Devils Kiss (13 page)
Her taste intoxicated. A woman’s taste, bold and demanding. He met her demand with his own. They sought out answers and found them in each other. The kiss deepened, and her hands moved from his wrists to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Their bodies fit together, as perfect as music. She was curved yet strong, possessing enough softness so that his tight, hewn body found precisely the place it most belonged.
Yes. Here
, was his answer. And it made him greedy for more.
, was his answer. And it made him greedy for more.
His cock was thick, insistent, rising up between them to cradle against the curve of her belly. She rocked into him and he growled. He needed inside her in every way.
She pulled back, only slightly, yet to lose her mouth felt like the cruelest wound. “Whit,” she breathed. “I can’t lie to you, but your kiss does not lie to me. I knew it wouldn’t. The man I wanted at the camp is still here.”
“He never left,” Whit rasped.
Her hand drifted from his shoulder to stroke his face. He leaned into her touch, craving it. “You’ve no need for magic. Not when there is a whole world between us to explore. You can surrender
Wafodu guero
’s magic yet gain so much.”
Wafodu guero
’s magic yet gain so much.”
A new tension tightened his body. “Don’t ask that of me.”
“There is strength enough in you,” she persisted. “In each of us.”
“And if I want everything?” His words were a harsh grate in his throat. “Power
and
you?”
and
you?”
Her hand dropped from his face, and her other hand slid from his shoulder to flatten against his chest. Though she trembled slightly, he still felt a subtle exertion of pressure as she held him back. “One or the other. But not both.”
Whit released her. He had never faced an obstacle as impassable as Zora’s will. This frustration, this consuming, thwarted need—he’d never known it until now, and it stoked a conflagration of rage. He grabbed the bank draft from the table, strode to the fire, then threw the draft upon the flames. Zora gasped. He did not trust himself to speak, so he watched the edges of the paper blacken before the whole document writhed in the fire, reducing quickly to ashes.
He sent her one last, searing gaze before slamming from the room.
Chapter 6
Zora was being punished.
Or rather, it felt like punishment when Whit did not visit her once during the day. She stared out the window and watched an orange tabby cat hunting in the garden. When the cat lost interest, it lightly leapt over the wall, free to come and go as it pleased. She envied that cat.
Servants came and went, most in states of terror as they brought her food, emptied her chamber pot, and even brought in and filled a hipbath. Zora had eyed the bath warily. If she wanted to use it, she needed to strip, which left her vulnerable. The servants might not be able to see her, but Whit could.
The worst of it was that Zora had been unable to decide if she liked that idea or not.
God, that kiss ...
Not once throughout the day did she forget it. Her mouth still felt his, she still tasted him—brandy and tobacco and man—and her body demanded more. Worse than the needs of her body were the needs of her heart. She had kissed Whit to make a point, to prove that he was still the worthy, searching man she had desired at the camp.
Not once throughout the day did she forget it. Her mouth still felt his, she still tasted him—brandy and tobacco and man—and her body demanded more. Worse than the needs of her body were the needs of her heart. She had kissed Whit to make a point, to prove that he was still the worthy, searching man she had desired at the camp.
Unfortunately, she had been right. And she wanted that man, her hunger even greater. It could be so good between them. Could be, but never would, not when he refused to turn from the Devil. Hairline cracks spread through her heart as she thought of the loss, made all the more difficult by her continued imprisonment.
She had to focus on the mundane to keep from surrendering her sanity. So, she had taken a chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob. Whit possessed enough strength to knock through that small defensive barrier, but he hadn’t used violence against her. Not yet. So she had peeled off her rather limp, stale garments and taken a bath. Lavender had perfumed the water. It had smelled of heaven and felt even better, especially after days trapped in a room she was beginning to despise.
After her bath, Zora had donned her musty clothing reluctantly, then removed the chair from beneath the doorknob. A few minutes later, more frightened servants had come in, muttering in fear to see the obviously used bath. They had taken the tub away and left several paper-wrapped packages in its place.
“Whoever’s here,” a shivering footman had said, “I was to tell you that these things is for you.” Then he had scuttled away like a rat fleeing fire.
She had cautiously unwrapped the parcels, chary of what they might contain. While she doubted someone had wrapped up a bundle of adders, it would have been reckless to simply tear into them. Slowly, so slowly, she had untied the blue silk ribbons on one package. The magpie in her loved the ribbons—so sleek and beautiful, yet used for such a practical purpose! Zora would have gladly woven the ribbons into her hair, or trimmed a bodice with them. These wealthy
gorgios
baffled her.
gorgios
baffled her.
The ribbons had come away and she had peeled back the heavy paper. Then gasped aloud. Unable to contain herself any longer, she had lifted up the contents.
A gown. Perhaps the most lovely gown Zora had ever seen. Certainly the most luscious she had ever touched. Golden silk, trimmed with deep coral-colored ribbons and rosettes. Heavy pleats fell from the shoulders; the fabric would trail and pool sumptuously behind the wearer. The vivid color would flatter her dusky skin, much more so than the pale, insipid hues many
gorgies
favored.
gorgies
favored.
Unable to resist the lure, Zora had torn into the other parcels.
“God save me from such beauty,” she had whispered in the Romani tongue.
More gowns, each of them glorious. Colors had dazzled eyes too familiar with the dark shades of the masculine game room. Sapphire, emerald, ruby. Dresses the colors of gems, of precious things one wanted to both flaunt and hoard. Adorned in ribbons, embroidered with minute, perfect stitches. Heavy and ethereal in her hands. More than gowns, there had been stomachers covered in embroidery and silk bows, whisper-thin chemises trimmed in lace, stockings, garters, nightgowns, back-laced corsets, petticoats. Two fans of ivory. Three pairs of slippers ornamented with glittering buckles that were not paste. The parcels had held everything a woman could ever desire.
Everything a
gorgie
could desire. Zora was not a
gorgie
, but she had not been able to stop herself from holding the emerald-colored gown to her body. Her heart had sunk when she realized that the gown would fit her perfectly, even without the confining corset. Somehow, without Zora ever being measured, the seamstress had created a faultless wardrobe and of the precise range of colors that would complement Zora best.
gorgie
could desire. Zora was not a
gorgie
, but she had not been able to stop herself from holding the emerald-colored gown to her body. Her heart had sunk when she realized that the gown would fit her perfectly, even without the confining corset. Somehow, without Zora ever being measured, the seamstress had created a faultless wardrobe and of the precise range of colors that would complement Zora best.
Zora had been glad there was no mirror in the gaming room. It would have been physically painful to see how well the gowns would flatter her, luring her into trying them on, knowing that she could not accept them.
“Damn you, Whit,” she had muttered, then laughed mirthlessly. He had already damned himself. He didn’t need her to do it for him.
She had reluctantly folded everything, though it had been beyond her strength to repack the clothing in its paper and retie the ribbons. Touching the gowns, the chemises, had been torment enough. The Rom lived fairly simple lives, the needs of staying mobile preventing any of them from acquiring all the possessions that
gorgios
seemed to think were required. Zora preferred her freedom to being weighed down by objects, clothing, property. But she was still human, still a woman, and sometimes craved beautiful things.
gorgios
seemed to think were required. Zora preferred her freedom to being weighed down by objects, clothing, property. But she was still human, still a woman, and sometimes craved beautiful things.
She would be beautiful, too, in the gowns. What woman did not want to be beautiful? To have a man stare at her as if she contained the entire world, and he would do anything, anything to have her?
Unfair of Whit to tempt her like this, when his kiss had been temptation enough. She would not fall, as he had done. And when he came to her that day, she would tell him exactly that.
But he never did come. She remained alone in the gaming room.
She ought to be grateful. This was peace, free from Whit and his handsome face and strong, lean body, his kiss promising her things she should not want, yet,
Duvvel
help her, she did.
Duvvel
help her, she did.
I want to touch you everywhere. I want my tongue in your mouth. I want my cock inside you. I want to make you come so many times, you forget your own name and know only mine.
Just thinking of his words made her heart pound and heat gather between her legs. To remember his kiss made her long for his hard, hot body over her, beneath her. For the man he could be, for the potential of them—together. A potential that would go unmet. And this fueled her anger.
She paced the gaming room, feeling like a wild horse in a narrow corral. What did he mean by staying away? Was he trying to show her how much she needed him? Was it an exercise of his power over her? Of a certain he must be angry with her for making him choose between her and the dark magic, for deliberately showing him everything that he missed because of his choice. But it was impossible to accept him as her lover—not under these circumstances. Surely he saw that.
Logic meant nothing, not as long as he remained loyal to
Wafodu guero
. And that would never change. His face last night had convinced her. All but glowing with power, with feral joy after using his dark magic to win at gambling. They had kissed with blistering intensity, yet he would rather control the odds than allow the passion between them to flower.
Wafodu guero
. And that would never change. His face last night had convinced her. All but glowing with power, with feral joy after using his dark magic to win at gambling. They had kissed with blistering intensity, yet he would rather control the odds than allow the passion between them to flower.
“Ten thousand pounds,” she said aloud. She could support not only her family, but her whole band, for the whole of their lives. A fortune. But the money was tainted by darkness. If she had accepted it, she would have damned herself and her family. Was that what he wanted? To drag her down with him?
Zora picked up a ceramic vase perched on a side table, then flung it against a wall. The sound of shattering filled the room, and pieces of pottery fell to the floor in jagged shards.
She didn’t feel any better. In fact, the bits of destroyed vase bothered her, and she knelt to collect the pieces. As she gathered them in her skirt, her finger caught on one of the sharp edges.
Cursing, she held up her finger for inspection. A thin cut ran along the tip of her index finger. Blood welled, and a single crimson bead dropped on the floor.
She ignored the cut and finished cleaning up the pieces of the vase. Unsure what to do with them, she put them in a little pile in a corner. One shard she kept, however, tucking it into the pocket of her apron. Anything that could serve as protection she would keep. She would just have to be careful not to cut
herself
while using her improvised weapon.
herself
while using her improvised weapon.
Night fell in darkening waves. Sounds of the city changed. The working folk began to head for home, whilst the wealthy
gorgios
began to stir for their evening’s amusement.
gorgios
began to stir for their evening’s amusement.
Whit would be going out, as well. He was a creature of night. Perhaps he had gone already. The thought was distressing, and the very fact that it
was
distressing bothered her even more.
was
distressing bothered her even more.
She had sought to tempt him with her kisses, yet
she
paid the price now, wanting him, wanting what could never be.
she
paid the price now, wanting him, wanting what could never be.
Zora lit candles to counter the rising darkness, wondering how she would pass another night. How she would try not to dwell on his mouth or the feel of him against her, his very obvious arousal that stoked a fire within her. How she would resist the temptation of trying on the beautiful gowns. How else she could plot her escape. Magic held her here, and she possessed none. Days ago, she did not believe in magic. Now she fervently wished she had some of her own.
She paced. Then stopped when she sensed something—
someone
—standing outside the door. The tread had been quiet, but she felt him near. A masculine presence, bold, powerful. Whit.
someone
—standing outside the door. The tread had been quiet, but she felt him near. A masculine presence, bold, powerful. Whit.
Her body tensed as her heart began to pound in expectation. Yet the door to the gaming room remained closed.
Slipping off her shoes, Zora noiselessly walked to the door. She could open it. Reveal him. She did not. Instead, she pressed her palm to the wood.
He was just on the other side of the door. She could not leave, but he could come inside. She wondered what he wore this night, what splendid finery emphasized his strength, the male beauty of his form.
They stood like that, her on one side of the door, he on the other.
Come in
.
I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to kiss you. I need to.
.
I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to kiss you. I need to.
Her heart pitched when, finally, she heard him move away. His steps retreated down the hallway. A door somewhere opened and closed. She thought she heard him speak to someone. And then ... he was gone.
Disappointment speared her, made even worse by the fact that she shouldn’t be disappointed. He was her captor. Her tormentor. The cohort of the Devil.
Zora pushed away from the door and paced to the window. She stared with burning eyes at the growing gloom outside. If ever she had doubted her resolve to escape, now she knew it for certain. There was no hope for him, for them. She needed to get away from this place and from Whit. The question was,
how
?
how
?
So absorbed was she in her thoughts, she did not look at the blood she had dripped upon the floor, nor the flickering glow that now grew around it.
It would be a bad night for gambling. Though Whit lived for the thrill of gaming, like any seasoned gambler, he knew that one needed to be calm and composed to win. Emotions clouded judgment, and one’s odds decreased as a result.
Except he controlled the odds, no matter what tumult he might feel. He could stride into the club in the foulest of humors and still emerge a winner.
He was due to meet Edmund, Bram, and John for supper. Leo had another engagement. Yet, when Whit marched down the steps of his town house, he growled up at his waiting coachman, “White’s.” Then he flung himself into the carriage and sat, brooding, as the footman closed the carriage door after him. The coachman clicked his tongue, flicked the reins, and they were off. Whit could just as easily have walked the distance from Berkeley Square to Chesterfield Street, but such were the privileges of wealth and birth that he could make use of his healthy, strong limbs only when he damn well felt like it.
Whit didn’t care that he was abandoning his friends. He didn’t care that it was far too early for decent play at the gaming tables. All he needed was the comfort and pleasure that could be found in gambling. Using Mr. Holliday’s gift would ensure that Whit would win, and that would bring him relief. Relief from his anger, his confusion. His need for Zora, and the pain her deliberate manipulation caused. It was a blazing brand that hurt him far more than he ever could have anticipated.
The elegant lanes of Mayfair rolled past him: gentry in their sedan chairs; wide, brightly lit streets. He saw none of this. Zora’s dark eyes haunted him, her lush mouth, the opiate of her kisses. Her cruel words kept scoring the raw flesh of his heart.
One or the other. But not both.
One or the other. But not both.
He slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. The vehicle immediately slowed.
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