped and pushed into his hand.

When he started to lower her to the bed, her eyes flew open. His face was as hard and cruel-edged as she’d ever seen it. He was a man bent on conquest, and as much as her body wished it, she couldn’t wave the white flag.

She planted a hand in the center of his chest. “No,” she whispered. Gulping, she gathered her courage to abate the keening denials of her body. She spoke with more authority. “No. Not now.”

Instead of the anger she’d expected, his gaze turned speculative. His head hovered over her breasts, and it took everything within her not to rise to meet it. His wide mouth glistened. “Not now implies later.”

She shook her head and scrambled back on the bed, the better to sit up. “No. No, I shouldn’t.”

His smile turned feral. A sharp thrill of fear only added to the pressure between her legs. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he was so wonderfully intense. Heady dizziness fluttered her at having that power focused on her. He still had one knee up on the edge of the mattress, and his weight rested on a fist, making him look impossibly virile. “What is it?”

“I don’t think you have the slightest idea what you’re giving away with your pretty protests.”

She smoothed her hand over her hair, expecting to find it a wanton mess. Hardly a strand was out of place due to the ruthlessness with which she’d pinned it up earlier. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You say can’t and shouldn’t.” He traced a single finger over the top of her sleeve, barely grazing her flesh. Inexplicably, her knees loosened and she sighed out a soft breath. “That’s entirely different than ‘don’t want to.’”

She scrambled off the far end of the bed, landing near the window. She couldn’t afford to be near him. The temptation was too great. Even the easy shrug of his shoulders was enough to make her want to sink her fingers in his muscles. Feel the weight of them. He laughed at her as she tumbled to her feet, then sat on the bed as easy as you please. As if it were perfectly natural to sit on a woman’s bed.

Of course, he probably had plenty of experience with that. A surprising thread of jealousy burned her. She lifted her chin against it. “It’s exactly the same thing when it comes to deeds. And deeds are what matters.”

“You can’t deny there’s something between us.”

She coiled her arms more tightly around her middle, the better to keep from reaching for him. “I won’t try. But within the bounds of propriety, there’s no room for acting on such impulses. We must be better than our base selves.”

He looked back at her with impassivity. The harsh hunger seemed to have faded from him. If only it would fade from her. Her body still strained toward his and the acceptance she’d felt in his arms. She pressed backwards, away from her own desires.

“Seems an awful sort of life to live, constantly fighting against one’s instincts.”

She lowered her chin nearly to her chest. A dreadful weight pushed down on her. If she expected him to understand, she would have to explain. She hadn’t been that willingly vulnerable in a very long time. Longer than she could remember.

“I won’t be my mother.”

He cocked his head. A shock of bright hair fell across his brow. “Is that what you worry about?”

“I didn’t before. But you…you tempt me.” Her voice had become a slender thread, but he still caught it deftly.

“I tempt you, do I?” He came off the bed, walked around it to stalk her down. She backed up another step but found nothing but more wall. “Is that such a terrible thing?”

“It’s frightening.”

He flattened a hand against the wall above her head. “How do you suggest we solve this?”

She gulped. Her tongue wet her bottom lip, tasting the tang of cognac and something elemental and salty. Fletcher. He was on her mouth, a part of her now, for however fleeting a time.

“We ignore it. Rise above our urges.” She swallowed against the knot in her throat. “It might be best if I left after all. I was possibly a bit impetuous in moving in.”

She’d liked it here, though. Liked feeling that she was in charge. Each time she gave direction or made a change in the house, she felt a little bit more like it was hers.

But it wasn’t. This was Fletcher’s home. The building and what a home stood for wouldn’t be hers, just like she couldn’t belong to him.

Gears were clicking in his head, but she had no hope of knowing what he thought. His gaze flicked over her eyes, down to her mouth. Her lips parted involuntarily.

“If you left, I think I might hunt you down to the end of the earth.” His voice rumbled through her, warming her as much as the sentiment.

She ought to find such intensity frightening. It was too vulgar by half. She’d never had anyone want her so much. Never felt as if she were the key to someone’s desires. Her breath ran shallow.

The air thinned in the room as the moment dragged, until Sera thought she might go lightheaded. They were poised on the precipice of something unnamed. Unknown. She flattened her palms against the wall, and the cool wallpaper did nothing to ease the tingling.

“Marry me,” he growled.

“What?”

He cupped her face in one hand. His thumb dragged roughly over her bottom lip. “I said marry me. I’d try to couch it in flowery words and pretty sentiments, but I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

She ducked away from his grip to stand in the middle of the room. “No. Certainly not.”

“Why not?” He advanced on her then thankfully stopped with an arm curled around the bottom post of the bed. “Seems the perfect solution to me.”

“Marriage is not simply a solution. It’s a commitment that will last the rest of our lives.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought this might be an even worse temptation than the sin his lips promised.

“I’ve no problem with that.”

“Do you always make such important decisions in an impetuous manner?”

A hint of a smile curved his mouth. She could slap it off. “Never. It seems you’ve turned my head.”

“But—but, why?” she asked, unable to keep at bay her plaintive tone.

“If you were my wife, I’d have the right to rip limb from limb anyone who tried to harm or frighten you.” His show of teeth was animal, a claiming. “For my other reasons…well, I’m surprised you feel it necessary to ask.”

She shook her head, bewildered. She knew he referred to the lust that flared so easily between them, but where it came from she had no idea. He seemed to take it as a denial, though, because he advanced on her again. She forced herself to hold her ground. In deliberations such as this, it wouldn’t do to show weakness.

His hand stroked across the bare top of her shoulder, softer than a butterfly wing. Her eyes drifted shut and her head tipped ever so slightly over to allow him access to her skin.

“Do you see?” he purred. The devil’s promises wouldn’t be even half as sweet. “This is what we have. When desire burns as hot as this, there’s no fighting it.”