Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(26)

He rose out of bed, reveling in the sense of his returning strength, and slipped on a clean pair of trousers. Then he left the bedroom to commence stalking the woman he meant to make his lover.

She knelt at the hearth, laying wood for a morning fire. Her hair was loose and tousled, and her cheek was creased from the pillow linens—and there, it happened again. She had grown even more beautiful to him.

I’m falling in love with you, he thought. And damn, it’s a deep, deep fall.

Falling in love with her wasn’t a decision; it was a full mind-body, transformative experience. Backing away, choosing not to explore the opportunity—that would the decision. And he wasn’t about to throw any of this away. It was too rare, too enriching. She was too fine of a treasure to be so disregarded.

Besides, he hungered for her, for everything she was. For her dedication and loyalty, for the sensuality of her long, lithe body, for the fullness of emotion he caught shimmering in her eyes when she looked at him.

She straightened and pushed the hair out of her face in a self-conscious gesture as he walked over to her. He pulled her into his arms, tilted up her face and kissed her. Not a quick kiss this time, but a slow, searching explorative caress.

His lips remembered the shape of hers and were eager to mold to them again, while his heart thundered and his entire body hardened, and he felt immersed in a coursing river of emotion, in her. Breathing deeply, he fisted one hand in her hair, wanting to deepen the kiss but waiting for some kind of sign.

Kiss me. Kiss me back.

Her arms came around him, hands flattening greedily against his back even as she pulled her head away. She muttered, “We shouldn’t be doing this—”

He flashed back fiercely, “Fuck that.”

He never cursed. The shock of it bolted across her face. Then he realized how tightly his hand had clenched in her hair. He willed himself to pry his fingers open, to loosen his hold and stroke her hair gently. His hand was unsteady.

She stared at him, her gaze clear open down to the bottom of her soul.

“Xanthe,” he said between his teeth as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Have you made promises to someone else?”

Her expression turned even more shocked. “No!”

“Then if you say a word about me being the Chancellor or you being a guard, I might just throttle you. There is no place for that here, between us. I am just a man who wants to kiss you. Do you want to kiss me back? That is the only consideration of any relevance in this moment. If you do not, just say so and I’m sorry I assumed too much—”

She lunged up on tiptoe, her arms snaking around his neck, and kissed him hard.

There it was, what he had been looking for, her full-bodied, full-hearted cooperation. He closed his eyes and sank into her mouth, spearing into her as deeply as he could go.

What they created together was a wild storm of emotion. This time when she pulled back, she was shaking all over.

He loved that.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He was not prepared to let her off the hook. He cupped the nape of her neck, holding her in place as he leaned his forehead on hers. He said in a low voice, “You will stay in the bed again with me tonight.”

She licked her lips and said, “Yes.”

He pressed her further, one hand gripping her hip. “And there will not be a sheet or a blanket between us.”

Her dark gaze searched his. Her eyes were such a lovely, deep color, filled with clarity, intelligence and depth. “No blankets, Aubrey.” Her fingertips stroked over his lips. “Except for the ones we pull over us both.”

He released a long, pent-up breath and pressed a kiss against her fingers.

She shook her head. “You have knocked everything sensible outside of my head again. I think I was starting to fix breakfast.”

He purred, “We could always go back to bed right now.”

She lost all of her composure again. “I—you—seriously?”

He laughed, a throaty, delighted sound. She sounded almost panicked at the thought. “Forget about breakfast, or even bed right now. Why don’t we step outside for some fresh air. We could even go for a walk. The river is close, isn’t it?”

She took a step back to eye him, her gaze turning assessing. She smiled. “You’re really doing better.”

He nodded. “I’m still stiff, especially in my back. But it’s much better now.”

“An oiled massage would help with a lot of that stiffness.”

That demon of lunacy took over his tongue. He said, deadpan, “I think an oiled massage would take care of all kinds of stiffness.”

Hot color washed over her cheeks. She added, strangled, “Certainly, that is, if you—think you might—I meant especially on that wound on your back to loosen up the muscles.”

He shouted with laughter. “By all the gods, woman, how did you survive in the army for so long?”

Her embarrassment turned into a glare. “I’m not like this with anybody else!”

His laughter faded. Warmed, he cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb over those soft, unusually full lips. “Really?”

She nodded dumbly.

“I cherish all of it,” he whispered.

Clearly she was not used to compliments, for she showed none of the polished deflection practiced by so many of the ladies of his acquaintance. Every word he said affected her deeply; he could see it in her eyes.