Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(61)

Her brief laugh tickled his neck as she struggled to pull him to an upright position. “You need clothes for what I have in mind.”

Still more asleep than awake, Luke dressed in a minimum of clothes and left his feet bare. He gave her a quizzical frown as she applied herself to buttoning his shirt. She didn't quite look at him, but there was an air of eagerness about her. Taking his arm, she urged him to leave the cottage with her. The long hem of the silk robe trailed regally behind her as they went outside. A cool breeze helped to clear away some of Luke's sleepiness.

Tasia slipped her hand in his. “Come,” she said, using all her weight to drag him forward.

He wanted to ask what in hell she was doing, but she was so intent on tugging him along that he kept silent and followed. They skirted the edge of the pond and headed to the woods, walking across a carpet of prickly resined needles and leaves.

Luke winced as he stepped on a sharp pebble. “Almost there?” he asked.

“Almost.”

She didn't stop until they were surrounded by trees. The air was sweetly scented with moss, pine, and earth. A few points of stars winked through the tangled branches overhead, piercing the blackness of the forest. Luke was surprised—astonished—when Tasia turned to link her arms around his waist. She stood very still, leaning against him.

“Tasia, what—”

“Shhh.” She pressed her mouth to his chest. “Listen.”

They were both quiet. Gradually Luke became aware of the sounds around them: the hoot of an owl, the soft chirps and wing flapping of birds. The trill of crickets, the crackling, moaning sway of tree trunks. And rising above everything, the endless sighing of the wind through bowers of leaves. The trees stood with boughs entangled, like a congregation holding hands during a solemn hymn. The forest music soared to the sky and mingled there with other eternal rhythms.

Luke wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her hair. He felt her smile against his chest, and suddenly he was filled with love, drunk on it. Tasia tried to pull back a little, and he resisted, needing to keep her close.

“I want to give you something,” she said, straining away until he loosened his hold. She fumbled for his hand, and he realized she was cupping something in her palm. “Here.” She was slightly breathless. Her fingers opened, and he saw the bright gleam of gold against her skin. It was a heavy, masculine ring with some indiscernible engraving on the surface. “It belonged to my father. It's all I have left of him, except for my memories.” As Luke remained motionless, she tried it on his smallest finger. It fit perfectly. “There,” she said in satisfaction. “He always wore it on his index finger, but he wasn't nearly as large as you.”

Luke turned his hand, admiring the simple but exotic design. Then he looked at her upturned face, trying to conceal his dread. “Is this to say goodbye?” he asked hoarsely.

“No…” Her voice shook a little. Her eyes were as bright as moonstones as she returned his steady gaze. “It's to say I'm yours. In every way…for the rest of my days.”

He was frozen for a split second. All at once he kissed her hard and clutched her so brutally that she thought her bones might break. She didn't complain, however, only laughed in wild, unfamiliar joy until she had no more breath left.

“You'll be my wife,” he said with savage delight, lifting his mouth from hers.

“It won't be easy,” she warned, though she was smiling. “You'll probably want to divorce me.”

“You always expect the worst,” Luke accused, holding her tightly.

“I wouldn't be Russian if I didn't.” Her hands searched busily over his back, as if she couldn't keep them still.

Luke laughed. “Just what I deserve. A woman who's even more of a pessimist than I am.”

“No, you deserve better than me…so much better…”

He stopped her mouth with a ferocious kiss. “Never say that again,” he warned, when their lips finally parted. “I love you too much to listen to such nonsense.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

“That's better.” He examined the ring she had given him. “Something's inscribed on this. What does it say?”

Tasia shrugged. “Oh, it's just a sentiment that my father liked—”

“Tell me.”

She hesitated. “It says, ‘Love is a golden vessel, it bends but never breaks.’”

Luke was very still. Then he kissed her again, gently this time. “We'll be all right, you and I,” he whispered. “I promise.”

They held back from returning to the world immediately, deciding they could steal one more day together. Tasia was grateful for the reprieve. A promise had been made, but a sense of newness, even unease, still existed between them.

Tasia had never before talked to a man without having to guard her words. Luke knew about her past, her darkest secrets. Instead of making judgments, he defended her against her own doubts and self-accusation. He demanded the freedom of her body and her thoughts, and gave the same of himself. It was difficult for Tasia to adjust to the intimacy of it. Difficult, but not at all unpleasant, she decided drowsily, as she woke in his arms in a pool of afternoon sunlight. Opening her eyes, she found Luke watching her. How long had he been awake, guarding over her dreams?