Dark Admirer (8 page)

He didn’t do anything, but Eve felt the heat from his gaze burning upon her face nonetheless. With a deep breath, she held the book up in a manner that afforded her the most firelight and began reading to him.

She read to him for what must have been at least an hour. He was as still as a statue, and as silent as death. More than once she had glanced over her book, expecting to find him asleep, or at the very least looking about at his surroundings and appearing bored to tears. But every time she peeked at him, his attention was fixed on her. If she were a vain woman, she might have even thought the appropriate word to be transfixed. What was it that had captured his attention?

Her voice was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and the way her lips moved as she read pulled him in until he could do nothing but watch them. Could think of nothing but touching them. He watched the way her chest rose and fell with each of her breaths, studied the way her fingers moved along the spine of the book, or the way her cheeks pinked at certain passages.

Sitting forward, he inched ever so slightly closer to her, until he could feel the heat from her body, and smell the scent of her skin. She was beautiful like this, reading to him. The food she had prepared for him had been the first gift a mortal had ever bestowed upon him. He didn’t need to eat or drink. But she didn’t know that. So having her offer him the food first was a gift he cherished. Every mortal he’d ever had contact with had only wanted him for his powers. But not this one. This beautiful creature hadn’t a clue who or what he was. This one, she had gifted him with her generosity because she was beautiful, inside and out.

“You examine me, Miss Eyre,” she read, her voice dropping down, making it sound husky and womanly to his ears. The words pulled him out of his thoughts and focused his attention once again on her lush mouth. “Do you think me handsome?”

Their gazes collided over the top of her book. He’d love to ask her that question. What did she see when she looked at him? His sins, or his beauty? What did she see when she looked at his body, and she had, he’d felt her gaze skimming along his flesh more than once. Did she see the scars and the tattoos, or did she see a man’s body that could pleasure her, that could take her to heights of ecstasy she had never known. A man’s body that could keep her warm and safe. A body that hungered for hers. A body that yearned to be inside hers.

“Do you think me handsome?
” he asked, the question nothing but a whisper in his mind. Of course, there was no reply, only the steady focus of her lovely green eyes on his face.

She glanced away, then turned the page, unable to hide the yawn behind her small hand. It was late. She’d read to him for hours, and he’d allowed it because he’d been entranced by her, mesmerised by her beauty and the sound of her voice. It warmed him where the fire did not. It filled his body, where the food had not.

She yawned once more, and he saw her lashes lower for the briefest of seconds before rising up sharply. Exhaustion had taken the colour from her cheeks, and he inched forward, crawling up to her slowly, carefully. He did not want to alarm her. He couldn’t bear the thought of her fearing him.

“You are so tired,
” he said to her, despite knowing she couldn’t hear him.
“And you have been so kind to me tonight. Let me repay that kindness.”

She allowed him to take the book from her hands and lay it beside her on the floor. When she looked up at him, he couldn’t resist the urge to cup her cheek in his palm. It was warm and buttery soft in his callused hand. He heard the increased rhythm of her heart, smelt the scent of her body as her blood heated her pulse points. Fear, perhaps. Or maybe something else. Maybe it was the first stirring of desire.

He allowed his thumb to draw a lazy pattern along her cheek, then over to her nose where he drew a line down her small straight bridge, before sweeping up to her eyes, where it traced her perfectly arched blonde eyebrows. Her eyes closed then and he saw her lips part, as well as felt her breath against his palm. Slowly, her head tipped back, and he caught it with his free hand and cupped the back of her head in his hand, pressing in closer until he was straddling her hips with the insides of his thighs, and his chest was brushing up against her warm, soft body.

He continued his exploration of her face, watching as she sank further into a sleep. His fingers brushed along her lips, back and forth, he followed the seam of her mouth, feeling their petal like softness grazing his hard flesh. He watched the flicker of her lashes, rendered a light coppery colour from the firelight. He pressed in, drawn to her mouth, to the lushness, the softness, the secrets hidden there, inside her mouth.

His was about to kiss her, when he caught himself. His mouth was covered in sin. He was dirty, much too dirty and corrupt to be kissing these perfect lips. But he could not break away, could not make himself leave her and return to his spot against the wall. She felt too right in his hands. So, instead, he placed the right side of his face—the beautiful, untainted side—against her cheek, and brushed her skin against his. Closing his eyes, he allowed her softness to envelop him, allowed his mind to imagine himself kissing her, looking as he once did.

How much she would want him if he looked like he once had. How much she would desire to share her body with him. But like this, sin ravaged, he could do nothing but allow her to sleep and allow himself the pleasure of his face pressed against hers; and his fingers, the liberty of running through her long hair.

Sleep claimed her fully, and he lay her back, against his arm until she was nestled in the crook of his arm and her breasts where pressed up against the wall of his chest. His hand hovered over her, unsure of whether he should touch her. She was too good, too good to be tainted by his hand, the hands that had committed every sin possible. The hand that had touched legions of women.

But you have never just held a woman in your arms. Never provided shelter from the cold, or the safety of your arms.

No, he hadn’t. That was the truth of it. He’d never offered a woman more than anything but his cock and his skills. But this woman, he wanted to offer her more than just sex.

He wanted to keep her warm and safe. He wanted to feed her. Wanted to touch her. Wanted to speak to her.

With a silent command, his wings unfurled and came up and around so that the woman was wrapped up, enveloped by his massive wings. Nothing of the outside world could get to her. Right now, there was nothing but him and her.

The fire was dying, the shadows the light had cast were slowly fading, casting the room into darkness. It would be cold soon, but the woman would not feel the chill, or the dampness of the air. His body would keep her warm, and his wings would keep her safe—would keep her cherished within a cocoon no human male ever could.

His head lowered, until his chin rested atop her head. He quieted his thoughts, until all he could her was the rhythm of her heart. All he could feel was the rise and fall of her breasts. Beyond the window, some place in the city, fireworks went off, signalling the end of a year and the birth of a new one. Soon dawn would come, and the time when he would have to leave her. He didn’t want to think of that, that moment when he would pull away from her and leave her while she slept. He knew he’d never be able to leave without looking back over his shoulder and regretting the loss of her. He knew he’d never forget her, the feel of her. He would carry her inside him for eternity. And eternity was one hell of a long time to hunger for something you could never have.

She snuggled up tighter against him and sighed deeply, like a well fed cat. He smiled and looked down at her sleeping face, liking the way she looked like this, rumpled and dreamy. His hand skimmed down along her hip, to her shapely thigh, then down and across the zipper of her jeans where the flat of his hand rested over her mons. He fought the temptation to turn his fingers to skim down over her to the cleft between her thighs. She’d be hot there, the denim no barrier for his skilled hands. It would be a violation, and he couldn’t do that. So instead, he moved his hand upwards, up over the metal button of her jeans and beneath the hem of her camisole where his palm rested over her soft belly.

He would not sleep this night. He would stay awake and watch her. Watch her and dream of things that could never be.

Chapter Five

Eve had never slept so deep, nor so peacefully. Yawning, she buried her chin deeper into the woollen blanket, snuggling in, refusing to wake up.

She wanted to get back to that dream, the one that starred her handsome stranger and his magical hands.

The clicking of nails rasping against the hardwood floors was followed by the cool wetness of Lizzy’s tongue on her cheek.

“Not now, Liz,” Eve grumbled. “I’ve got to go back to sleep to find out what happens.”

The spaniel whined playfully and nudged Eve’s shoulder with her muzzle.

“Use the pet door, then,” Eve commanded as she pulled the blanket up higher on her shoulder.

The damn dog took a corner of the blanket between her teeth and pulled it off Eve, carrying it far out of Eve’s grasping range.

“What’s gotten into you—” Eve sat up and looked around with bewildered eyes. She was in her bookstore, lying on the floor. Her body should be stiff and sore, and yet it wasn’t. When she’d been sleeping she’d been as cosy and comfortable as if she were sleeping on a feather pillow top mattress.

And why the blazes had she spent the night inside Quills?

Oh right, the ice storm.

Obviously the electricity had been restored because the furnace was blasting out heat from the nearby register, and the lamp was on, on the table in front of the window.

And the guy?

She stood up and looked about the store. “Hey, are you here?”

There was no answer. Of course. He didn’t talk. But there was also no sound, either. She noticed the black feather was resting on the arm of the wingback chair. She picked it up and held it her hand, feeling the same spark of electric current tickle her palm.

Where are you?
She asked?
Who are you?

Lizzy was standing behind her, nudging Eve’s hand with her nose. A soft whimper whispered past her lips, it was followed by a good thrashing of her tail against Eve’s legs.

“What is it you want me to know?” she asked the dog.

Lizzy cocked her head to the side and looked up at her, then back at the chair. Between the arm and the seat cushion, a little piece of paper was poking out. It must have been lying beneath the feather, and she had inadvertently knocked it off the arm.