by Brenna Lyons
“If I don’t find a way to appease you and learn to live in peace with you, I fail her. I gave my word not to be the breach between her and her family. So, you tell me, what else can I do to keep my vow to her?”
“You really would do anything I asked to keep Michelle happy.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do these last five months? I gave my vow to do anything you requested of me.”
“Anything within reason,” James qualified.
“No. Michelle said that. I said ‘anything’ and I meant it.”
“And you keep every vow.”
“When I can.” If you let me.
“What does Michelle want?” he asked honestly.
“It’s not my place—”
“Tell me.”
He nodded, recognizing the bark of an order well enough. “She wants your acceptance of our marriage. Not tolerance or grudging notice but respect for our union.”
“And?”
Devon felt his face heat.
“And?” he repeated, less patient for a response.
“That will be enough for now.”
“No. It won’t. She hates me, and it’s not just the way I’ve treated you. What have I done to make her loathe me this way? For the last four months, it’s been getting worse. Tell me. What is it that I’ve done to her in particular?”
“A child.”
James gaped at him.
“It’s not unexpected. For months, she’s held her sister’s baby, knowing the new one is growing inside, and wanted one of her own. I assured her that, when the six months are up and we reach Kaufmann—”
“Tonight? I’m not blind, Devon. Some nights are worse than others, and I don’t know why.”
“She knows her cycle as well as I do,” he replied simply.
“If I gave you my leave?”
“I wouldn’t deny her. You know I wouldn’t be able to.”
“It’s been maddening, hasn’t it? You know she wants a child, and your drives demand you give her one, but you don’t have leave to do it.”
Devon ground his teeth. “I am sane, Lord Armen.”
“Yes. You are.”
His heart stuttered. “What did you say?”
“You’re sane. We should probably have had this discussion long ago.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ve proven yourself. You’ve more than proven it.”
“Because, not giving her a child—”
“I know how hard that is, but... Do you know why I mistrusted you?”
“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” he snapped. “I wouldn’t have trusted me, either.”
“I don’t think so...that it’s obvious, I mean. You are so stoic and controlled, I mistook it for a lack of remorse. Even in those first moments, I saw shock and resignation to punishment. I saw more misery in this interview than in the last six months combined, including when you asked me for a mad cabin.”
Devon winced. “Controlled was what you wanted, what you demanded,” he grumbled.
“Be careful what you ask for, I suppose. You’re a good man, Devon, and I’ve done you both a disservice.”
He waited, barely breathing, silently begging each god in order that this was really the end of his torture.
“Go to her. You are released from all restrictions.”
“All?” he repeated, biting back relieved laughter.
“I trust you’ll make a good husband and father, given the chance.”
Devon took to his feet and offered James his hand, murmuring his thanks before sprinting for Michelle’s—their bedroom.
* * * *
Michelle looked up at the sound of footsteps pounding down the hall, gaping as Devon charged in. He shut the door behind him and strode toward her, peeling off his leather jacket and dropping it to the floor.
She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.
He chuckled. “Don’t be. Everything is—”
“Horrible,” she sobbed. “It’ll be different in Kaufmann—”
His mouth closed on hers, ravenous. Michelle wanted to scream in frustration at that. She pushed away the image of him pulling out the condom, of both of them pretending it wasn’t there, dreaming of the child they’d conceive in Kaufmann range.
“I have so much to tell you,” Devon breathed.
“Just love me,” she pleaded. She didn’t want to hear how her father had insulted Devon this time. She couldn’t bear to hear it again.
He groaned at that, peeling off her clothes, then his own. “I’m going to make love to you all night, Michelle. Say you want me to. Say you want my son.”
“You know I do.” More than anything. If only her father would allow it.
It would be different in Kaufmann range. They’d be free to conceive a child next month. If Devon wanted to pretend as they always had until then, she wouldn’t steal the illusion from him, though she ached for the reality.
Another ache soon overpowered that one, the insistent need to have him inside her, latex or no latex. Devon tasted and touched all of her, first leading her to the bed, then on it.
Michelle opened her eyes in shock as he entered her...without protection. “You can’t,” she whispered. If Devon broke the conditions placed on him, her father could—and likely would—kill him for it.
He chuckled, a dark sound of arousal. “I told you that I had a lot to tell you, but you didn’t want to listen.” He slid to the hilt, abruptly serious. “Now...are you sure you want this?”
She stared at him. “We actually have my father’s blessing?”
“For anything our hearts desire, my love. What do you want?”
“He said it?” That seemed too good to be true.
Devon nodded, happier than she’d seen him since they’d sealed. “That I’m sane. That I’ve more than proven myself. That he’s been mistaken all this time and has done us a disservice in it. That... That I’m released from all restrictions he’d placed on me.”
Michelle threw her arms around his neck, laughing and crying at the same time.
“We’re coming back to Armen,” he whispered. “You know your father only wanted to protect you.”
She scowled. “If he behaves,” she decided. “Skipping a few months...or even the first year would do him a world of good, I think.”
“Michelle,” he reasoned.
She smiled at a wicked thought, arching against him purposefully.
Devon groaned, moving inside her, his eyes closed in pleasure. “Are you sure?” he repeated.
“We’re spending the next year in Kaufmann,” she insisted.
“Don’t antagonize him,” Devon pleaded. “Just make peace.”
“I’m not antagonizing,” she replied innocently. “Our son or daughter will be a Kaufmann. It’s only right that he or she be born and blessed in Kaufmann.”
He laughed heartily, opening deep brown eyes that glittered in mischief. “Anything for you.”
Melissa: Heart of A Warrior
A note from the author
The fun in Night Warriors books is usually watching a Warrior take a mate, but once in a while, a Warrior-raised daughter doesn’t choose a Warrior to marry. Since “Devon’s Price” centered on Michelle Armen, I thought I’d give a glimpse into her twin, Melissa, deciding to marry.
Of the two, Melissa is the more sedate in many ways, but while Michelle is the one who went into the ‘family business,’ Melissa is the one who can’t seem to stay out of the line of fire.
I actually started writing “Heart of a Warrior,” because Melissa heartily disagrees with Michelle’s assertion that Mack couldn’t be mistaken for a Warrior if he tried. I’ll leave that determination up to you, fair reader.
Keep in mind that Mack isn’t a Warrior. In fact, he has no idea what Warriors are. He’s just some poor schmuck who has fallen in love with a beautiful woman, a woman unlike any he’s met before.
In the original draft of �
�Heart of a Warrior,” I started the piece with Melissa returning home after the first time she made love with Mack. Strangely enough, Mack and Melissa decided that wasn’t early enough, and “Meet the Human Warrior” was born. In this re-release, I’ve worked “Meet the Human Warrior” into “Heart of a Warrior.”
Happy reading!
Brenna
Chapter Nineteen
February 28, 2002
Melissa’s lips left his, but they hovered close, nearly brushing over Mack’s, offering promises of delights in some secluded place, if she were willing again.
“My place or yours?” Hell, questions like that hadn’t worked so far, but at least they kept Melissa laughing, and Mack would fight fire to hear Melissa laugh. The best he could expect was some serious petting, but he hoped someday she’d allow him more. She was definitely in the mood for that petting tonight; her kisses and slumberous eyes announced that clearly.
She licked her lips, her voice a caress against his lips. “Yours.”
Mack could hardly believe his ears. He had to be dreaming. “You actually said ‘yours?’” he asked.
Melissa smiled against his lips. “Um. Yeah. I think I did.”
He pressed her back against her car, urging her lips apart in a heated kiss that left them both breathing harshly. It was always easier to make himself clear in action than words where Melissa was concerned.
“We’ll be doing more of that, I hope,” she managed.
“Oh, yes. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
There was no question that she wouldn’t spend the night. Melissa described her family as ‘highly overprotective.’ While he’d like to laugh at the concept of them sending bounty hunters to find her, she seemed sincere about the men she called ‘Mayer Trackers,’ and so he couldn’t find it in him to chuckle at the mental image.
Melissa nodded and handed over her keys.
The trip to his apartment couldn’t have been short enough. His body reacted fiercely to the knowledge that Melissa wouldn’t have agreed unless she planned to take full advantage of the solitude with him.
Whether they ended up making love or just engaged in heavy petting in a more conducive environment for it, this was a major step for them. So far, she’d shied from visiting his place...or inviting him to hers. Petting, while enjoyable, had always been accomplished in cramped cars or on blankets in darkened parks and similar locales.
Mack pulled into a parking space and got settled without conscious thought about it. His consciousness was locked on Melissa’s mouth caressing his jaw, her breasts pressed to his arm.
“Inside,” he managed. He wasn’t about to settle for his hands under her clothing in her car when he could get at least that much in a warm, lighted apartment.
She nodded and slid from the car.
He guided her inside, locked the door, then removed her suede jacket and hung it next to the door. Melissa did the same for him, then removed his tie and tossed it onto the hall table.
Mack scanned his apartment, trying not to presume too much. “Where do you want to...play?” Even if she said the couch, it was better than the back seat of one of their compact cars.
Her smile widened. “Apartments usually have beds.”
He bit back a shiver of delight, leading her to the bedroom. Melissa didn’t waste time. She kicked off her modest heels and lowered herself onto the spot he typically settled to sleep in. Mack toed off his own shoes and sat next to her, at a loss for how to proceed.
Michelle didn’t appear lost, despite her lesser sexual experimentation. Her mouth brushed his, and her hands worked the buttons on his dress shirt open.
Their kiss was slow and deep, her touch drugging. She explored all of his exposed skin, seemingly mapping him as he inched her suede skirt up her thighs.
Her mouth left his. “Take it off,” she breathed.
“My shirt?”
Michelle chuckled, stretching lazily. “That, too.”
“Your skirt?” he asked, wanting to be certain. They were too close to miscommunicate now.
She licked her upper lip, her expression hungry. “For now.”
Mack hiked his shirt over his head, tossed it in the general direction of the dresser, then worked the button and zipper on her skirt. Melissa raised her hips, aiding him in removing it. Then they were more undressed together than they’d ever been.
He stared at her lace-trimmed panties, his mouth watering to get past those as well. If her scent was any indication, she’d taste divine. She spread her legs, giving him a better view, baring a stray golden curl or two peeking through the lace.
“Do you like looking?” she asked.
“Very much. You’re...beyond beautiful.”
Melissa laid back, and he followed her down, nestling his cock to her heat, capturing her gasp in a kiss. She didn’t back down, pressing further onto his rigid length.
Mack forced himself to slow, deep kisses, though his instincts demanded he pull the clothing between them away and thrust inside her as soon as possible. Her wandering hands and impassioned cries didn’t help, and when her thighs wrapped around his waist, her calves nestled to his ass, he nearly gave in.
She broke away, staring at him, seemingly confused.
Maybe, I’m rushing her into this. “Should I open a bottle of wine?” he offered.
“Yes. That would be nice.” Melissa eased her legs from around him, biting her lip as he retreated.
His cock ached, and he had to adjust the package before heading to the kitchen. Her flushed face darkened as he did it, and Mack hardened further, though moments before, he would have sworn under oath he could get no harder.
“Hurry back,” she requested in a tremulous voice.
That statement was enough to convince Mack to make record time in opening the wine, grabbing two glasses and returning. He stopped in the bedroom doorway, rapt on the scene, nearly dropping the bottle in his inattention.
Melissa had unbuttoned her blouse, allowing him just a glimpse of the bra that matched the panties. She waited patiently for his reaction, her expression hopeful.
“Mack?” Her voice was uncertain, perhaps even a little fearful.
“Do you really want the wine?”
“Maybe later.”
He nodded, setting his load awkwardly on the dresser to his right, one of the glasses toppling onto the towel he’d left there that morning. “Take it off. I want to look for a minute.” And, this way, he wouldn’t rip her clothes off of her body.
She shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, pulling it off the ends of her fingers and tossing it to the floor beyond the bed. There was only a momentary pause. Then her hands went to the bra clasp.
“If you do that, my trousers come off,” he warned her.
Her hungry look proved to him that he’d never been fully-erect in his life.
“They’re cutting off blood flow to my only working brain,” he gasped, trying for humor instead of the pitiful plea that came out.
Melissa slid off the bed and strolled to him, stroking a hand over him that nearly brought him to his knees. Mack groaned, wrapping his hands around the back of her head.
“Remove it,” she whispered.
“My trousers?” The thought of her watching him undress had him throbbing.
“No. My bra.”
Before he could question that, Melissa had unbuttoned his trousers and was easing the zipper down. Mack hesitated only a moment, then unhooked her bra, trailing his fingertips down her arms as he slid it to her wrists. One hand at a time left her work at easing his trousers down, allowing the bra to fall away between them.
“English rose,” he whispered, identifying the color of her nipples as a close match for the suede he’d removed. How many times in the last few weeks had he stroked those nipples—through her clothes or beneath them—and wondered what color they were?
“Boxers,” Melissa noted, that same undertone of awe in her voice.
That did it. He kissed her,
a hungry kiss, fondling her breasts, groaning as she pushed his trousers down his thighs. Stepping on the hems, he worked them the rest of the way off.
Mack guided her back to the bed, halting as the mattress forced them together. He slid his hands from the center of her back, down beneath the waistband of her panties, pulling her against his length. Her eyes closed on a moan.
“If you don’t want me to finish, stop me now,” he requested, using the last of his thinking mind to compose and issue the words.
Melissa eased to the side, and he released her, stepping back. Just as he opened his mouth to offer to walk her to her car, she moved again.
She stretched out on the bed, her hair fanned over his pillow, easing her panties down slowly. Inch by inch, her pinked skin and golden curls appeared, holding his undivided attention.
Melissa gasped, and Mack dragged his gaze to her face, closing the mouth he’d been too shocked to close earlier. Her eyes were locked on the length of him, currently tenting his boxers.
It took his muddled mind a full five seconds to register that she wanted to see him nude—or that she wanted him nude to facilitate sex. Mack hooked his fingers in the waistband and stretched it out around his aching cock. He eased them down slowly, watching her reaction as he uncovered the purpled head and finger-width after finger-width of the shaft.
Melissa raised her legs, and his gaze locked on the patch of curls between her slightly-parted thighs. She slid the panties off and started to lower her legs.
Mack knelt on the bed, trapping them against his body. She stared at him, questioning silently. He eased her knees further apart, feasting his eyes on her spreading body.
Without explanation, he sank his mouth to her weeping core, sampling her. Melissa cradled his head to her, begging for more with every tip of her hips and moan. She gasped his name, her hands tightening, pulling his hair and sending sweet twinges of pain through him in the process. She rolled her hips instinctively.
