Beyond the Darkness (22 page)

“Did you see the others?” she asked.

He nodded. “The first two from outside the window.”

“You should have come in.”

He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Watching you from afar is what I’m used to doing.”

“I’m glad you came in.”

He turned to the salesgirl, who was raptly watching them. “We’ll take this one. She’ll need shoes, too. Do you have anything that matches the dress?”

“I do.”

He took her hand and followed the girl, who weighed about twenty-five pounds. She wore a black jumpsuit that showed off her trim body and tiny butt, but when Petra dared glance over at Cheveyo, he was looking to the left—at a mirror that showed her reflection.

They browsed fancy high-heeled shoes on glass pedestals, like Cinderella’s slippers. He hooked his finger around a strap sprinkled with rhinestones. “How about this one?”

Something sparkly like that would normally swell her heart, but now she just said, “Sure.”

“What size?” the girl asked.

“Nine.”

She didn’t have dainty little feet like the salesgirl, but then again, she had never been dainty. She was more embarrassed about her sneakers than her big feet. A few minutes later the girl returned with a box.

“May I?” he said to her, holding out his hands for the box.

Her heart in her throat, Petra sank into the red velvet chair and took off the sneakers and socks. He knelt before her and pulled one shoe out of the box. He gently took her foot and slid it into the shoe. With a spark in his eyes, he said, “It fits, Cinderella.”

She
was
the princess just then, but she would not flee at midnight. Just as she had not fled at the growling jaguar.

He put on the other shoe, running his fingers up the length of her calf. His hands, olive-skinned and callused from years of working with knives, looked startling against the pale of her leg. They felt possessive, sensual, capable, and arousal warmed her right there in the store.

The salesgirl cleared her throat, then said, “I’ll just be, uh, over at the register when you’re ready.”

She and Cheveyo shared the most wonderfully intimate smile. He stood and held out his hand to her. She took it, loving the way his rough hand felt on hers. She had calluses, too, she realized. Their gazes met for a moment, fire arcing between them.

“We’d better go,” he said, his voice rough.

“Before we miss our reservation,” she added.

“That, too.”

He turned before she could see his expression on those words, but they shimmered through her body. He paid in cash and led her out of the store. When she looked back to thank the salesgirl, she was leaning on her palm with a longing expression on her face, watching them.

Petra leaned against him as they walked toward the front entrance. “No one has ever done that before, taken me to a store and bought me a beautiful outfit. Thank you.”

His smile was warm and soft. “It was my pleasure.”

He steered her toward a sign that announced the Eiffel Tower restaurant. “We’re eating in the Tower?” she asked, once again giving away her excitement.

“Best views of the city, or so I’m told.”

They ate dinner by the window overlooking the Bellagio across the street. The colored water light show entertained, the French food was delectable, but she most enjoyed talking about the mundane and deliciously normal things people who weren’t in danger talked about: fave movies, music, other people.

Later, the show was magnificent, and she totally lost herself in the spectacle of it all. Of course, she was aware of Cheveyo next to her, and once in a while she slipped her gaze toward him. He always sensed it and looked over, but she suspected he was enjoying the show, too.

When they returned to the hotel, she felt the tightness in her belly, and lower, start again. Separate bedrooms. Good idea, that. And probably a good idea that he’d had no more than a glass of red wine with dinner, no chance of him getting drunk. She’d limited herself to the same, because all she needed to do was blab her feelings all over him. Yeah, she was one of those pour-out-your-heart drunks.

She’d slipped out of her shoes as soon as they exited the elevator, looping the straps over her finger. Lovely shoes, but comfortable they were not.

He locked the door of their room behind him. “Why don’t you take a long, leisurely bath in that tub that enchanted you so?”

He hadn’t said
Why don’t we take . . .

“Maybe I will. My body could sure use it.” She walked up to him, feeling unsure and awkward, knowing he felt the same tension she did. “Thank you for tonight.”

“When I said it was my pleasure, I meant it. I loved seeing you enjoy yourself.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “You have a glow that made you the most beautiful woman in the whole city tonight. You looked sexy, but it was more than that. You have a beauty that comes from inside.”

For the first time, she
felt
beautiful. The rush of joy took her breath away. Those weren’t just shallow words based on nothing more than her appearance.

Her voice quavered when she said, “You could join me in that leisurely bath.”

“No, I can’t.”

She knew the rejection had nothing to do with her personally, but it still stung. She forced a smile. “There’s no adrenaline to make us crazy. You did say you had iron control.”

“Not where you’re concerned. A leisurely bath would be more dangerous than giving in to our lust.”

Because it would be much more than lust. She nodded. “You’re right. See, I’m the weak one.” She dropped her gaze, stepping back. “Good night.”

“We’ll get up at five-thirty, go downstairs and have a good breakfast.”

“Sounds good. The breakfast part, anyway.”

She went into her room and closed the door. A strange, undulating glow was coming from the bathroom. Her throat tightened as she walked to the open doorway and peered in. Probably twenty candles flickered all around the tub, interspersed with vases of gerbera daisies. Either the flowers or the candles filled the room with a soft, sweet scent. The tub was up to the rim full, jets humming. This was why he’d ducked into the restroom on their way out of the show. She turned to go thank him but stopped. To go out there now, with her heart lodged firmly in her throat and eyes moist, would not be a good idea.

Accept the gift for what it is and thank him in the morning.

She swiped at her eyes and breathed in the whole scene before her. Fit for a princess. Tonight she had felt like a real princess, and he had been her knight. A man who loved her but couldn’t let himself love her.

After slipping out of her dress and panties, she draped them over a chair at a small dressing table. She twisted her hair and reached for a hair clip. It would feel so wonderful to slip into that bubbling cauldron.

“He thought of everything but music,” she whispered, taking a step toward the tub.

“I can sing if you want.”

She spun around to find him standing in the doorway, his hands resting on the upper frame. He wore only jeans, the top button undone. The candlelight made him look magnificent, washing out all the scars on his body but the long, deep one. She couldn’t quite read his expression. Serious, sensuous, and more.

“Sing to me,” she said.

She felt more naked than she’d ever felt, and more beautiful as his gaze softly dipped down over her and then back to her face. As though he were taking in the visage of a goddess.

His voice surprised her, low and smooth and right in tune. “ ‘Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone . . .’ ” He walked toward her as he sang, his gaze never leaving hers. “ . . . ‘It’s not warm when she’s away . . .’ ”

Her knees went to jelly. She’d heard Kris Allen sing the song on
American Idol,
and it touched her so deeply she’d downloaded the track onto her iPhone.

He walked closer, until he was standing in front of her. He cupped her face, his fingers barely grazing her skin. “ ‘ . . . Any time she goes away.’ ”

“You’re always the one who went away,” she whispered, her chin trembling.

He touched her chin, those blue-gray eyes nearly swallowing her soul. “I’m here now.”

She pulled his face down to kiss him. He was killing her, but this death was sweet. Their kisses weren’t the frenzied, out-of-control ones they’d experienced lately, but deliberate and slow and sensuous. So much better, because he was here of his own volition, not being carried away.

He buried his face against her neck, holding her tight, and whispered, “Tell me again what you said to me in the yard, before the knife ceremony. Say the words.”

She heard the plea in his hoarse voice, in the way his body was perfectly still. She remembered the pain in his words:
You are mine, but I can never have you.

That he had claimed her like that shivered through her again. “You
can
have me.”

She felt something unfurl in him as he released a small, agonized breath and claimed her mouth.

You do have me.

They kissed for long, sweet moments, but the sweet gave way to more.

She unzipped his jeans, and once she’d pushed them down his thighs, he stepped out of them. He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He grabbed a towel and laid it on the cold marble counter before setting her down on the surface. All the while he kept kissing her, hungry—no, starving—and it thrummed through her the same way it vibrated through him.

His hand skimmed down and over her breasts, then across her stomach to gently squeeze her inner thighs. His thumb slipped into her folds, slowly seducing instead of jabbing and hurried. He had all night to seduce her, that’s what his movements told her. And he would take all night. She realized his tongue was moving in her mouth in the same motion, exploring, dipping, teasing. Her breath started coming in staccato gasps, an orgasm building.

She whispered between those gasps, “I’m already wet. You don’t have to . . .”

“Only half the reason for doing this is to get you ready.”

“What’s the other half for?”

She felt his smile during their kiss. “You tell me.”

“To . . . to drive me crazy.”

He slid a finger inside her, easing in and then stroking, brushing her swollen clitoris. He pushed her to the edge but not over.

“You are driving me crazy,” she said, moving against him to push herself over. He moved slightly, his smile still in place.

“I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

“You . . . are . . . s-so bad.”

He withdrew his finger, and what he did next completely, totally took her breath away. He slid his finger into his mouth, sucking the essence of her, dark pleasure in his eyes as they locked onto hers.

“You taste good,” he said, and those words alone, especially the thick way “good” had come out, without him even touching her, nearly sent her over the cliff.

Before she could respond—not that one word even came to mind—he hoisted her up and carried her down into the tub. It fit them both comfortably. He sat down first and pulled her onto his lap. His penis, hard and long and wet, slid against her thigh, and she pushed against him.

She felt adored and loved and desired. Desired for everything she was. Though he’d never said the words, she felt his love. In his heavy gazes, in the urgent way he ran his hands over her body, cherishing it with his eyes and touch. And wasn’t she doing the same? Loving him back, hungrily allowing herself what she’d wanted for so long.

His mouth devoured her, tasting her, licking and nibbling. She dug her fingers through his thick hair, something she’d longed to do all evening. Heck, from the first time she’d seen him.

The heat between them seared deep into her body wherever they touched. Her breath came in long, deep waves, and she could hear his breathing, too. He came up to kiss her again, his hands bracing her face, his thumbs scraping across her cheeks.

So many words wanted to pour out of her, but she was afraid they would break the spell. She would not let him stop to protect her, would not let him second guess what they were about to do. She said his name instead, softly repeating it. He kissed her more fiercely.

Could they just stay there and do this until five-thirty in the morning? Who needed sleep, when every kiss, every touch, injected her with strength and energy?

They touched, explored, like in a dream, his every touch a reverence of her. He kissed her face, neck, over her shoulders, each soft kiss deliberate. As sexually hungry as she was, she relished this tender sensuality. She explored every part of him that was out of the water in the same way, memorizing each curve of his face, the dip in the middle of his chin, the edge of his jaw and the groove above his full mouth.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and sinking into the moment. Surrendering himself to her . . . the thought of it alone stirred deep in her soul. The way he’d urged her to repeat her words . . . he must have been holding onto them all this time.

She twirled her tongue through the hairs on his chest, blowing on them, sucking them into her mouth, loving the coarse texture of them. And when she had circled her tongue around his nipples, making them go tight and puckered, he let out a hoarse breath and opened his eyes. Languid pleasure changed to a fiery spark. He wanted her, and that hunger sparked in her, too.