In another circumstance, he might have smiled. Instead, though, he met her gaze and covered her hand with his. “Yours, chérie. Yours.”
She leaned down, flat on her back. She drew her knees up then spread them wide. She would probably never understand how that affected him, that she exposed her greatest vulnerability to him like that, offered herself so willingly, this woman from pristine Boston, this blood slave.
He leaned down and put his lips to her mons and kissed her repeatedly. He felt her hand on his hair, petting him softly.
“Jean-Pierre, this is madness,” she whispered once more.
“I know.”
What did he have to give her?
What did she have to give him?
Their bodies? Oui. For now.
Would it be enough for the future?
He did not want to think of that, not right now.
Every barrier has its own set of teeth.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 13
Fiona planted both hands on the tile wall beneath one of several showerheads in Jean-Pierre’s massive master bath. She let the water drench her long hair, run down her head, down her face, over her shoulders, her back, hoping that the heat would take some of the tension out of her body and some of the itch from her goddam wing-locks.
She took a deep breath but ended up huffing it out of her lungs because for some reason she was pissed off.
She shouldn’t be. She should be happy-happy because she’d just gotten laid. That’s what Endelle would have told her.
And yes, it had been wonderful, even extraordinary in a very primitive way, but … Yeah, that damn but was so big and it was really bugging her right now.
The water had been running a long time.
She turned around and tilted her head back, wishing the hot water would soothe her brain, maybe even shut her brain down.
She couldn’t stop thinking about … everything.
“Fiona,” Jean-Pierre called from the doorway. To his credit, he didn’t step into the room but gave her some much-needed space. But even that bugged her. Why did he have to be such a great guy that he gave her space when she needed it?
He continued, “Endelle wants to see us both again in her office. Evidently, she has an apology she wishes to make.”
“She said that?”
“No. Marcus did. I just spoke with him. Thorne told him what happened so that Marcus was able to enlighten Her Supremeness as to the nature of the problem … with me.”
The problem … with him.
She shut the water off. She couldn’t hide in there forever.
She folded a towel from the sink. She knew he still stood in the doorway. She could see him from the mirror above the sink, but he was turned away, again, as if he could read her mind, as if he understood she needed this separation.
She whisked herself dry, quick hard rubs with both hands until her skin looked like she’d been in the sun for about an hour. She threw the towel on the floor then folded another towel to wrap up her hair.
When she was done with that, and still huffing out each breath, she folded her cream chenille robe from the back of the door then shrugged into it, punching her arms through each sleeve like she was ready to do her own round of boxing.
Maybe she was.
She stepped out of the shower at last and adjusted the collar of the robe—part of it was caught underneath.
But when she saw her reflection in the mirror, with her hair still wrapped up in the towel on top of her head, she had a wide-open view of the bruises on both sides of her neck. She let loose with a long loud shriek-like groan. “Look at this,” she cried. “Look at this. Look at what you did to me.”
He turned into the room and met her gaze in the mirror, but he looked confused.
“What do you mean? What is wrong?”
She shifted and held the collar wider then presented each side of her throat to him. “You marked me.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Oui, c’est vrai.”
“Oh, would you stop it with the charming French bullshit.”
“You seem distressed.” A smile played at his ridiculously sensual lips. He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest, a move that drew her attention to his pecs. He wore another ribbed T-shirt, long-sleeved, an excellent look for him, which also pissed the hell out of her.
Her gaze fell lower.
“And why do you have to wear jeans and no shoes?”
He shrugged. “Jeans are very comfortable and my floors are very clean. I like the feel of the polished wood under my toes.”
“And another thing, why does everything you say have to sound so fantastic. Couldn’t you just once try for a little crudity?”
“If you wish.” But his lips quirked.
“If I wish? I wish you would go to hell, that’s what I wish.”
He smiled. “Would you please just tell me what is wrong, Fiona? Be honest with me. Speak the truth. These things you are saying are ridiculous.”
Her shoulders slumped. She put her hands on the counter and leaned forward, her head hanging low. “I don’t want to do this. I want all of this to stop. It’s too much. I can’t catch my breath. I need to find my bearings.” She straightened and looked up at him. “And I really do hate that everyone will see that you took my blood. I can tell that Endelle thinks everything’s so funny, and she thought it was just hilarious to take me into that locker room, but I hated it, Jean-Pierre. I’m not that woman.” She tugged at her collar. “And I’m not this woman to be paraded in front of everyone else like a … a cow you branded.”
“A cow?” His lips twitched.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. But I believe I can fix this situation.”
“How?”
He moved to stand beside her. “I do not have very strong healing skills, as some of the brothers do, but if you will permit me I can take away these bruises and the puncture marks.”
“But you wouldn’t have minded me wearing them?”
“Truth?”
“Oui,” she said. “Truth.”
He shook his head. “I am in this terrible place, as well. I want you with the ferocity of an animal and a little while ago, I took you the way I have been wanting you since I first caught your wonderful scent in Toulouse. But I am not proud of it. I despise being caught in this same trap of the breh-hedden in which you are caught. At the same time, I am loving every second of it because I like you and I respect you. For that reason, this terrible part of me would have loved letting everyone see that I took your blood … twice. That, yes, I marked you. That you were mine.”