She took a hit of brandy straight off the bottle and glanced out the window as, in the distance, Gawain walked a wheelbarrow full of firewood into the manor house. Then she swept up the stones and put them back in their velvet bag, folded the cloth, and went back to the bedroom.
Her nerves were shot, and a fine tremor ran through her hands. Unable to stay focused on anything complicated, she concentrated on the mechanics of the tasks in front of her.
Washing clothes. Packing. Stripping linens off the bed, she stuffed the bedding in the washer too. Checking up on her what the fuck list.
Just when she thought she was full up on crazy, something else happened. She was beginning to get a glimpse of something bigger than she had ever imagined. They were all caught up in a web of events, and none of them were in control.
What a terrible word, betrayal.
Robin was right. She couldn’t say that word to Nikolas, and he couldn’t hear it. He was too loyal. He had given everything he had to those men. It was admirable, really, and in this case tragic. How would she feel if she had found out Rodrigo had betrayed her and had tried to get her killed?
It was unthinkable. Her gut tightened, and tears filled her eyes as she remembered the urgent care Rodrigo had given her before the ambulance had arrived, his face raw with fear and concern.
Gah, she felt overwrought, wrung out. She was too tangled up in what was happening, too emotionally involved. How did she get here in just a couple of days? When did having (tremendous, mind-blowing, screaming, utterly fantastic, wildly pleasurable) sex with Nikolas somehow turn into making love in her head?
She knew better than to fall in love with him. She knew it before he had ever warned her, so why did she feel so twisted up inside? Was she really going to step into that manor house with a group of men, most of whom she didn’t know, and one of whom would try to kill her, because of how she felt about Nikolas?
The Mini had enough gas to get her to Shrewsbury. She could grab Robin—if he wanted to go—and they could just leave and take the first plane she could book back to the States. How would she get a puck on a plane? Would they let him sit on her lap for the flight, like a baby?
Then she thought of the taut, furious anguish on Nikolas’s face, and she knew she was squandering her imagination and energy in telling herself a story that simply wasn’t true. She wasn’t going anywhere, not as long as he needed her help. He might not like her for it—he might not thank her for it—and he might not trust her any longer, but she couldn’t leave him.
Not until he asked her to.
In an act so gloriously dysfunctional she couldn’t believe she was admitting it to herself, Stupid and Crazy™ had struck again. She knew better than to fall in love with Nikolas, but she had gone and done it anyway.
“Why are you built like this, you stupid woman?” she muttered as she stomped into the bathroom to collect her toiletries and fold the clothes in the dryer. “There is something wrong with your head. How did you know to zero in on the absolute very last man on the planet you should get involved with? There are so many men in the world, Sophie Ross. So. Many. Rodrigo, for example. Why couldn’t you fall in love with your good, loyal, available buddy Rodrigo?”
While she was bitching to herself, she tried to make sense of the piece of black clothing she held in her hands. What was this? She didn’t own anything like this.
Not only was it too big, it was inside out. As she finally got the cloth turned the right way, she made sense of what she was holding. It was one of Nikolas’s black shirts. She had automatically put his clothes in the same load as her own.
For some reason that struck her terribly hard. It was funny, or awful, or something, she didn’t know what. Crumpling the shirt in her fists, she started beating the heels of her hands against her forehead in time with the words running through her mind.
Sophie. Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.
This. Is why. You don’t. Kiss assholes. He gives you an orgasm, and all of a sudden, you’re washing his clothes.
She hadn’t known him for very long. Maybe she was only a little bit in love with him, like catching a cold instead of the flu. That would mean she could get over him quickly, wouldn’t it?
Something, some change in the air or some subtle noise, caused her to lift her head. In the corner of the bathroom mirror, she could see Nikolas standing in the doorway. She froze, watching his reflection sidelong. The expression on his face was raw and heartbreaking.
“You didn’t see the man who was choking you,” he said.
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“You never questioned if it might have been me.”
She blinked. “Of course not. I know it wasn’t. You—you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Because you trust me.”
The emotion behind that was laced with complexity, unreadable. Was he thinking about how he had trusted his men for so long? In comparison, she had known him for such a short amount of time, but that didn’t change her conviction.
Dropping her attention to his shirt that she still held, she nodded. “Yes. Because I trust you.”
He walked forward, put his arms around her from behind, and buried his face in her hair. The blood was coursing through his body so fiercely she could feel his heart beating against her back. He was breathing hard, and he felt slightly damp with sweat as if he had been running.
“It isn’t Gawain,” he whispered. “It can’t be Gawain. I don’t believe it of him. He’s not capable of that kind of betrayal. He would rather cut off his hands than hurt you.”
Betrayal. Nikolas believed her. He trusted her, and he came to that word all on his own. Her chest squeezed tight with compassion.
Leaning against him, she reached to cup the back of his head. “I can’t believe it of him either,” she whispered back as gently as she knew how. “His heart is too good.”
He lifted up his head to pull the long, curling length of her hair aside, then he put his face into the warmth of her neck, skin to skin. “When we go into the house, you stick with either Gawain or with me, you hear? You don’t go anywhere by yourself, not even to the privy.”
This was no time to take a stand over free will and issuing unwanted orders. He needed reassurance, so she gave it to him. “I won’t go anywhere alone, I promise.”
He held her so tightly she felt the pressure of it in her bones, but she didn’t protest or try to pull away. After a moment, he muttered, “I think I know who it could be, and it isn’t just about what you saw they would do to you. It’s more than that. I think it’s about the Hounds’ attack two weeks ago. It might even involve the Hounds’ attack on the pub a few nights ago. The gods only know how far this goes.”
She hadn’t been expecting that, and surprise thudded through her. When she tried to twist around to face him, his hold loosened enough to allow her, then tightened again. “Oh no.”
“I might be wrong,” he said. “Thinking that any of them could do this is wrong, but for one of them, the timing of certain conversations and events would fit.”
“You can’t live with this doubt always playing in the back of your mind,” she told him. “You can’t trust someone to have your back in combat if you think they might have tried to have you killed.”
“No,” he agreed. His eyes were still reddened and raw, but the lines of his face had hardened. “So we’ll set a trap, and we’ll see if he takes the bait. You won’t ever be alone, not for a moment, my Sophie. I swear to that, but—we can make him believe that you are. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” she said instantly. “I’ll do anything you need.”
As her words hung in the air, she listened to what she had just said and inwardly winced. Well, shit. That had quite a ring of truth to it.
He stroked the back of his fingers down the side of her face, his gaze turned inward. “I’ll have to tell Gawain so he understands why you can’t be left alone when the others arrive, and so he can help to set the trap.”
“Th
at’s going to be a hard talk,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “Nik, I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
He snapped into focus, and he looked at her as if he was seeing her fully for the first time. Cupping her face, he caressed her lips with both thumbs. “You have nothing to be sorry about. If it weren’t for you, who knows what further damage this man might cause. It’s hard to believe you came into our lives only a few days ago. Already you’ve helped to restore my hope, and now you’re reshaping us. Walking away from you last night…” Suddenly he bent his head to cover her lips with his. He said almost soundlessly against the shape of her mouth, “Walking away from you last night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
Then why did you do it?
The outcry of hurt feelings echoed in her head, but she wasn’t ready to hear the reason, so she didn’t put voice to them. She didn’t want to hear him weigh the relative worth of staying with her versus leaving. She felt too raw and exposed, and she already knew that she hadn’t come out of that assessment on the winning side.
Instead, she flung all of it aside—hurt feelings, insecurities and all—and wound her arms around his neck to kiss him with all the strength of her pent-up feelings.
It was as if she had thrown a lit match into gasoline. He caught fire underneath her touch. Clenching her against his chest, he angled his mouth to kiss her with such raw, single-minded intensity, it brought another wave of dampness to her eyes.
His fire set her on fire. It ran down her nerve endings like lava, leaving her aching with hunger, yearning, and sheer roaring lust. Her thoughts splintered into singularities.
All she wanted to do was touch him. That was all. Yanking his shirt up, she ran greedy hands over his hot torso.
He hissed against her mouth, sinking both fists into her hair. It was a primitive, aggressive gesture, restricting her movements, holding her captive against his mouth while he kissed her with such raw, shaking intensity, her defenses crumbled. He walked her backward, his lean body trapping her against the wall.
Kissing him back, submitting to his aggression, inciting him for more, she fumbled at the waistline of his pants. Why couldn’t she figure out how to get the fastening open? It was making her crazy. With a muttered curse against her lips, he brushed her fingers aside to help. Still kissing her, he pulled his pants open while she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them.
There was no finesse in what they were doing. It was all animal instinct. He yanked her gauzy top up, along with the camisole underneath, and she raised her arms over her head so that he could pull them off. As her breasts bounced free, he made a hungry noise at the back of his throat and cupped them.
Something coherent tried to worm into her brain. She broke away from his hardened lips to gasp, “What if Gawain walks in?”
Without looking, Nikolas shoved his hand out and slammed the bathroom door shut.
For some reason that struck her as funny. She started to laugh, drunkenly, but her laughter was cut short as he lifted her up against the wall and thrust his hips between her legs. His thick erection brushed against the sensitive skin high on her inner thigh, and she moistened for him in a liquid gush.
She was not a lightweight. While she might have lost some muscle tone since the shooting and subsequent injuries, she hadn’t lost all of it. It took strength to haul her bodily around or lift and pin her against the wall, but he did it so effortlessly she relaxed into the experience and wrapped her legs around his hips.
“We have no business doing this,” he muttered against her cheek.
Twisting to reach for his cock, she gasped, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”
“Fuck, no.” As her fingers wrapped around him, his head fell back, eyes closed in an expression that looked almost like anguish. He gritted, “You’d have to shoot me to get me to stop now.”
“Come inside me,” she whispered. Rubbing his broad head against her opening, she positioned him just right, and with a slow, relentless thrust up, he penetrated her. In this position, at this angle, he felt massive, and she heard herself making a high, whining noise as her inner muscles stretched to accommodate him.
She was especially sensitive after last night. His entry not only burned through her, it felt perfectly right, exquisitely good.
He paused, chest heaving, to ask roughly, “Am I hurting you?”
In answer, she tightened her legs around him, drawing him farther in. “Only in the best possible way,” she breathed in his ear.
He angled his head to look at her. With one hand braced against the wall by her head, the other arm wrapped low around her hips, he began to pump into her.
She had always felt a shock of connection when she looked into his eyes, and now, coupled with the savage carnality of their coupling, it was almost too much. But she couldn’t look away either. The hunger, the heat in his dark eyes, the intensity all fed her own. She couldn’t take him in deep enough. Flexing, straining, she stretched to reach around the outside of her thigh to finger the place where they were joined.
A groan broke out of him, and she could tell that her caresses heightened his pleasure as well. “I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered. “This is making crazy.”
“Me too,” she whimpered. It shocked her. Did that whimper really come from her?
His heat and hardness, the rhythmic sensation, built up a pressure and a need inside her that had her clawing at his shoulders. “Come on.” As he hissed in her ear, he gave her hips an insistent yank while he ground himself against her. “Come on.”
It was such a demanding thing to do to order her to climax, so very Nikolas and quite entirely imperious. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to be offended or shocked. Instead, she felt a primal response rise up from deep inside. Arching off the wall, she gripped him by the back of the neck as she slammed into an orgasm.
He watched every moment of it, fiercely, as he kept moving in short, fast jabs. The twisting pleasure wrung at her. She clenched on him, shaking, until the last of the waves subsided.
Still inside her, he sank to his knees. Sitting splayed on his muscular thighs, she wrapped her arms around his neck while he began to move again, harder and more urgently. Biting at his ear, she egged him on until he froze, muscles bunched, and suddenly the intolerable tension broke and she felt him spurting inside her. Rocking gently, she helped him as he had helped her, drawing out every last moment of pleasure.
Just when she thought his climax was subsiding, he gripped her by the hips so hard she felt the pressure from each individual finger, and he picked up the pace, to gasp in her ear a few moments later as he spurted again. His expression was taut, beautifully wrung out. Loving every sensation, every glimpse, she ran her fingernails down his back, only to have him arch up into her again, with another renewed wave of climax.
It was odd, addictive, delightful. She’d never experienced anything like it, but all her previous lovers had been human. Nikolas presented her with an entirely different, unknown landscape. Pulled out of her preoccupation with her own pleasure, she breathed every part of him in.
Finally he held her hips stationary as he gritted, “We have to stop.”
We have to stop, he had said, not I can’t do any more. He still felt as hard inside her as he had when they had first started. Did that mean he could actually go further, do more, climax again? She spiraled dizzily into wonder.
But he was right. They didn’t have time for leisurely exploration. Still, her fingers wanted to cling to him, and her arms wanted to remain wound around his neck. It was physically and emotionally difficult to detach.
Did he feel the same?
Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, his arms tightened around her. “I don’t want to let you go,” he growled. “And I don’t want to stop now, but the day is flying by and we must stop. This is why I don’t have anything to offer a lover—there’s no time to give you the attention you deserve.”
Oh, that old thing.
Th
at old understanding she had worked so hard to establish between them last night. This was just supposed to be sex, just an interlude. They weren’t even supposed to like each other.
How had she put it? They had the opportunity to give each other some pleasure. There was nothing more to it than that. It certainly wasn’t his fault that she had gone and changed the rules of the game in her head without him.
Don’t be weird at him, Sophie, she admonished herself fiercely. In terms of pleasure, affection, and a transcendent experience, he’s given you so much more than you had expected or asked for. Don’t ruin it now.
He was studying her too closely, his expression brooding, so she gave him a quick smile and a kiss. “Thank you,” she said. “That was more than I could have expected.”
He scowled. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She blinked. “What do you mean, ‘what the fuck does that mean’? Last night you said you couldn’t give a lover time and attention. Today you repeated it. So okay, I said thank you. Was I supposed to beat my chest and say, oh my God, we had sex in the bathroom? Because if so, I didn’t get the memo.”
He took her head between his hands and said between his teeth, “You said thank you the same way you would thank someone for buying you lunch. You make me crazy.”
She shouted, “I said it was more than I could have expected! What else was I supposed to say?”
In answer, he rose to his feet, grabbed his clothes off the floor, and stalked out. Utterly bewildered, she sat, legs sprawled on the bathroom floor, and watched him leave.
After a few minutes, she stirred to gather up her own clothes. She looked down at them, then started banging the heels of her hands on her forehead again.
Sophie. Sophie. Sophie. This. Is why. You don’t. Kiss assholes. He gives you another orgasm, and all of a sudden you’re in love with him. And somehow you both get naked, because that’s a really bright idea that never goes wrong, and then you start shouting at each other for no comprehensible reason.