Spellbinder
Page 57
He laughed under his breath. It sounded angry. “You don’t pull any punches when you get going, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” Wanting to get some distance, she slid to sit at the head of the bed, as far from him as she could get.
He was going to leave. She knew it. His secrets mattered too much to him. It made her heart hurt.
Then the room flared to golden light as the candle’s wick burst into flame. She stared at it for a split second. The flame burned unnaturally high, a good foot in length.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tall, broad-shouldered man beside her rise off the bed. He came around to go down on one knee in front of her, and braced his hands on the bed on either side of her thighs.
She stared, eyes wide, hungrily soaking in every detail about him.
He was deeply tanned, and he had chestnut-colored hair, a strong-boned, intelligent face, and brilliant hazel eyes. Slight lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his unsmiling mouth.
He looked like he was thirty-seven. There was no sign of his advanced age, except, perhaps, for the bottomless, disciplined composure in those brilliant eyes.
Her gaze flitted everywhere at once, noticing other details, like taking an instant snapshot of the moment. He wore a plain black shirt and trousers, the sleeves rolled up past muscled forearms sprinkled with the same dark chestnut hair. Although the cut of the cloth was simple and sturdy, rather than stylish, it emphasized the lean, muscular power of his body.
He was gorgeous.
“My name is Morgan,” he told her in his deep, pleasant voice. “I’m called Morgan le Fae, and it’s not meant as a compliment. I abandoned my king and let his courtiers be killed, and caused his kingdom to fall. I’m known as a traitor and a murderer, and I’m an instant pariah in virtually any demesne I choose to enter.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as she listened. Impulsively, she placed both her hands over his mouth. “Stop.”
But he didn’t stop. Instead, he switched to telepathy, and as his steady hazel gaze met hers, he told her in the same pleasant, even voice, There is no such thing as normal in my life. I am eternally at the Queen’s beck and call—I kill for her, I lie for her, I assassinate heads of state and destroy governments.
Stop, she pleaded, stroking his face.
Gently, he folded his hands around hers and kissed each one. If she wants a land scorched, I will do it and seed it with poison so nothing else will grow. If she wants me to sleep at the foot of her bed, to guard her through the night while she dallies with her lovers, I will do it. When she orders me to create more Hounds, I hunt down experienced soldiers to attack. Once they’re transformed, I force them to obey her orders. I built her an army of monsters and command it. If you become the Queen’s enemy, I am your worst nightmare. If she tells me to do a thing, I will not stop, ever, until it is done.
All said in that same steady voice, with that same steady, self-contained gaze, and she realized he believed he was utterly, eternally alone.
He hadn’t wanted to tell her who he was because he didn’t want to lose her. And now he clearly believed he had.
“Please, for the love of God, stop,” she said in a gentle voice. Reaching out, she slid off the bed to kneel on the floor in front of him, put her arms around him, and hug him as tightly as she could.
He was holding himself so rigidly she was afraid he might shatter. That massive composure was coming at a cost, and now her heart hurt for an entirely different reason. Blindly, she rubbed her cheek against his, stroked his hair with both hands. Stop, please stop.
Then his rigidity broke with a suddenness so sharp it was almost audible. He clenched around her, bowing his shoulders as he held her with his entire body. She could feel each one of his fingers pressing along her back and at the nape of her neck.
“You are my friend,” she said softly in his ear. “You are the best friend I have in this wretched place.”
He put his face in her neck, which muffled his voice. “I’m your only friend in this wretched place.”
“True,” she acknowledged. His heartbeat hammered against her breasts. “Even so, I trust, respect, and rely on you.”
“Oh, Sidonie,” he said.
She insisted, “On you, the man, not the geas. I know you will never hurt me. I know you will support, respect, and defend me, and you will never coerce me, and never try to push past any barriers I may erect.” She pulled back just enough so she could look deeply into his eyes as she said, “And I am so glad I get the chance to tell that to you face-to-face, Morgan.”
As she watched, a flood of emotion tightened his face. Huskily, he said, “Your music might be transcendent, but I’m not so sure about your smarts.”
Widening her eyes, she gave him a wry smile as she gestured around the bleak little room. “I know, right? Who else could get herself in such a pickle? I mean, look at these clothes!”
Reluctant laughter flashed across his handsome face. Then, almost as quickly, it vanished, to be replaced by an expression of such vulnerable heat her eyes sparked with wetness.
“Morgan,” she whispered, to savor the taste of his name in her mouth. “Morgan.”
Shadows grew in the room as the unnatural candle flame died down to its normal size, the intense, burning gold replaced with a soft, gentle glow.
Giving her a slow, coaxing smile that turned the heat in the room up by a thousand degrees, he stroked her lips with the balls of his thumbs as he murmured, “Can we get back to talking about possibly inviting that werewolf for sex?”
She was wearing clothes, but they were no barrier to the deep, rich sound of his voice as it caressed her skin. A shiver ran down her back.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. So this was what he looked like.
This was the man who had healed her, held her, empathized with her pain, driven away the cold and the loneliness. This man with the sun-bronzed skin, strong features, and intelligent eyes had shown her nothing but kindness.
This magic man, this Morgan.
As she paused, he laughed a little. It was a warm, accepting sound. “Too soon?” he asked as a wry, self-deprecating smile twisted his lips.
“Not at all.” She pulled his head down and kissed him.
Immediately, his firm, well-shaped lips molded to hers. Slanting his head, he tilted her back and kissed her with such raw animal hunger, it sent shock jolting through her body.
Coaxing her lips apart, he speared her with his tongue, over and over, while his breathing deepened and turned ragged. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she held on as she kissed him back.
“No, I don’t.” Wanting to get some distance, she slid to sit at the head of the bed, as far from him as she could get.
He was going to leave. She knew it. His secrets mattered too much to him. It made her heart hurt.
Then the room flared to golden light as the candle’s wick burst into flame. She stared at it for a split second. The flame burned unnaturally high, a good foot in length.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tall, broad-shouldered man beside her rise off the bed. He came around to go down on one knee in front of her, and braced his hands on the bed on either side of her thighs.
She stared, eyes wide, hungrily soaking in every detail about him.
He was deeply tanned, and he had chestnut-colored hair, a strong-boned, intelligent face, and brilliant hazel eyes. Slight lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his unsmiling mouth.
He looked like he was thirty-seven. There was no sign of his advanced age, except, perhaps, for the bottomless, disciplined composure in those brilliant eyes.
Her gaze flitted everywhere at once, noticing other details, like taking an instant snapshot of the moment. He wore a plain black shirt and trousers, the sleeves rolled up past muscled forearms sprinkled with the same dark chestnut hair. Although the cut of the cloth was simple and sturdy, rather than stylish, it emphasized the lean, muscular power of his body.
He was gorgeous.
“My name is Morgan,” he told her in his deep, pleasant voice. “I’m called Morgan le Fae, and it’s not meant as a compliment. I abandoned my king and let his courtiers be killed, and caused his kingdom to fall. I’m known as a traitor and a murderer, and I’m an instant pariah in virtually any demesne I choose to enter.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as she listened. Impulsively, she placed both her hands over his mouth. “Stop.”
But he didn’t stop. Instead, he switched to telepathy, and as his steady hazel gaze met hers, he told her in the same pleasant, even voice, There is no such thing as normal in my life. I am eternally at the Queen’s beck and call—I kill for her, I lie for her, I assassinate heads of state and destroy governments.
Stop, she pleaded, stroking his face.
Gently, he folded his hands around hers and kissed each one. If she wants a land scorched, I will do it and seed it with poison so nothing else will grow. If she wants me to sleep at the foot of her bed, to guard her through the night while she dallies with her lovers, I will do it. When she orders me to create more Hounds, I hunt down experienced soldiers to attack. Once they’re transformed, I force them to obey her orders. I built her an army of monsters and command it. If you become the Queen’s enemy, I am your worst nightmare. If she tells me to do a thing, I will not stop, ever, until it is done.
All said in that same steady voice, with that same steady, self-contained gaze, and she realized he believed he was utterly, eternally alone.
He hadn’t wanted to tell her who he was because he didn’t want to lose her. And now he clearly believed he had.
“Please, for the love of God, stop,” she said in a gentle voice. Reaching out, she slid off the bed to kneel on the floor in front of him, put her arms around him, and hug him as tightly as she could.
He was holding himself so rigidly she was afraid he might shatter. That massive composure was coming at a cost, and now her heart hurt for an entirely different reason. Blindly, she rubbed her cheek against his, stroked his hair with both hands. Stop, please stop.
Then his rigidity broke with a suddenness so sharp it was almost audible. He clenched around her, bowing his shoulders as he held her with his entire body. She could feel each one of his fingers pressing along her back and at the nape of her neck.
“You are my friend,” she said softly in his ear. “You are the best friend I have in this wretched place.”
He put his face in her neck, which muffled his voice. “I’m your only friend in this wretched place.”
“True,” she acknowledged. His heartbeat hammered against her breasts. “Even so, I trust, respect, and rely on you.”
“Oh, Sidonie,” he said.
She insisted, “On you, the man, not the geas. I know you will never hurt me. I know you will support, respect, and defend me, and you will never coerce me, and never try to push past any barriers I may erect.” She pulled back just enough so she could look deeply into his eyes as she said, “And I am so glad I get the chance to tell that to you face-to-face, Morgan.”
As she watched, a flood of emotion tightened his face. Huskily, he said, “Your music might be transcendent, but I’m not so sure about your smarts.”
Widening her eyes, she gave him a wry smile as she gestured around the bleak little room. “I know, right? Who else could get herself in such a pickle? I mean, look at these clothes!”
Reluctant laughter flashed across his handsome face. Then, almost as quickly, it vanished, to be replaced by an expression of such vulnerable heat her eyes sparked with wetness.
“Morgan,” she whispered, to savor the taste of his name in her mouth. “Morgan.”
Shadows grew in the room as the unnatural candle flame died down to its normal size, the intense, burning gold replaced with a soft, gentle glow.
Giving her a slow, coaxing smile that turned the heat in the room up by a thousand degrees, he stroked her lips with the balls of his thumbs as he murmured, “Can we get back to talking about possibly inviting that werewolf for sex?”
She was wearing clothes, but they were no barrier to the deep, rich sound of his voice as it caressed her skin. A shiver ran down her back.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. So this was what he looked like.
This was the man who had healed her, held her, empathized with her pain, driven away the cold and the loneliness. This man with the sun-bronzed skin, strong features, and intelligent eyes had shown her nothing but kindness.
This magic man, this Morgan.
As she paused, he laughed a little. It was a warm, accepting sound. “Too soon?” he asked as a wry, self-deprecating smile twisted his lips.
“Not at all.” She pulled his head down and kissed him.
Immediately, his firm, well-shaped lips molded to hers. Slanting his head, he tilted her back and kissed her with such raw animal hunger, it sent shock jolting through her body.
Coaxing her lips apart, he speared her with his tongue, over and over, while his breathing deepened and turned ragged. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she held on as she kissed him back.
