“Or was that someone else’s mark on your neck?” He’d not raised his voice this whole time. It came out quiet and flat. Cold.
Victoria reached reflexively to her shoulder, where Sebastian had indeed left a small mark earlier today. Max couldn’t have seen it now, for her hair covered it. But this afternoon…
“This is the last time I’ll say it. Leave.”
His eyes looked like black pits with a faint glitter in their centers. Though the glass of whiskey sat next to him, he never lifted a hand toward it. Instead, she saw that his fingers curled around the arm of his chair.
“Or what?” she countered. “You’ll make me?”
They both knew what had happened the last time he had laid angry hands on her. Angry hands that had turned to passionate ones.
“I’m leaving London. As soon as the sun rises.”
She glanced toward the window. The sky still boasted stars and moon, but a faint essence of lighter blue could be seen in the east. Victoria gave a brief nod. So be it.
But she had something to say first.
Later, she was never certain how she managed to keep the emotion from her voice, the shock and grief that he would have left without telling her, without saying good-bye. How she kept her words steady and as cool as his. But she did.
“Sebastian and I have settled things, but not in the way you thought we should.” She looked directly at Max. “You’re mistaken on many fronts. I’ve not been with him since Rome, Max. Since… you and I… went to the Door of Alchemy.” Since Max had kissed her, flat up against that damp, rough stone wall.
Little had she realized, but that had been the defining moment.
He didn’t respond, merely sat unmoving, his gaze as flat as ever.
“But if you leave, I will be with him. And there will be no question about the paternity of my child.” There. She couldn’t keep a bit of bitterness, a hint of mockery from her voice.
Silence stretched for a moment, and at last she understood that he was Max, and that Sebastian had been right about him.
Victoria turned and walked out of the room. Head high, but stomach churning.
Her hand was on the newel post at the base of the stairs when she heard her name.
She turned and Max stood in the doorway of the parlor.
The expression on his face made the bottom drop out of her stomach and a sharp quiver snap through her, leaving her knees weak, her palms damp. A small lamp in the foyer illuminated his eyes, hot and heavy and calculating.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said quietly, a hand moving to pull the untied neck cloth away from his collar. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes moved over her. “And when we’re finished, Victoria, you won’t remember your own name… let alone Vioget’s.”
Nine
In Which Our Heroes Accept Their Mission
Her heart thumping madly, her stomach fluttering, Victoria drew in an unsteady breath as Max moved toward her. She’d never seen this expression on his face: the hot avidity in his eyes, the set of his mouth more gentle than harsh and grim.
“You’ve… changed… your mind?” Her words, unnecessary and completely absurd, considering the way he was looking at her, came out breathy and feeble. And very unVenator-like.
She stood on the second step, her hand still curled around the top of the newel post, and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, they were face-to-face. Instead of reaching to grab her to him, to devour her, Max surprised her by moving so that they were flush and he was sliding his hands along her torso to close them over her hips.
He bent, not to her mouth, but to the side of her neck just below the ear-a place that, when his mouth touched it, quite literally made pleasure shoot through her in all directions. Her fingers trembled over the banister. Her eyes closed. He pressed his lips to that strong tendon at the side of her throat, moving them, slow and warm and thorough, over her skin. Little bumps rose everywhere, and she reached out, her hand landing on his solid shoulder.
She felt the brisk flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek and heard the sound of her own breath as though an ocean rushed through her ears. All from a gentle, purposeful kiss.
At last.
She felt the emotion well up inside her, and tears sting the corners of her eyes. So different, this flood of warmth, of rightness . No guilt, no furtiveness, no… rushing.
When his mouth closed over hers, she tipped toward him on the edge of her step, leaning against his warm chest, her hands planted at the tops of his shoulders. Pulling him close.
Where he belonged.
There was no urgency, no ferocity between them… but the kiss knocked her breathless, stole her reason, weakened her knees. It was deep and long, and as if he had all the time in the world.
As if the sun wouldn’t soon be rising and pouring through the sidelight windows, illuminating and warming them.
As if he couldn’t ever grow tired of matching his lips to hers, tasting and sliding in an easy, sensual dance. His hands slid up into her heavy hair, lifting it from her warm neck, holding her head cradled so the kiss could go deeper.
Damn him. He was right. If he kept this up, she would forget her own name.
As if reading her mind, he pulled away, but not before his mouth curved in something like a smile against hers. As if he were well pleased with himself.
“Perhaps,” he said-and his voice wasn’t quite as steady as normal, thank God-“we ought to move somewhere a bit more… comfortable.”
Her hands slid down over the front of his shirt, and she felt the firm muscle beneath, heating the cotton. And the mad pumping of his heart.
“What?” she managed to say, stepping backward up the stair behind her, tugging on his shirt so that he would follow. “Not here?” As jests went, it was another feeble attempt.
His lips, full and soft now, stretched into a bit of a smile. “Neither staircases nor carriages lend themselves to a terribly thorough experience.” His eyes were still hot. “And I intend to be very thorough.”
Victoria nearly tripped on the back hem of her gown, but he was there to steady her. She had to work hard to swallow, yet her own mouth curved into a delighted smile. “It’s about time, Max.” Her voice came out in a purposeful purr, her hands still planted on his chest. But inside, she was a riot of warmth and relief. This was him. This was Max . This was what she’d always wanted.
His response was to lift her in his arms and take the rest of the stairs swiftly and easily. As he climbed, she felt his muscles slide and shift beautifully around her, and dipped her face into the hollow of his shoulder. Pulling the shirt away, she found warm skin that smelled like Max and tasted like him, too.