She hugged him, sliding next to him. “Some twisted romance we have going here.”
He forced a smile. “I don’t know. It could be worse.”
“How?”
“We’re still fighting our war. We could simply give up.”
“We can’t give up,” she said. “If we did that, everything we have done until now would be for nothing.”
“Does it pull on you? Your magic?”
“It’s almost as if it has a life of its own. I picture it as a dark beast or a nest of snakes. Sometimes it sleeps, like now, perfectly content. And then I use it, and the beast awakens and scratches from the inside, trying to claw its way out.”
“I wish you had told me sooner.” He squeezed her closer and kissed her lips. She tasted so sweet. “I shouldn’t have asked you to kill the crew. I shouldn’t have let you get off that ship, period.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.” She smiled.
“Yes, I do. You promised to obey me.”
She rolled over and climbed on him, her face full of mischief. “And if I disobey you, mighty Sir Richard, what shall you do?”
“I have no idea. I suppose I’ll growl in a ferocious, manly way.” He put his arms behind his head. Her hair spilled over her left breast. Her right was bare, a perfect, glorious breast tipped by a small dark nipple, almost pink against her soft, pale skin.
She was so beautiful. He was amazed she let him touch her. That he had her here with him was some sort of miracle of the universe.
“You’re ogling my br**sts.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course.”
She leaned over him, her locks falling around them like a shimmering curtain. Her ni**les brushed his chest, cool peaks against the heat of his body. He smelled the delicate scent of citrus from her damp locks.
“Are you afraid loving me will make you weaker, Richard?” she whispered.
“No.” She had no idea how much he wanted her. If someone right now offered him a guarantee that she would stay with him in exchange for walking away from his mission, he wasn’t sure what his answer would be. You’ve fallen too hard and too fast, fool.
No, loving her didn’t make him weaker. It made him desperate.
“You’re mine,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her. “I have no intentions of letting you go.”
She smiled, a wicked sexy smile.
“I mean it,” he told her. “You can’t escape.”
The logical side of him warned that a hope of a future together would only hinder them. It would make them hesitate. It would cause them to avoid danger and abandon caution for each other’s sake. They were able to do what they had to do precisely because each of them had nothing to lose. But that wasn’t true anymore. He shut down the logic. It didn’t help.
“Maybe I don’t want to escape.” She caught his bottom lip between his teeth, pulled gently, and let go. Her eyes were luminescent. “My deadly noble swordsman.”
He was so hard, it was making him crazy.
“I want to have you again,” she whispered. “Can I have you again?”
He rolled her over on her back and pinned her down. She widened her eyes. “Oooh, I’m trapped. What will happen to me?”
He bent down, relishing the softness of her body under him. “Let me show you . . .”
ELEVEN
CHARLOTTE swept the cabin floor, chasing the dust and tiny particles of ash into a neat pile. It had been three days since they had arrived at the cabin. Richard called it his Lair, but even lairs could stand a sweeping. Three days of nothing but conversation, savory meals, and sex. Unrestrained, amazing sex. She smiled to herself.
A delicious aroma of frying meat floated up from the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzle of food in a hot pan. She wasn’t sure what Richard was cooking for breakfast, but whatever it was, it smelled divine. He liked to cook, she’d discovered.
A faint hissing announced a phaeton arriving. They had been waiting for it.
“We come in peace,” a male voice announced from the outside. “Don’t shoot us.”
Richard leaned away from the stove. “It’s my brother.”
“I’ll let him in,” she said.
Charlotte unlatched the door and swung it open. A man in his early thirties stood on the porch, carrying a very thick leather file. The resemblance was definitely there: similar hair, except Richard combed his and Kaldar left it in a disorganized mess; similar faces, both handsome with contoured jawlines and pronounced cheekbones; similar height. And yet they were different. Richard’s features had nobility and pride, while Kaldar was handsome in a roguish way, with a wild glint to his eyes and a charming grin. She had a feeling he smiled frequently and lied easily, while each of Richard’s rare smiles was a gift.
Kaldar blinked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Charlotte,” she told him.
“A pleasure. Say, Charlotte, have you seen Richard? A brooding fellow about as tall as me, but much uglier and incapable of humor?”
“Uglier?”
“Well, perhaps not uglier per se, but definitely more melancholy. His trouble is that he thinks too much. It keeps him from enjoying life. Have you seen him?”
“He’s inside cooking.”
“Cooking? He hates to cook.”
Kaldar stepped over the threshold and ducked left. A knife sprouted from the doorframe where his head had been a moment ago. Kaldar flicked his fingers at the blade. “See? Incapable of humor.”
“What are you talking about?” Richard raised his eyebrows. “I thought the look on your face was bloody hilarious.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”
A young man followed Kaldar through the door. An impeccably tailored jacket hugged his fit, slim frame, and he moved with the casual elegance so many bluebloods strived to achieve through dancing lessons. He walked with supple grace but a certain surety, not a dancer, but rather a swordsman. His blond hair, cut long, which usually indicated a mage, accentuated the precise cut of his features, still touched with boyish softness. He turned to her. Familiar blue eyes looked at her from a face that was already arresting and in a few years would be devastating.
“George?” she gasped.
“Good morning, my lady.” He took the broom from her. “I’ll finish this.”
She tried to reconcile the filthy urchin with the flawless blueblood prince and failed. The pieces simply didn’t fit together.