Pyromancist (42 page)

This book contains adult content with
explicit language and frequent, consummated love scenes, including
light bondage, sex toys and breath play. Suited for an audience of
18+.

Excerpt

*This pre-edited excerpt is subject to change.

She knew where this was going and she
couldn’t do it. Lann was a keeper, but he didn’t keep. She knew it
from the gossip snippets, but also from intuition. She got up
abruptly. “It’s getting late.”

“Of course.”

He immediately pushed back his chair. His
compliance both surprised and disappointed her, and the latter
sentiment scared her. But Lann acted oblivious to her turmoil. He
took her hand and led her down the dimly lit hallway past the
garden that was dark now, except for two spotlights that cast the
trees and shrubs in a veil of green light. Every part of her body
was aware of his strong fingers folding around hers. Her nerve
endings came alive, making her skin tingle with an electric
crackle. Even if she wanted nothing more than to escape the
disturbing sensations, pulling away would only demonstrate that she
was affected, so she did nothing but to experience it in
silence.

At the library door, he stopped, took a key
from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I want to show you my library.”

“I’ve had the tour.”

“But not by me.”

He ushered her inside until she stood in the
center of the room. During the day, the broad windows let in plenty
of natural light, but now they were dark, and the dim ceiling spots
cast the wood in a warm glow that washed over her with the welcome
scent of the ink and leather. Lann flicked on the light, and, as
always, she looked at the spines with the embossed gold titles in
awe.

He led her to the back of the room where the
most fragile books were displayed in a glass cabinet, and surprised
her by unlocking the door with a cylinder key from his
keychain.

“Would you like to touch them?” he said very
softly, close to her ear.

She put a bit of distance between them and
dared to glance at him. “You’d let me?”

He opened a drawer under the cabinet and
pulled out a box of white gloves.

“Here.” He handed her a pair.

She started to pull them on, but her hands
were shaking and she battled to fit her fingers in the holes.
Suddenly, his hands were on hers, finishing the task with sure,
strong movements.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, trying to appear
casual.

“Old verses about magic. One of my
favorites.” He placed her palm on the page, his big hand covering
her gloved one. Her heart and breath started to do funny things.
Kat should have only wanted to lift the book from the padded
interior, to turn the pages, to hear the crackling of the paper,
but all she could focus on was the tall Russian who manipulated her
hand, working her fingers to gently turn the pages. Her body felt
hot; her mind fuzzy.

“Why the interest in old books?” she said in
an attempt to steer her thoughts away from this touch.

He gripped her chin and turned her face
toward him. “Do you always talk your way out of uncomfortable
situations?”

Her eyes widened at his arrogance. And at the
truth of his observation. She opened her mouth but found no words
of defiance.

Thankfully, Lann let her off the hook by
dropping the subject. For a while, they looked at the books in
silence, Lann waiting patiently until she had had her fill.

When she returned the gloves, he left them in
a basket on the side, and said, “Come. I want to show you
something.”

“There’s more?”

She followed him to a narrow staircase in the
corner. At the bottom, he turned to give her a smile, a gesture
that almost seemed encouraging.

“What’s up there?”

“My den.”

She couldn’t help but be curious. He led the
way to the top level where a landing broad enough to walk on ran
around the shelves. There was a door in the corner. As she waited
for Lann to unlock it, she had the feeling of being Alice in
Wonderland, about to pass through a secret door. It was so low even
Kat had to bend to pass through it. It made her expect something
small, maybe a tiny storeroom with more books, but it was a big,
comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a skylight through
which she could see the stars. The walls were covered with wooden
panels and lined with shelves full of books. It was fitted with an
oversized desk, a leather sofa and a wrought iron four-poster bed.
The carpet was a rich burgundy color and the bed linen deep shades
of red. Cushions were scattered everywhere, even on the floor. It
looked like the perfect place to read. A den, just as he had
said.

She smiled. “This is cozy.”

“It’s the vault. It’s fireproof, so this is
where I keep the most precious books.”

She looked at the skylight. “Even with
that?”

“It’s fitted with a metal shutter that closes
automatically in case of a fire.”

Her eyes flittered to the bed. “You sleep
here?”

“No, I don’t sleep here. Sometimes I read
here, until late, but that’s what the sofa is for. The bed is for
making love.”

Her insides scrambled like broken eggs. Her
body flushed. He had stepped up to her, standing close to her now.
If she took a deep breath, her breasts would touch his chest. She
shook her head, making her curls tumble over her shoulders. “Why
are you showing me this?”

“Why do you think?” he said softly.

She stood very still, aware of the silence
stretching between them, until he lifted his hand, and with one
finger gently traced the curve of her breast.

Kat took a step back. “I have to go.”

He tilted his head. “But do you
want
to?”

“Yes,” she said, battling to find her
voice.

“I don’t think you do.”

“How would you know?” She failed miserably at
sounding annoyed. Instead, her sentence broke off on a needy
croak.

“Your breathing is shallower.” He took her
hand in his. “Your palms are sweaty.” His eyes lowered to her
breasts. “And there are other signs.”

She gasped in horror, because he was right.
“Shock provokes the same symptoms.”

“Whether it’s shock or need, the pleasure I’d
give you would be no less intense.”

She turned on her heel and hurried down the
stairs to the exit, eager to escape into the dark, cool night. She
ran into the garden until she stood in front of the statue of Saint
Teresa.

Lann followed her outside, but he did so in
his own sweet time, leaving her alone for at least a minute to calm
down or maybe to sweat it out. When he stopped short of her, she
took a step back.

He frowned at her. “I never force,
Katherine.”

His proximity was disturbing. “I’m going
home, Lann.”

He seemed to consider it for a while. “Give
me one good reason why you won’t stay.”

“For starters, I’m serious about my studies.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t have time for
relationships or casual flings.”

He nodded. “We can work around that.”

“No,” she said firmly, “we won’t work around
anything. Thank you for dinner. I’m leaving now.”

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll tell my driver to
take you home.”

The fact that he gave in so easily should
have had her sighing with relief. Instead, it scared her.

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