Thirteen Chances (25 page)

Emma looked at Christian, who sat across from her and kept that sexy gaze directed at her. She wondered briefly what sort of sacrifice it would take to get
his
life back.

And in that quick second, she knew for a certainty she’d be willing to make that sacrifice. She was only slightly surprised to find herself
not
surprised at that revelation.

“Well,” Gawan said, “our guests will indeed start crossing the drawbridge on the morrow, and knowing those Dreadmoors, fairly early. Thank goodness Lady Andi is accompanying them this time. She always seems to have a way of keeping them in check. I, for one, am turning in. I suggest the same for all of you.”

“Telling us when to go nighty-night now, eh, Conwyk?” said Justin Catesby, in his heavy Scottish brogue.

Everyone chuckled.

Gawan grinned. “I’m just saying—those lads will come roaring up on their motorcycles before the dawn breaks, I’d warrant. And once here, they’ll want to begin training right away.” He flashed a grin at Christian. “As do I.”

Everyone rose, and Emma gathered dishes to help with the dinner mess. Quickly, she and Ellie, accompanied by Nicklesby and Jason, had everything cleared and cleaned, the dishwasher loaded and washing. When they all left the kitchen, they found Gawan and Christian sitting by the hearth. Ensley was fast asleep in her swing next to Christian, and Gawan had a twin in the crook of each big, tattooed arm.

It was a precious sight, indeed.

When Emma and Ellie walked up, Christian stood.

He gave a low bow to Ellie. “Lady, whilst frustrating not to have the capability to eat your fine food, the company was, as always, the very best.” He grinned and winked. “But I shall now relieve you of your guest.”

He looked at Emma and inclined his head, that wicked smile tipping his mouth up into something more sensual than devious.

Emma gulped and hoped it wasn’t too noticeable.

“Err, lady?” said Jason. He cleared his throat. “Mayhap you need me to guard your door whilst you sleep?” He gave Christian a humorous look. “To keep out unwanted guests, you see? Not to mention maintaining your honor, of course.”

Christian gave Jason a murderous look. “She needs no guarding of doors, lad, nor of her virtue. Understood?”

Everyone roared.

Jason tried to hide his grin with his hand. “Err, right. What was I thinking? Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea is indeed one of the most virtuous knights I know, next to myself.” He gave Emma a low bow. “Should you need me, though, I am but three doors down from your chamber.”

More snickers erupted from the crowd.

“Come on,” growled Christian in her ear.

Emma turned to hurry away with him. She smiled at Jason and waved. “Bye.”

Jason merely chuckled and shook his head.

Emma had no doubt in her mind that, had Christian had substance, he’d have dragged her from the great hall.

As it was, he fell in behind her,
right
behind her. So close, she could feel the ghostly electricity that radiated from him. It made her shudder.

Christian noticed, and chuckled. “I’ve been waiting all eve to get you alone, Ms. Calhoun,” he said, a whisper against her ear. “Move faster. One more flight up, then all the way to the end.”

“Will I need my coat?” she asked, hurrying up the steps. She didn’t want to freeze her patootey off.

“Nay.”

“Oh.” She could barely stand it, the waiting and not knowing. She wasn’t used to surprises, and it seemed Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea was full of them. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and although a little uncomfortable—especially in a room full of near strangers—she seemed to be getting used to it. Used to the ghosts, used to the Conwyks, used to Jason.

And very used to the ghostly warrior hurrying her up the steps.

They reached the top floor and Emma started for the end of the corridor. Christian stepped up beside her, and lowered his head. “The door at the very end. ’Tis unlocked.”

“Okay,” Emma said, and glanced up at him. In the dim light, his features took on a slightly illuminated radiance. Not much—he wasn’t glowing like a sixty-watt bulb or anything. Just … surreal. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything so fascinating.

At the end, they stopped before the narrow, single door. Emma looked at Christian, he inclined his head with a grin, and she opened it.

Emma slowly stepped inside, and blinked in surprise. It was the tiniest of turreted chambers, barely big enough for the comfy-looking sofa facing the floor-length bay window, and the hearth. A fire blazed and crackled, making the room toasty warm. Candles sat perched on a small coffee table, and on the lamp tables flanking the sofa. The walls were, like the rest of the castle, made of stone and mortar, and it fascinated Emma to know just how old they were, and of the hands who put them there. And that one of those pair of hands stood right next to her.

Unbelievable.

“What are you thinking?”

Emma looked at Christian. Really looked at him. He’d changed from his bare-chested, tattooed, double-bladed warrior lethal-wear, and back into sexy, casual, modern-day clothes. It amazed her how both suited him perfectly. With a white cotton button-up long-sleeved shirt, tails loose and out, a pair of worn jeans, and brown leather hikers, he looked more like a guy on the cover of
Outdoor Magazine
than a twelfth-century warrior.

All but the hair. For some reason, Emma really loved that crazy, long and tousled-in-the-front, short-in-the-back hair.

It just looked
good
on him.

“Um, Emma?”

Emma blinked. Christian was waving his hand in front of her face.

He grinned. “Are you finished? Or would you like me to turn?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Turn.”

With a mischievous glint in his ghostly eyes, he did. Slowly. And in such a casual, guy manner, like everything else he did.

It nearly buckled Emma’s knees.

“Okay, enough turning,” she said, smiling. “This room is fantastic.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, inclining his head toward the sofa.

“Oh,” she answered, and walked over and sat down. Christian sat beside her. She settled back against the plush cushions and looked at him. “I was thinking how incredible all of this is,” she said, waving her hand. “This place, Arrick-by-the-Sea.” She felt her face heat up. “Especially you.” She shrugged. “It’s almost incomprehensible. Ellie told me you helped Gawan build Grimm.” She shook her head and smiled at him. “And here you are, hundreds of years later, flirting and talking with me.”

A serious expression crossed Christian’s features. He studied her closely, and turned to face her. He was quiet for several seconds, his gaze examining her with such intimacy, it made Emma’s heart race. The muscles in his jaws tensed. The deep breath he took was barely noticeable.

“Keep very still,” he said quietly, that Medieval Welsh accent growing heavier, washing over her. He leaned close, placing one hand on the armrest next to her, the other on the seat between them, and his eyes boring into hers. The very slightest lift tipped one corner of his mouth up. His body crowded her in a good way. An arousing way.

In a painfully slow, utterly pleasing way …

“Now,” he said, bringing his mouth close to hers, and a hank of that crazy hair falling across his eye, “let me show you the difference between flirting and wooing.”

Emma’s heart nearly stopped as he settled his mouth over hers, as close as possible without falling through her. She slowly drew in a breath through her parted lips, and sighed against Christian’s mouth as he seemingly tasted first her bottom lip, then her top. Her skin tingled at the sensation. He didn’t move, simply lingered, then pulled his head back, lifted his hand, and traced her jaw with his finger. He stared. It made her shudder.

“What I would give to taste you in truth,” he said, his voice coarse, regretful.

Emma lifted her hand and traced the curve of his lips. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I’ll take you this way.” She sighed. “Gladly.”

Christian watched Emma sleep. Christ, she was so beautiful.

So much, it nearly hurt.

After his bit of wooing, he and Emma had sat before the fire, as close as possible, and talked. He’d learned things about her that he’d never known before, even with his twelve previous encounters. She was ticklish on her sides. He’d merely jabbed at her, jokingly, and she’d nearly leaped off the sofa. In anticipation, she’d said, of the tickle. Of course, he couldn’t really tickle her, but her instinct had made her jump all the same.

He’d found it a fascinating detail.

They’d talked for hours, and he’d learned all about her life as a photographer, the school she’d attended, and the studio she now owned. Quite successful, it seemed, and she truly loved taking pictures. They’d crept downstairs to Gawan’s study, and Emma had pulled up her Web site on the computer. Christian had thought her work astounding. She’d somehow captured the absolute truest emotions of love in each couple’s faces, and in their eyes. And the brides were, even to him, blushing beauties. Their faces all but glowed with bliss, and the photos she’d taken of families and children showed the very same. He’d never seen anything like it. Emma was an artist, and she was most proud of her work.

He rather admired that.

After that, he’d walked her to her room, and they’d said good night. He’d nearly lost control kissing her at her door. ’Twas nigh unto impossible, kissing but not
really
kissing. He’d almost fallen through her twice. He’d almost told her how much he loved her.Thankfully, he’d bit his own tongue. ’Twas too soon for that. He felt it.

And yet he didn’t think he’d ever wanted her—
craved
her—as badly as he did now.

This thirteenth time.

I’ll take you this way,
Emma had said.

His heart had dropped at the words.

Strange, how the twelve previous times he’d encountered Emma’s soul, she’d begged him to find a way to change. Come to life. But this time? This Emma?

I’ll take you this way …

Just then, a low rumble met his ears. Christian rose and looked through the window. Far down the lane, eight motorcycles growled toward Grimm, followed by a blue Rover, a big red Jeep, and a silver Porsche.

Saint’s blood, that arrogant Dreadmoor lot had arrived.

His eyes narrowed. What he wouldn’t give to be a live warrior for the tournament. “You’re here.”

He turned and met Emma’s sleepy gaze. She’d pushed herself up and rested her weight on one elbow, her hair standing on end, her face flushed. Wide blue eyes stared at him, a slight tilt to her sexy mouth.

“Ach fel ‘n arddun,”
he murmured, without really thinking about it.

She pushed all the way up to a sitting position and scrubbed her eyes. She yawned and stretched, and he felt his stomach tighten at the sight. “What’s that mean?” she asked.

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken in Welsh. She used to speak it, as well.

In three strides, he was at her side. He sat on the edge of the bed, and traced a long strand of hair. “You are so beautiful,” he said.

Emma’s cheeks blushed. “Oh,” she said, her voice breathy. “You’ve … been in here all night?”

He grinned. “What was left of it, aye.”

She glanced toward the window. He’d never known a maid to blush so much. He found it utterly adorable. “What’s that noise?” she said.

Christian sighed and glanced at the window. “The most arrogant lot of lads you’ll ever encounter.”

She grinned, then slipped from beneath the covers, hurried to the window, and looked out. “More arrogant than you, even?” she said, staring outside.

His mouth went dry. Bloody dog-bone dry.

The reaction of a young, inexperienced lad seeing his first pair of bared, female legs, he supposed. He was not young. He was far from inexperienced.

But,
Christ.
Emma stood at the window, with the palest of light shining through her nearly transparent and slightly snug white T-shirt and, he gulped, shorts that hung at her hips with a goodly amount of stomach showing. The sight almost made his knees buckle. And, she was apparently cold.

He tried not to wheeze.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Then, she must have followed his eyes, which were latched on to her breasts, because her face flamed and she crossed her arms over herself. “Oh. Sorry.”

Sorry?

“I’m not,” he muttered, his eyes transfixed, unmoving.

“Christian, get out!” she squealed. She covered herself tighter. “I mean it! I’ll call Jason!”

“Call him,” he said, his lips twitching at her modesty. “It will take his slow mortal self several minutes to get here—”

A pillow flew through him and hit the wall.

“Ouch,” he said.

Her face immediately paled. “Oh! I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

It took him several seconds to ponder his response.

It was one second too many. She scowled.

“I mean it, Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea. Get out of my room right now and let me get changed,” she said, her voice low, menacing. If possible, her arms tightened even more about herself.

He looked at her then, his gaze meeting hers.

Her lips twitched.

He laughed. “All right, my little modest modern maid. I shall meet you in yon passageway when you’ve finished.” His lecherous gaze dropped to her scantily clad body once more; then he gave her a low bow. “Until.”

With reluctance, he disappeared.

Emma heaved a sigh as she watched Christian disappear.

The look he’d had on his face—prior to her covering up—was that of pure hunger.

It’d made her mouth go dry.

Then he’d given her that quirky smile, and combined with the mischievous gleam in his eye and that crazy hair, she’d found she couldn’t stay mad, or terribly embarrassed.

Hastily, she threw on her typical outfit of jeans, double-layered long-sleeved T-shirt, and a cotton hoodie. She tied her Converses, freshened up in the bathroom, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. When she stepped out into the passageway, Christian was leaning against the wall, waiting. Assessing. He must have found what he saw pleasing because he grinned from ear to ear.