Let the Night Begin (7 page)

“Unbutton me,” she commanded.

Was that a chuckle she heard as he complied? Yes, nothing else could make her tingle like that. One by one, the many buttons on the back of her gown popped open with excruciating slowness. He was toying with her, damn him. Let him have
his fun; she'd have him on his knees soon enough. Literally.

The last button slid free and the top of her gown gaped open. Rough fingers slid over her shoulders, sliding the silk downward, over her arms. More shivers. Her breasts wantonly straining against her corset, eager for his touch.

The gown slid to the carpet, pooling around her feet in a mountain of dark blue. Petticoats and bustle followed, and then he turned her around, picking her up as though she weighed nothing and moving her out of the pile of discarded clothing.

His hands slid around her ribs. His thumbs pressed, popping the hooks of her corset open. Was she really going to let this happen? Was she really going to give him her body and take his in return even as she worked toward betrayal? Yes. She didn't care what that made her. All that mattered right now was how much she wanted him. How much she needed to know the taste and feel of him once more.

Their gazes met and locked as he tossed her corset onto the sofa. His lids were heavy, the dark fringe of his lashes so impossibly thick as he stared at her with passion-bright eyes. No man had ever looked at her as Reign did. No man ever made her feel as sensual and powerful. She held that gaze as she raised her hands to the ribbon of her chemise. She tugged, shrugged, and then stood before him in nothing but her boots and stockings.

“Christ,” he murmured, his hot gaze sweeping over her like a brush fire. He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away.

“My turn,” she told him with a saucy smile as she loosened the knot of his cravat.

“Yes, ma'am.” And he made her chuckle when he began yanking at his waistcoat, popping the buttons without a care.

How could he make her laugh and burn for him at the same time? How could all her resentment seem to fade with a touch? The question lingered unanswered until he yanked off his shirt, and was then forgotten.

He was golden and sculpted, and just as lovely as she remembered. The strong column of his throat gave way to wide shoulders, heavy with muscle and the sharp jut of his collarbones. Crisp, black hair began just below his neck and covered the hard wall of his pectorals, thinning as it trailed down the defined line of his stomach to disappear beneath the waist of his trousers.

Amusement curved his lips, tilting one corner upward. “Shall I continue?”

The combination of the sight of him, the sound of his rumbling voice, and her own heightened awareness served to drown Olivia in a wave of pure bliss.

“I'll kill you if you don't,” she replied with a smile of her own.

Reign grinned, his hands going to the fastenings
of his trousers. “That would ruin my night.” He bent at the waist and pushed the fine wool to the floor. He took the time to remove his boots as well before he straightened, revealing his full nakedness to Olivia's greedy gaze.

She started at his feet and moved upward past long, firm calves and muscular thighs. Such a beautiful man. The dark hair that dusted his legs thickened at his groin, where his erection stood long and hard and unabashedly aroused.

“Christ,” she murmured, unintentionally mimicking him.

This time when he reached for her she didn't stop him. He took her in his arms and kissed her, filled her with his tongue as he pushed her backward, into the sleeping compartment. When she tumbled back onto the bed, he followed after, kneeling over her, dark and fierce.

“Next time I'll take my time with you,” he promised roughly. “But after thirty years, I'm tired of waiting.”

So was she, but she didn't say that. She'd rather slit her own throat than admit to wanting him as badly as she did, to missing him as deeply as she had, after all he had done to her.

Even as she realized this, her thighs parted, allowing him to slip between. His body was so hard and warm, the hair of his legs and chest prickly and wonderful against her sensitive skin.

The blunt head of his erection pressed against the
dewy lips of her sex. Instinct dug her heels into the soft mattress, made her want to shove down and impale herself on the hard length of him, but she waited, body tight and trembling, eagerly awaiting his invasion.

Reign braced himself on one hand above her. The other reached down, guiding his cock as he slowly flexed his hips, opening her slick flesh and pushing himself inside.

Olivia's body grabbed at his, her muscles twitching in anticipation as every inch of him filled her. She bent her knees, pulling them to her chest so that he penetrated her as fully as possible. Had it always felt this good to have him inside her? Had it always felt as though her body was made to house his?

She could feel the tension in him as he levered himself over her. He practically vibrated with restraint as she gripped his sides with her calves. She trailed her fingernails down his back and smiled as he shuddered.

He pulled out and then eased back in, sending a ripple of pleasure radiating through her. She ached with the promise his body offered. Arching her hips, she met his next thrust, gasping as the friction taunted her swollen clitoris with the promise of release. She wasn't going to last long.

Reign lowered his head and kissed her mouth before turning his attention to her breasts. He sucked one nipple then the other, gently biting and
licking until she was writhing beneath him, grinding her pelvis upward, panting as orgasm neared.

Then she felt it—the graze of fang against her hot flesh. Her body shook and trembled at it even as her mind cried out in denial.

He was going to bite her. He was going to hurt her like he had hurt her years ago. Panic tore at the edges of her mind.

“Please,” she whispered hoarsely. “Don't bite me.”

Reign froze. He lifted his head and stared at her for a moment. God only knew what he saw in her expression, in her eyes. Whatever it was, it made his mouth settle into a grim line. But he began moving inside her again, his gaze locked to hers as he thrust inside her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster.

He was watching her, just as she had told him he would have to that night she first approached him. Was it meant as a mockery, or as a gesture of kindness on his part? It was so hard to tell. Reign's expression gave away nothing, cool and hot at the same time. Olivia clung to him, digging her fingers into the unyielding smoothness of his back as their bodies came together in hot, wet friction. Her spine arched, the pressure inside her building with every thrust, teasing her with the inevitable yet eluding her at the same time.

They were both breathing hard, a remarkable feat given that vampires didn't breathe as often as
humans. The only sounds in the room were their gasps and moans and the sound of Reign's body driving into hers.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice little more than a growl. “I want to watch you come.”

He always knew what to say to send her over the edge and his words had the desired effect. He thrust deep and the pressure inside her rose to a crescendo, peaked and then imploded. Olivia's shoulders dug into the bed as she arched into her climax, crying out as pleasure tore her apart from the inside.

Reign quickened his thrusts and then stiffened, groaning out his own release as it filled her. His head was tossed back, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief as the shuddering of his body eased to tiny shivers. When he collapsed on top of her, Olivia held him, savoring the weight of his body on hers, knowing that soon it would be gone.

She didn't protest when he rolled off her. Didn't say a word as he lay beside her, silent and staring at the ceiling. She remained silent when he pulled the blankets up around them. She was glad for the silence. If she spoke now she wouldn't be able to stop. There were so many things on the tip of her tongue, fighting to get out, insisting that she give them voice. Things that once spoken, she would never be able to take back. Things better left unspoken.

So neither of them said a word, but when Reign pulled her to him, pressing his chest to her back as he wrapped one strong arm around her, Olivia went willingly. And when he entwined his fingers with hers, she let him.

She told herself it meant nothing. That his tenderness was nothing more than a manipulative maneuver meant to throw her off her guard. He was using her just as she was using him, and all that mattered was rescuing James. And then she tried very hard not to cry.

F
or what might be the second time in the entirety of his long existence, Reign doubted himself.

The first time had been when he turned Olivia into a vampire. He'd never forgiven himself for that, and neither had she, but until tonight he hadn't realized just how badly the event had traumatized her.

Her voice had
shaken
when she asked him not to bite her. Shaken, not with anger, but with fear. Of all the things he would have his wife feel for him, fear was not one of them. He'd rather she hate him than ever be afraid.

He stood by the bed, fully dressed, watching her sleep. The handsome lines of her face were softened by slumber, and in the soft light drifting in from the lamps in the other section of the car she looked young—far too young on a night when he felt older than hell itself. He hadn't felt young in a long time, and the last time had been on his wedding day.

He had revealed the truth about himself almost a month before the wedding. It wouldn't have been fair to her to wait any longer, and love had filled him with the burning desire to be completely honest with his bride-to-be.

At first she thought he was joking, then accused him of cruelly trying to cry off the engagement. He had to show her his fangs for her to finally believe. Her disbelief had lasted maybe ten minutes before she started sticking her fingers in his mouth to investigate his teeth and asking questions about what he could do. His relief had been so great he had been almost giddy with it. And then she had hugged him.

“What was that for?” he'd asked.

Wide brown eyes stared into his. “For having to be alone so long, and for trusting me with the truth.”

Reign knew at that moment that he had found the woman he wanted to spend eternity with. He hadn't taken her feelings into account. He just assumed that she felt the same way. He
knew
she felt the same way.

They had been so happy, and not in a fairytale perfect kind of way, but in a real, enduring manner. Then he had gone and ruined it all on their wedding night.

He didn't want to think about it, not when the sting of Olivia's rejection was still fresh, not when he knew it would only make him feel dirtier than
he already did. He wanted that former intimacy with her once more. Wanted that happiness, and it was so far out of his reach it might as well be on the moon.

Now, watching her as she slept, so peacefully, Reign rubbed the spot where she had plunged a dagger into his chest. The wound had long healed without a physical scar, but he still felt the tear inside, the searing realization that his happy life was over. She'd left before dawn, and he hadn't seen or spoken to her since—not until she showed up at Mrs. Willet's party and brazenly demanded to see her husband.

Was it coincidence that she had found him exactly thirty years to the day after his awful betrayal?

He had survived as long as he had by trusting his instinct and by being smart. He didn't trust anyone completely, because he knew any trust could be compromised by a threat to something the other person held more dear. For example, Olivia's nephew was the most important person in the world to her, and she would do anything to ensure his safety. Even with their past taken out of the equation, her devotion to James was reason enough not to trust his own well-being to her.

His own strange devotion to her was why he had agreed to help her find the boy. The need he had to somehow atone was what made him go against his own judgment and offer his assistance.

Instinct told him she was a threat. Instinct told him to put his hand around her throat and squeeze until she woke up in a panic and confessed whatever it was she was up to. She would have greater reason to fear him then, wouldn't she, as he crushed the life from her?

Who was he trying to fool? He could never intentionally hurt her physically, not like that. He would defend himself if she attacked him, but he could never instigate violence against her, despite what she may believe.

Although he sure as hell did a good job of hurting her.

If she was anyone else and made him feel this threatened, she'd be dead by now. But perhaps she was aware of that. Perhaps sleeping with him was all part of her plan to lull him into trusting her again.

Rubbing a hand over his jaw to ease the tightness there, Reign pushed these dark thoughts away. He had to keep his mind open and clear. Paranoia would only cloud his judgment and he couldn't afford such a weakness.

Not when his greatest weakness was gently snoring only a few feet away.

Everything about her was just as he remembered, only the reality was far more painful than memory. The feel of her, her touch and taste was so achingly potent. It hurt to look at her. This vulnerability was not welcome.

He took her by the shoulder and shook—perhaps a little rougher than he should have. “Wake up.”

“Mmnn.” She rolled away from him and burrowed deeper into her pillow.

Reign ground his teeth at the sight of her bare back, the gentle indent of her spine. Her skin was a soft rose-gold, soft and shimmery in the mellow light. His fingers itched to touch her, his tongue wanted to taste her—right in that little indent at the top of her arse. That perfect, heart-shaped part of her that filled both his hands.

He shook her again, and said loudly, “Liv, for Christ's sake, get up.”

A deep scowl etched between her brows, drawing them close as she opened her eyes. “What?”

She never had reacted well to having her slumber interrupted.

“We'll be in Edinburgh soon,” he informed her as he tossed several of her undergarments on the bed. “Get dressed.”

Still scowling, she slid out of the bed. Her hair was a mess, most of the heavy mass having slipped from its pins, and she was still wearing her stockings and boots. One of her garters had slipped and the fine silk of one stocking sagged around her calf. She looked like a whore. She also looked so damn sweet he wanted to haul her against him and kiss her—touch her until she was wet and begging for his cock.

And then he'd tease her about it later just to see
the ire bright in her gaze. She hated when he teased her. She never quite understood what it meant. Neither had the girls in his village when he teased and tortured them mercilessly with boyish enthusiasm. That same enthusiasm had often earned his father's wrath.

“What time is it?” she asked as she stepped into her drawers. A thick lock of hair fell over her shoulder to curl around her breast, and suddenly Reign's trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“Just a little past two,” he replied, watching her dress despite the damnable erection he was sprouting. “We should arrive at my home around three.”

“Long before dawn,” she remarked—more to herself than him.

Folding his arms across his chest, Reign leaned his shoulder against the gleaming paneling. “And in plenty of time for you to make your rendezvous with the kidnappers.”

She stiffened—just for a second, but he noticed it all the same. “Yes.”

“And where is this meeting to take place?” Did he really think she'd slip and tell him something she didn't want to? Olivia was many things, but stupid wasn't on the list.

“It is not a meeting. They said they would leave instructions for me at the Wolf, Ram and Hart Inn.”

Reign went perfectly still. “Wolf, Ram and Hart?”

Olivia frowned at him, but her gaze was puzzled, as she straightened her stockings and garters. “Yes, do you know it?”

“Yes. I've been there before.”

“You don't own it, do you?” There was more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice, but she was worried too—worried that the inn might have been chosen for a reason. Chosen because of him. Now why would that worry her if the kidnappers knew nothing about him as she had insisted?

“No. Temple and I got into a fight there back in, oh, sixteen-forty-five? Some English showed up, acting as though they were all powerful. Scared a couple of the barmaids and bashed a few heads. We made sure they knew they weren't welcome.”

“The memory of frightened barmaids and bashed heads makes you smile?” She had her chemise on now—more the pity.

He was smiling too. “No. The memory of the fight makes me smile. You know someone wrote a song about it.”

She didn't look terribly impressed as she fussed with her corset. “Just what you needed—more reason to think highly of yourself.”

Where the hell had that come from? “You think I'm conceited?” He crossed the short distance between them, turned her around and loosened the strings so she could fasten the hooks in the front of the garment.

She snorted. “I know you are.”

“You know me so well, of course.” Hopefully he sounded caustic to her ears and not as wounded as he felt.

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him as she fastened the last of the hooks, her expression a mixture of sadness and mockery that stabbed at his heart. “There was a time I thought I knew you better than anyone. Perhaps I am as wrong now as I was then.”

Only the tightness of her voice, the thinly veiled pain in her eyes kept him from lashing out himself. Hope flashed deep inside him. She wouldn't still carry so much bitterness if there wasn't some part of her that loved him still. He knew he shouldn't care, shouldn't wish for it, but he did all the same.

Perhaps that was her goal.

“Perhaps you are,” he replied tonelessly, pulling the lacings tight once more. He used to play lady's maid for her quite often once upon a time. “I doubt you'll trust my opinion either way, so I'll keep my silence.”

She looked away—the only indication that his words affected her at all. And when he finished with her corset, she tried to cover up her reaction to his words by making a show of pulling her gown over her head.

He watched her struggle with the garment. She wouldn't ask him to help her with it, but he would all the same. “Why did you come to me, Olivia?”

She shoved her arms into the sleeves. “I told you, I think the kidnappers know what I am.”

“So I'm just added muscle?”

“And you have social connections in Edinburgh.”

He stared at her. She held his gaze, but he could see the strain around her mouth and in the faint furrow of her forehead as she struggled with her hair, the unfastened gown gaping behind her.

“That's it?” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “That's the truth?”

She laughed—a sharp, nervous sound. “What do you suspect me of, Reign, using my nephew's kidnapping as a convenient excuse to bed you again? I don't think such extremes would be necessary, do you?”

More cutting remarks that made his heart beat a little bit faster. How could one woman inspire so many emotions in him? Part of him hated her for being his weakness while another adored her strength and will. Another part of him wanted to strangle her and yet another wanted to tickle her behind the knees until she laughed so hard she cried.

Her reply was honest, but her demeanor was not.

“No,” he replied. “Of course not.” But he thought of those young men she'd fed from and how they had supposedly looked like him, and he wondered if they had been a way for her to have
him, without having to admit that she wanted him.

“Good.” She actually sounded relieved, like she thought she had persuaded him to believe her. “Now, be a good boy and button me up, will you?”

She turned her back to him, and just as he had unfastened these buttons earlier, he refastened them now. As he slipped the last one into place, he leaned down, putting his mouth near her ear.

“Are you trying to fuck me, Liv?”

Olivia shivered and stiffened. “I thought I already had.”

The mockingly sensual lilt of her voice annoyed him. He caught her by the arms as she tried to move away. Her hair tickled his nose. Her scent made his head swim and his blood boil. He didn't need the extra heat in his blood. “You know what I mean.”

Her head turned ever so slightly. The soft, fine skin of her cheek brushed against his mouth. “I just want to find my nephew, Reign. Help me do that and I promise I'll never darken your door again.”

She pulled away and he let her go, watching as she walked into the tiny bathroom. He could see parts of her as she attended to her hair at the mirror.

He would help her find her nephew, because he wanted to help her. Let her think he was only doing it for the sex. If she was so foolish as to be
lieve that was all he wanted from her, so be it. He could even let her believe that she had the upper hand over him.

But if Olivia thought that he was going to let her simply walk away from him when all this was done, when there was so much left unresolved between them, she didn't know him as well as she believed.

She didn't know him at all.

 

He had gotten her a maid.

The girl had been waiting in the bedroom. The housekeeper, Mrs. MacCoddle, introduced them. Olivia had been too busy gaping at the room itself to commit the girl to memory.

“I'm sorry, what was your name?” she asked as the girl began unpacking her luggage. Olivia sat on the huge sleigh bed, still in a bit of a daze, and gazed around at her surroundings.

“Janet, ma'am.” She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Just a little red-haired slip of a thing. “This is my first position as a lady's maid, so I hope I don't disappoint you.”

“I'm sure you won't,” Olivia replied with a smile. The girl's accent was delightful. She'd always loved listening to how people spoke. Of course, Reign probably remembered that. He seemed to remember so much.

Like her favorite color. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that this room had gilt trim on its
pale green walls, or that the drapes were a rich shade of gold that matched colors in the carpet and the bedclothes? He had to have remembered that she loved the richness of gold, the brightness and the shimmer.

Her wedding gown had been a soft champagne-gold silk. He had told her how beautiful she looked in it.