Night's Honor (22 page)

I understand.

Inside, a great roaring emptiness filled her head, and she realized how much space fear had taken up in her life. She felt strange in the absence of it, almost adrift.

I'm free, she thought. Really free.

I can access the money in my bank accounts. Send for my furniture. I can go wherever I like, do whatever I like.

The thoughts were dizzying. Now all she had to do was decide what she wanted to do. Where she wanted to go.

She sneaked a peek at Xavier's profile.

He looked calm, but he usually looked calm. Not like the red-eyed, fanged Vampyre who had guarded her so fiercely.

No, this was the imperious aristocrat, and while she found him just as sexy as the tender man who had kissed her with such sensual expressiveness, this side of Xavier was highly unpredictable.

Was he still angry with her? It was impossible to tell.

Did he regret kissing her?

As she angled her face away, she caught sight of a Vampyre watching her with a narrow-eyed stare filled with curiosity and hunger. The scrutiny was so rude, she scowled with irritation and stared back.

I've confronted a monster far worse than you and survived, she thought. I've faced my worst nightmare, and you don't even come close.

Her heart rate remained steady, her nerves completely calm.

It appeared she had finally found the positive image she'd been looking for.

After a moment of the staring contest, the Vampyre gave her a slight smile and turned away.

Soon enough, she and Xavier reached the end of one hallway and a set of doors that looked much more modest than those leading to the Nightkind King's apartment. Xavier typed a code into a very modern-looking keypad lock, opened the door and stood back to let her precede him.

Once inside, he locked and bolted the door behind them, while Tess looked around. This apartment was almost as simply furnished as Julian's had been, but the results were warmer and more elegant. Wingback armchairs, upholstered in a deep, rich gold, were positioned around an unlit fireplace, along with a matching sofa. A shadowed hallway lay at one corner of the room, and a closed door lay across the room in another corner.

As with Julian's apartment, there were no windows here. An abundance of wall art, highlighted with track lighting, illuminated the room and gave it dimension and color. The pieces looked European and distinctive. She guessed one was a Gauguin, and another appeared to be a Renoir, and she had no doubt they were all originals. Bookshelves lined the walls between paintings, filled with a mix of old and new books just as in his study, back at the estate.

Over the fireplace mantel, an antique clock said the time had gone past four o'clock. She could believe it. The events of the last several hours seemed to have taken days.

A note lay on the table nearest the door. She could read it easily from where she stood.
I put Tess's things in the room nearest the bathroom and left a snack for her on the bedside table. Wake me if you have need of anything, D.

Xavier glanced at the note. Still without looking directly at her, he said, “It's very late, and you've had a long day. You must be tired.”

His face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. She remembered the first time she had met him, how his expression had been virtually unreadable and how much that had frightened her. She had come such a long way from that night.

Lifting one shoulder, she studied him sidelong. “I suppose.”

A muscle in his lean jaw ticked. “There are two bedrooms for attendants down the hallway, along with the apartment's only bathroom.” He jerked his chin toward the other doorway. “My bedroom is there. I'm afraid we all have to share a bathroom. Modernizing Evenfall is a nightmare of logistics, and renovations have only gone so far.”

“Are you mad at me?” She searched his face again for some kind of clue as to what he was thinking or feeling.

The question was like touching a lit match to dry tinder.

He rounded on her and exploded with such quiet intensity she jumped. “God, yes, I'm angry. The chances you took—
you bluffed with both Djinn
.” He slid into rapid, forceful Spanish again.

Ducking her head, she studied the tips of her shoes and waited out the incomprehensible tirade, nodding every once in a while to show that she was still listening.

Was it a machismo thing? At his roots, he was, after all, a medieval Spaniard. In fact, despite having what seemed to be an inherently gentle nature, he had been an entitled medieval Spaniard, and he was very, very male.

She said experimentally, “I know. I should have let you handle everything, like you wanted. Right?”

When he paused, she looked up to find him glaring at her. He looked baffled and infuriated, and the tension in his posture was palpable.

“You know none of it would have happened without you. I would never have been able to talk to Julian or Soren, if you hadn't paved the way.”

Renewed rage darkened his face. “If you think I'm angry because I wanted credit for anything, you don't know me in the slightest.”

Instantly contrite, she whispered, “I apologize. That's not what I meant.” She studied him anxiously. “Are you sorry you kissed me?”

His expression changed. It was the only warning she got as he lunged at her.

He was so fast. He had her pinned against the wall before she fully knew what had happened. Moving with precise intent, he cupped her jaw, tilted up her head and took her mouth with his.

This wasn't a sensual, tender exploration like the first kiss had been. His lips were hardened and demanding, and he thrust deep with his tongue.

A flash fire washed across her nerve endings, lighting up her whole body.

He really was inside her mouth.

He really was pushing against her, thrusting a knee between her legs, the length of his body tight like steel.

She bucked against the wall then latched on to him. Hardly knowing what she did, she clawed at the simple leather tie that held back his hair and yanked it off.

His dark, chestnut hair spilled about his shoulders, drastically changing his appearance. Gone was the courteous, reserved man, and in his place stood a shockingly sensual stranger, with a hardened face and glittering eyes that flashed with green fire.

She fisted both hands greedily in the dark mass of his hair and kissed him back with everything she had.

He gripped her by the back of the neck, while a hard length grew to press against one of her hips. When she realized what it was, arousal pierced through her lower body and moistened the growing ache between her legs.

When he pulled back to stare down at her, he was breathing hard.

Their gazes locked. Deliberately, he slid a hand between their bodies and cupped her pelvis. The steady, knowledgeable pressure he exerted broke a moan out of her.

“No, Tess,” he said, very low, this sensual, glittering stranger. “I don't regret kissing you in the slightest, and I have every intention of doing it again. A lot.”

“I see,” she whispered, shaken and delighted, and completely beside herself. She pushed against his hand, willing him to move, but he held rock steady. “Tell me you're not going to stop now.”

“That depends.” Still holding her between her legs, he cupped her cheek and stroked her lips with his thumb. They were still moist from his kiss.

“On what?” She tried again to push against him. All she wanted to do was rub herself all over him like an alley cat, but not only did he have her pinned too effectively, his strength was immense.

He ducked his head and bit at her lips lightly, while running the tips of his fingers along the seam of her jeans. Between her legs. Even through the thick material, his touch left a trail of molten fire.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he looked deep into her eyes, his expression serious. “On where you're going to be tomorrow.”

She stilled, staring back. Once she had been able to set aside her prejudices and preconceived notions, her fascination for him had grown at an exponential rate. It would almost be easier to blame him for mesmerizing her, except she couldn't do that to either one of them. She wouldn't deny this attraction she felt for him, and she couldn't insult his integrity like that, even in the privacy of her own mind.

“I . . . I don't know where I'm going to be tomorrow. I guess I don't understand.”

He stroked her hair back from her face. “I want you.” His voice was low, pitched for her ears alone, words deliberate and forceful. “I've wanted you for a while, but you were off-limits and that was all there was to it.”

Of course he would have been restrained. He set his code and lived by it. His soul was as straight and strong as tempered steel.

“I'm not working for you any longer,” she said. “I'm not under your power now.”

Although she was. She was.

“That's right. You're not.” He kissed her forehead. “Theoretically we can do whatever we like, but not that long ago you were deeply afraid of me. Now you've bought a stalemate with Malphas, and you're free to go wherever you like. While I'm glad for that, I don't want to rush you into something too soon, and fuck you in the heat of the moment only to watch you leave. Do you understand? I don't want to do that, because I want
you
.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath then let it out slowly, while the fever in her blood ratcheted down slightly to something a little more manageable.

He was right. She had a hundred thousand dollars in her bank accounts, and a wide-open road.

“I could have done that,” she admitted. “I don't know.”

He studied her expression. “Promise me something.”

She focused on fiddling with a button on his shirt. “Maybe.”

“Promise you won't just run away. Promise you'll at least stay long enough to discuss what you might want to do next.”

It was time to confess.

“I don't actually want to leave,” she muttered. “I . . . love the estate. I love the peacefulness and the ocean, and I'd been meaning to ask you if I could borrow some books from your library. Raoul and I had just gotten somewhere interesting in my training, and I was invested in seeing where we went next. And I put on that dress you bought for me, because I really did want to see if you and I could waltz for ninety more seconds without me stomping on your feet.” She glanced up, into his intent gaze. “But I can't go back to being one of your attendants again.”

Removing his hand from between her legs, he simply gathered her up and held her in a whole body hug. The sexiness hadn't gone away, not in the slightest, but the sheer emotional impact of being held in such a cherishing manner shot straight through her.

Piercing her heart, again.

Nuzzling her hair, he murmured, “We have created a neat box for ourselves, haven't we?”

She forced the words to come out. “Would it be better if I just left?”

“I would follow you.” He slipped his fingers underneath her chin and urged her to tilt it. When she did, he kissed her again, slow and lingeringly. He said it a second time against her lips. “Tess, I would follow you.”

Gladness shook through her. She sighed, “Oh good,” and kissed him back.

For long moments they lingered. He brushed her lips with his, over and over, and nipped at her gently with the edge of his even, white teeth. She wasn't the slightest bit nervous that he would forget, or lose control and bite her for real. It was quite clear what he was doing.

This was love play, and he was knowledgeable and very, very good at it. She could feel his erection pressing against her pelvis bone.

He wanted her, and he made no secret of it. The tension in his body and in his gentle hands told her how much. He showed her with every caress of his fingertips and stroke of his tongue against hers. And she believed in her bones that if she said no or asked him to stop, he would do so instantly.

A different level of trust bloomed, like a shy, rare orchid that could only exist if a certain set of conditions were just right.

She had suspected that he would change her, and at the time, survival was what had mattered the most. But change could also be a positive, life-enhancing experience, and she realized she might like herself better, might like life better, than she had ever believed possible.

“Xavier,” she whispered.

He stopped kissing along the edge of her jaw to look at her inquiringly.

It was her turn to stroke his hair. It fell to his shoulders in a thick wave, and while the length could have seemed effeminate, it didn't. It was ridiculously gorgeous and utterly sensual, and it suited him completely.

“I won't run, I promise,” she told him. “I'm too . . . intrigued.”

A slow smile broke over his face. “Very good. We will work everything else out, yes? All the definitions—what you need to be, and what I need to be. What we need to be together. You will come back home with me?”

She hesitated. She had promised she wouldn't run away, but that didn't mean she felt comfortable with moving forward. “I don't know about that.”

His pleasure faded, and he scowled. “Why not?”

“I don't fit, back there. Everyone else will be expecting me to go back to being an attendant, and living in the house.”

“Bah.” He dismissed that with a wave of one hand. “They will deal with whatever we decide to present to them.”

The thought of Diego's discontentment flashed through her mind. She said, doubtfully, “It may not be as easy as all that.”

“You will stay in the guesthouse,” he told her. “Not the attendants' house. Raoul will continue your lessons, and I will teach you to waltz, by God, if it's the last thing I do.”

“Hey,” she said, caught by the grim determination with which he had said that. “It wasn't
that
bad.”

Humor danced in his eyes. “The point is we do not need to reach an instant definition this very moment. We can work it all out over time. Agreed?”