Scoundrel's Kiss (38 page)

"Ada,
mi inglesa. Mi ama.
"

My love.

She shifted against the long length of
him, feeling sheltered and cherished. Their touches made the darkness intimate
and close, not a fearful place at all. But she had always felt that way with
him. The nightmares would not come. The worst would not happen. Not with him.

"You were right," she said,
petting his face. "I had nothing to live for. I think you knew what that
was like, to face each day as a burden. I only wondered how and when I would
find my next taste. Without that, I had nothing. No future or dreams. I didn't
know what it was to live. This has been living, you and me these few weeks.
Fighting. Risking and trying."

A quick, sharp memory of that morning,
standing before the judge, cut through her happiness. The bubble burst, leaving
only fear. "And now," she whispered. "Dear God, I don't want to
die."

"Then you should not" His
voice was hard, stripped of tenderness. His hands squeezed at her hips.
"You can do this, Ada."

"Do what?"

"The trial tomorrow. You can
survive it."

"I'm not a warrior!"

"No, but you're a fighter. What
have you learned from Jacob?"

"Not enough!"

His face shrouded, Gavriel yanked her
hands above her head. Moments before, she would have thought the move one of
sexual teasing. He had held her in that same position by the river, claiming
her, but now he would not relent.

Anger replaced thoughts of love and
tenderness. They had so little time together, and he was determined to ruin it
She wanted comfort, not more instruction. Thrashing, she tried to kick free of
the skirts that kept her legs tangled, free of his imprisoning weight. Gavriel
pushed a knee between her thighs and leaned into his hip. She was pinned.

Old instincts pushed forth, giving her
strength. She twisted her wrists until one slipped free. Her elbow smacked him
in the face. Reflex made him snap away from her, clutching his nose. She
scrambled out of reach. When she found the empty clay chamber pot, she busted
it against the wall and took two shards in hand.

"Bruja,"
he
said, wearing that teasing half-grin.

"Maton.”

"Bully?
Mi ama,
I'm only
proving the point" He gestured to the shards of hardened clay she still
clenched in her fists. "Now set those aside."

Ada sat cross-legged but she did not
release her weapons. "Explain yourself."

"You've learned your strengths and
how to find weaknesses. You cannot lift a sword against a trained man, but you
learned how to wield your dagger—the very dagger once used to cause you
pain. You know how to run. You're stubborn. And you can be cruel."

"You're mocking me."

"Not at all." He urged her
back to the squashed mattress, divesting her of the impromptu weapon. "You
will fight. Tomorrow. With no tears or resignation."

"For you."

"No, not for me. For us."

A moment of darkness crossed his face.
He touched her cheek with an aching tenderness. Ada kept from blinking or
moving lest she find herself in the midst of a beautiful dream, so rare and
fleeting.

"You won't tell me why you've come
here or why it was allowed," she said. "Will you?"

"No."

"Is your life in danger because of
it?"

"No."

"Do you love me?"

"More than I thought
possible," he said harshly.

"Then we have tonight, and I am
thankful for it"

His hesitant, teasing smile appeared.
The untried attempt at cheer looked almost comical on her stern warrior, this
man she would have as her husband. But she wanted to throw her arms around him
and celebrate the effort, Gavriel's strange and unexpected victory.

So she did.

With her arms wrapped tightly around
him, she pulled him down to the mattress. The heavy, solid weight of masculine
muscle settled over her as his mouth found hers. They tangled together, all
limbs and tongues and impatient sighs. Ada closed her eyes and gave herself
over to the experience, her strange wedding night She pushed fear and regret
aside to make room for the delicious heat building between their bodies. .

Gavriel kissed her deeply. He seemed to
touch her everywhere, all at once—closing a rough hand over her breast
arid kneading the sensitive flesh, cupping the back of her neck to draw their
kiss into a long, breathless discovery. No furtive touches and shame this time.
No feeling of manipulation or struggle. Just a sweetness that imbedded in her
bones and turned her body to flame.

He clenched his fingers in her hair and
yanked backward. She expected to feel his lips on her throat once again,
anticipating his journey lower, lower to nuzzle between her breasts.

But he stopped.

* * *

"What is it?"

Gavriel winced at the crack in her
voice. She was still so quick to doubt. Even now, she expected him to hesitate
and withdraw. Not that he blamed her. Skin burned too often expects pain from a
fire, not warmth and comfort. He had to ease past her worry and help her forget
the morrow. She possessed strength enough to survive the coming trial, but he
could not leave her until he knew she planned to use it

He studied her delicate features and
tightened his fingers down to her scalp. She winced again. "You
hair," he said. "Tis a liability."

"What do you—?" He
yanked again, harder. Her head snapped back. "Ow!"

"A beautiful liability," he
whispered, kissing behind her ear in apology. The soft, tempting skin urged him
to linger. He licked the salt, tracing a path down to the notch at the base of
her throat He dipped his tongue inside and gloried in her gasp.

"Cut it for me."

He raised his face to see her, wishing
for a stronger light. Silk tangled around his fingers. He pulled a handful of
those deep, glossy strands to his nose and inhaled.
"Inglesa,
do
not ask that of me."

"Cut it for me," she said
with more determination. Blue eyes shone wide and black in the dim moonlight.
"Use the shards I was ready to use on you."

Dread gave way to relief. If she was
willing to wrestle free of him in that little cell and ask him to lop off her
hair with a shard of pottery, her instincts were thriving. She would fight The
compact he had forged with his traitorous father, permitting a single night
alone with her, would be the end of Gavriel. He no longer cared, for she might
be strong enough to survive.

If she did not, he would dedicate the
rest of his short life to ending his father's.

"Not yet." He did not
recognize his own voice, a breathless. plea choked with grief. "Let me see
your neck. Let me kiss you there."

She peered through the darkness like
the witch she was, able to read languages and speak in tongues and see into his
very soul. Never had he felt more vulnerable; she threatened much more than his
life. His heart beat in her hands.

She stood before him without
embarrassment or pretense. Only Ada. With infinite slowness, as if they had a
lifetime, not mere hours, she raised her arms and gathered that thick,
shimmering mane of hair in one hand. She swept it forward, every strand, until
it draped like a cloak over one shoulder. The sight of her pale, arched neck
stole the moisture from his mouth.

It had taken weeks for them to reach
this point again, poised on the verge of pleasure, but the act of disrobing
took only moments. The laces at her bodice slid free beneath her nimble
fingers. She pushed free of the fine linen garments that had once been
beautiful, expensive creations, now worn to frailty because of their exploits.
Entirely bare, her skin glowed in the moonlight, a pale vision he would never
trust as real—and certainly not as belonging to him.

But there she stood, gazing at him with
heavy-lidded eyes and a teasing smile that had once threatened to drive him
insane. The insanity building in him now had more to do with lust and want, the
insatiable need that tempted him to untold wildness. He took her hand and
grazed a kiss across her knuckles. She shivered.

"You're cold," he said.

"Then warm me."

Ada slid to the floor, all grace and
curves, until she knelt with him. He took one hard, bare nipple in his mouth,
the only place where he touched her. She arched slightly, offering all he cared
to take, but neither did she reach for him. Her soft moans charged the air as
blood gathered thick and pulsing at his groin.

Why did he resist, using only his
mouth? Why did he merely tease first one nipple, then the other? His body ached
with the effort to keep from grabbing her, turning her, entering her. But he feared
the devastating pull of their desire. He feared missing some detail that, in
the days and weeks of madness to come, he would regret overlooking in the mad
rush to have her. So he kissed, licked, and nibbled with infinite care,
learning her body.

A sob mingled with her moans. Gavriel
raised his head to find her face bathed in tears. He kissed one, then another,
hot and salty on his tongue.

"Don't cry,
mi inglesa.
Please."

"How can I help it? I—this
is breathtaking."

Succumbing to his need, he filled his
hands with her flesh. The soft weight of her breast fit his palm, the perfect
temptation. "Yes, you are."

The soft slope of each breast, the
hollow of her belly—still too thin after her illness—and he could
resist no longer. He had sold his soul for the promise of her safety. His
woman. His wife. The need to possess crashed over him. He held her close and
arched her more fully, claiming a nipple once again. He sucked deeply and ran
his tongue in faster circles. Her hoarse cry split the night air and banished
her tears.

He roamed over her torso using only his
mouth, worshipping the gift of her body. Now calloused and rough, his hands
were not sensitive enough for him to appreciate the smooth softness of her
skin.

Another shiver ripped through her body.
Another breathless gasp. She writhed in his arms, twisting her hips until her
pelvis pressed close to his. Gavriel groaned.

"Let me kiss your neck" he
whispered. "Before we cut your hair."

Before Ada could reply, he turned her
around and pushed her down to her hands and knees. He swept the long curtain of
her hair aside and gathered her close. His body curving over and around hers,
he kissed the nape of her neck. She arched and pressed her backside more fully
against his rigid shaft.

Gavriel shucked his tunic and breeches
and returned to her, flesh over flesh. He reached around and found her wet
folds. The feel of her slick skin, so ready for him, stole the last of his
tattered control. Sliding into her was sweet bliss, air burning in his lungs as
she opened for his slow penetration. She whispered his name on a long exhale.

"Mi inglesa,"
he
rasped against her neck.
"Mi esposa'.'

Their dance ebbed, a gratifying pattern
of slow to frantic to slow again. Unhurried, Gavriel withdrew until they nearly
parted, men pressed inside. He reveled in the aching, exquisite feel of her
body accepting his, each time, every time, until his measured pace became a
torture. Fire flooded his veins. Breathless, he pulled her torso flush to his
and barely withdrew before driving into her again.

He bowed his back and rested his
forehead in the valley between her shoulder blades. Somewhere in his mind, he
knew he should slow. He should savor. He should tend to her aching body and
give her the release she sought. Yet every muscle quivered and throbbed as he
committed himself to the mania of his need. Tenderness fled. Months and years
of restraint gave way to the sheer, brutal violence of his passion.

But Ada did not retreat. She matched
his need for more, pushing back to meet his quickened thrusts. Her cries gained
such strength that Gavriel released her breast and covered her mouth. He
clenched her body, poised with her on the edge of satisfaction.

"Hush,
miama,"
he
ground out "Keep the storm inside you."

With his hand clamped over her mouth,
and with her teeth nestled against the fleshy pad where his thumb met his palm,
he began to thrust again. He nuzzled his mouth in the tangle of hair just
behind her ear, pressed his lips there, tasted her. Urgent breaths matched the
fierce rhythm of their bodies. At the sudden, sharp spasm of her release, she
bit hard and shuddered. Her every muscle tensed and trembled.

Gavriel plunged into her once more. Hot
light blazed behind his eyes as the pleasure crashed over him, dark and right
and beautiful.

Chapter 31

Collapsed on her side, Ada lay with
Gavriel on the floor of the cell. He curled around her, sated, still nude,
their pose a soft imitation of their coupling. Having shifted his hand from her
mouth, he gently stroked her stomach. The lazy rhythm of his touch lulled her
to a place of utter contentment, her body, mind, and soul joined.