by Angel Payne
“’Tis all right,” Shivahn whispered urgently. “’Tis going to be all right. Please, Brave One; please.”
His groan exploded into an outcry. He arched against her, even flailing with the arm she’d splinted using two molding boards and the few remaining clean cloth strips from her bag.
“Nay!” she ordered him in a vehement rasp, and instantly felt contrite for it. In apology, she cupped his stubble-roughened jaw. “Brave One, you must be still. You are going to rip yourself asunder! Can you understand me? You must be—”
He only moaned and writhed against her once more.
Shivahn darted desperate glances around the cell. Dear God, how was she to keep this man from killing himself beneath her own fingers? She dared not call to the guards to aid in her quest; the rebel’s existing wounds provided enough testament of how the beasts would interpret the purpose of “calming” him.
Only one effective tactic came to mind. She had no time to ponder the rightness or recklessness of the notion.
Shivahn swiftly slid her lips to his and sealed them there.
She expected the fever-induced heat of him. She expected the sweat-drenched slickness of his lips, even the instinctual warrior’s resistance his body raised against her. She did not expect the hard, hurting intensity of the moan when it finally came up through him and echoed down through her, joining her to him with a shattering intimacy.
But most of all, dear saints, she did not expect him to return her kiss.
She first thought his mouth’s responding pressure as the beginnings of another groan. But when his good arm wrapped up and around her like an erotic tendril of candle smoke, taking slow possession of her from the base of her spine on up…oh, blessed saints, her mind shrieked; what had she gotten herself into?
Heaven, came her heart’s cry of reply. Oh aye, the oily cell and its stinking garbage and its despairing walls fell away to a world of soaring clouds and eternal stars, of blinding light and the strength of joined souls. In this beautiful rebel’s embrace, Shivahn fled this life and place; in the joining of their mouths as he urgently parted her lips, she flew to a world where she no longer needed dreams, because they had all come true.
Finally, both breathing short, shallow breaths, they pulled apart. In the following moment, Shivahn looked into his eyes for the first time. And she trembled then, for she beheld a depth of green only found in the heavenmost boughs of the tallest pines, in the deepest dominions of the seas.
The realms of an enchanted prince.
The power of his stare shamed her, but held her; she yearned to hide her own gaze’s deformity from him, but he wouldn’t let her. He looked on her as if the differing tones of her eyes were not witch’s orbs, but two priceless amethyst stones. Not only that, but he seemed to draw those stones directly into the lockbox of his soul, meaning to cherish them there forever.
Shivahn swallowed back tears in favor of an awed smile. Her Brave One reciprocated with a weary upturn of those distracting lips. At the same time, he slid his good hand forward, around the curve of her shoulder, then up to her face. His thumb found the embarrassing line of light peach freckles along the bridge of her nose. But beneath his soft, savoring touch, embarrassment became a feeling of her past. Beneath his touch, her skin felt perfect and precious…and sensuous.
When Shivahn smiled wider and leaned her face into the cup of his hand, her prince actually chuckled. “My God,” he wondered on a dry, strained throat, “what kind of incredible leprechaun have the Sidhe sent to me?”
As answer, she gave him halted time and stunned silence. Half a moment passed. Another. Only then did Shivahn’s mind claw past the shock in her chest long enough to order her body into a leap of retreat, as if recoiling from a six-foot-long lizard. The rub was, as far as she was concerned, the figure on the floor had transformed into exactly that.
The man’s brogue was as thin as Sandys’s face. No, she amended to that thought, the man’s “brogue” could not even be termed that. Dear merciful God, her “Brave One” was not brave. He was not an adventure tale prince. And he certainly was not Irish.
The bastard sprawled before her was a bloody Englishman.
Also by Angel Payne
Lords of Sin Series:
Trade Winds
Promised Touch
Redemption
A Fire in Heaven
Surrender to the Dawn
* * *
The Bolt Saga:
Bolt
Ignite
Pulse
Fuse
Surge
Light (April 30, 2019)
* * *
Secrets of Stone Series:
(with Victoria Blue)
No Prince Charming
No More Masquerade
No Perfect Princess
No Magic Moment
No Lucky Number
No Simple Sacrifice
No Broken Bond
No White Knight
No Longer Lost
* * *
Honor Bound:
Saved
Cuffed
Seduced
Wild
Wet
Hot
Masked
Mastered
Conquered
Ruled
* * *
Cimarron Series:
Into His Dark
Into His Command
Into Her Fantasies
* * *
Temptation Court:
Naughty Little Gift
Pretty Perfect Toy
Bold Beautiful Love
* * *
Suited for Sin:
Sing
Sigh
Submit
* * *
For a full list of Angel’s other titles,
visit her at
AngelPayne.com
About Angel Payne
USA Today bestselling romance author Angel Payne loves to focus on high-heat romance starring memorable alpha men and the women who love them. She has numerous book series to her credit, including the action-packed Bolt Saga and Honor Bound series, Secrets of Stone series (with Victoria Blue), the intertwined Cimarron and Temptation Court series, the Suited for Sin series, and the Lords of Sin historicals, as well as several standalone titles.
Angel is a native Southern Californian, leading to her love of being in the outdoors, where she often reads and writes. She still lives in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and beautiful daughter, to whom she is a proud cosplay/culture con mom. Her passions also include whisky tasting, shoe shopping, and travel.
For more information, please follow Angel Payne at:
AngelPayne.com
