Edge of Darkness (19 page)

Ember didn’t know how long she’d been walking.

She didn’t know how many miles had passed by unnoticed, or when she’d first decided on her destination, her feet on an automatic path, drawn forward as if pulled. She didn’t feel the sun on her face or the chilled breeze that came later when the clouds rolled in, blocking out the bright morning sky. She only came to herself when she once again stood shivering and drenched in front of the gate at Christian’s house, rain pouring down with what seemed like a personal vendetta, cold and stinging and hard.

She was still in the dress she’d worn to breakfast with her stepmother that morning. Her shoes had rubbed blisters on the soles of her feet.

She pressed the button on the black call box. There was a crackle of static, then a voice came over the line. “Miss Jones.”

It was Corbin. He sounded surprised, and concerned.

“C-Corbin,” she stammered, shaking with cold. “I’m here…I’m here…”

She didn’t know why she was here. Her brain wasn’t working properly. She could hardly speak.

But it didn’t matter because the huge iron gate swung open with its metallic groan, and Ember stumbled through.

Off in the distance, the front door of the house opened, and Christian appeared in it. He took one look at her and began to run.

Just seeing him caused the storm inside her to break free with as much force as the sky had opened over her. She sank to her knees in the middle of the gravel road and began to shake uncontrollably. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down her face. He was beside her in an instant, that impossible speed of his bringing him there in a streak of painted color against the gray of the rain, his clothes and hair soaked as he bent down and lifted her into his arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face into his chest, and whispered, “I don’t want to waste any more time. I don’t want to waste any more time, Christian.”

He didn’t bother asking her what had happened. He didn’t bother with words at all. He simply turned and ran back in the direction he came, holding her firmly against his chest, his feet swift and silent over the ground.

His bedroom was larger than the vast lobby of the hotel she and her parents had stayed in on their trip to New York, when she auditioned at Juilliard all those lifetimes ago.

Designed with an eye for luxury, in a masculine palette of earth tones accented with pops of crimson in a few tasteful accessories—throw pillows on a leather sofa, an abstract oil painting above the fireplace, a sculpted Murano vase on a side table—it was warm because of the fire crackling in the hearth but dark in the far corners. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn across the windows, and dancing shadows played along the ceiling and walls. The firelight and shadows conspired to create an atmosphere of intimacy that perfectly complemented the fever pounding through her veins.

Outside, rain pattered against the windows in a melody that rose and fell, haunting and ineffably sad.

Christian eased her down onto the bed, shucked off her shoes, and pulled the wet dress off over her head. She sat shivering violently on the bronze silk duvet in only her bra and panties, staring up at him with wide eyes, full of a nameless need and the realization that the man standing in front of her now—the man who was not a man—had the ability to make her forget everything. At least for a little while.

Another gift. She was determined to make the most of that one.

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He was caught off guard, she knew by his fleeting hesitation and the telling catch in his throat, but soon enough
he
was the one kissing
her
, bending her back as he held her face in both of his hands, fierce and intent, his body a hard heated form against hers. She pressed herself against him, feeling the fever in her blood burn even brighter when his hands moved from her face to her body, and began stroking over her skin.

“You’re freezing,” he said angrily, breaking away for a moment when he felt her goose bumps.

She protested the loss of his mouth with a small moan and tried to kiss him again, but suddenly he lifted her back into his arms and carried her across the room, toward the fire. In seconds she was on her back on the soft rug in front of it, with Christian on top of her, his hands and mouth and body warming hers.

“I’m not complaining, but you have to stop walking here in the rain,” he scolded between frantic kisses, reaching around her back to unhook her bra. Desperate to be rid of it, she wriggled out of it and flung it away, then kissed him again.

“No more talking,” she breathed, looking into his eyes as she fumbled with the top button of the jeans he wore. She found the way of it, pulling all the buttons open with one hard yank, and then found him, hard and hot in her hand, already fully erect. She stroked him base to tip and back again, and he shuddered. She whispered, “Not another word.”

His lips parted and his eyes flared, molten green and glittering in the firelight. His expression changed—tender to ravenous—and a low rumble of noise went through his chest. Large and masculine above her, he was imposing, but instead of feeling fear, she felt a wild sort of freedom, dark and almost as dangerous as he was.

What lay on the other side of this moment, Ember didn’t know.

She didn’t care.

With one hand, he slid her panties down over her hips. She lifted her bottom and he pulled them off, watching her face. His lips tipped up at the corners in a sly, scant smile that set her nerves alight. He licked his lips and kept watching her as he skimmed his fingers up the inside of one thigh, his smile growing wicked when he pressed his palm between her legs and held it there while she fought to keep her breathing even.

He kept watching her as he waited. She knew what he wanted; she parted her legs and was rewarded with that dark smile again as his finger slid inside her and a small gasp slipped from her lips. She arched her back and her eyes slid closed, a second gasp escaped her as he added another finger to the first and began to stroke the pad of his thumb over her clit.

She felt his mouth close over a nipple. She moaned when he tugged on it with his teeth. Her hands found his hair, she twisted her fingers into it as his fingers found a perfect rhythm. When she began to tremble and writhe against him, he removed his fingers, slid swiftly down her body and replaced them with his mouth.

Ember moaned again, and this one was broken.

Everything became a jumbled blur of sensation: his lips and mouth and tongue; his fingers digging into her bottom; the rough scrape of his unshaven cheeks against her thighs; the sound of the muttering fire and the murmuring rain; her heartbeat loud as thunder in her ears. She was dimly aware of the noises she was making but was unable to stop herself and didn’t care in any case—all that mattered was him.

Christian. Beautiful, inhuman Christian.

As he said he’d wanted, and so easily it should have scared her but thrilled her instead, he was making her come apart at the seams.

When the pleasure became an almost unbearable pain, sharp and hot beneath her skin like a thousand heated knifepoints, his mouth was suddenly gone and he was hovering above her, his arms braced beside her head, his stomach pressed against hers.

Wordlessly, his gaze ferocious and dark, he pushed himself inside her.

It was shallow and slow, but his next thrust was deep and hard and buried him to the hilt. Her head thrown back against the rug, Ember cried out and shuddered. She felt his mouth on her throat, on the muscle between her neck and shoulder, tongue and teeth and savage kisses. He thrust again and bit down at the same time and when she sobbed his name he made a noise like a wild animal’s.

His hands slid into her hair and he grabbed fistfuls of it, thrusting hard now, his breath hot and ragged at her ear. She wrapped her arms around his back and gave herself over to him, abandoning any remaining shyness or hesitation, her kisses now just as savage as his own.

So male, so big, so deep inside her, he was as tender as he was wild. He told her in broken whispers how good she felt, how much he’d wanted her, from the very beginning, how beautiful he thought she was.

He kept saying that, “Beautiful…you’re so beautiful,” and it moved her in some deep part of her that she’d put away long ago. It made her feel cherished and worthwhile and…loved.

For the first time in years, she felt loved. She felt
worthy
. And it was because of him, because of his words and his need and the glowing dark burn of his eyes.

It was all because of him.

In one swift move, he rolled flat onto his back and took her with him. Straddling him, she took him deep as he flexed his pelvis and reached up to caress her breasts. She began to move, small, circular twists that made him groan and growl, his fingers greedy against her flesh, her hair tumbling down her back. She rode him until they were both breathless and mindless, their bodies bathed in sweat and firelight. When she leaned down to kiss him, he took her tongue into his mouth and wrapped his hands around her hips, coaxing her to move faster, harder, to take him as deep as he would go.

She moaned, feeling her orgasm bearing down. She was almost there—almost—

He flipped her onto her back again, leaned down over her and put his hands on both sides of her face. His eyes were wide and dark, staring into hers, searching, burning, his look almost anguished.

Everything honed to a bright, crystalline clarity. Just before she broke apart in his arms, Christian whispered, “Ember—Ember—God—”

His eyes slid shut, he arched back and his entire body shuddered.

She felt him throb and pulse deep inside her, and it pushed her right over the edge with him. Violent, gorgeous, emanating from her core and spreading outward in surging waves, the contractions stole her breath along with the final shred of resistance. Everything in the room, all the furnishings, the fire, and the very air itself, ceased to exist. There was only the two of them fused together, their need and greed and the raw, exquisite pleasure that spun on and on, encompassing.

He dropped his head and moaned into her neck, low and hoarse. Like a struck bell, it reverberated all the way through her.

Still panting and entangled, they collapsed against the rug. Christian hugged her to him, hard, and they lay there in front of the fire for what felt like forever, not speaking, their heartbeats and respiration gradually slowing, sweat cooling over their skin.

Finally he exhaled—a slow, deep breath—and adjusted them both, tucking her into his side with his arm under her neck and one of his legs over both of hers. She felt sated and loose-jointed, utterly relaxed, completely peaceful. He began slowly to caress her arms, stomach, and breasts, her neck and face, his touch soft and reverent. She closed her eyes, nuzzled her face into the space beneath his chin and found it the most comfortable spot in the world.

Just as she was about to drift off, Christian whispered, “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night…”

Shakespeare. He was quoting
Romeo and Juliet
.

She opened her eyes, listening with her ears and every other organ. Just above her eye level, his throat worked. He was staring into the fire, watching the flames with an expression of amazement. His arms tightened possessively around her. He pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“I’ve waited so long for you. I’ve been waiting my entire life. I can’t believe I finally found you. I can’t believe something so perfect can actually be real.”

His voice was so soft, so awed, so
grateful
, it broke something inside her wide open.

Ember understood with perfect lucidity at that moment why people call it “falling” in love. The feeling was the same as jumping off a cliff, or cresting the high curve on a rollercoaster, and beginning the downward plunge. Fierce and magnificent and immediate, it was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Every cell in her body was flushed with a heady sort of mad euphoria, the kind she imagined only lovers, skydivers, and the insane could ever understand.

Love. So this is what all the songs were about, all the art and plays and movies.

Jesus. It was amazing.

She didn’t have words for what she was feeling—not the right words, anyway. So she simply kissed him and put everything she felt into it, hoping he would understand.

Ember awoke sometime later in the semi-dark with her head on Christian’s chest, her arms wrapped around him. The two of them were still lying together on the rug in front of the hearth, but now there was a pillow under her head and something thick and soft covering them both; a cashmere blanket. She must have been asleep when he’d draped it over them.

The fire had burned down to a burnished orange glow of hot coals and ashes. Outside, the gloomy, wet day had turned to even gloomier twilight. The wind had picked up and was groaning through the trees.

“You’re awake,” he whispered. She tipped her head up and looked at him. He smiled down at her—gorgeous, black hair in disarray, green eyes shining—and brushed an errant strand of hair gently from her face.