With unintelligible words, he shifted them until they stretched on the wide couch on their sides, legs entangled.
His mouth returned to hers, this time to test her lower lip.
Everything changed.
The skim of his teeth, the pressure and pull of them, ignited hot licks of fire within her. She’d wanted this closeness, and now they were too locked together for her to move away, for her to draw back, and all the comforting sensations transformed into something more demanding, something hotter, something wild.
She clamped her arms around his shoulders, grazed her tingling breasts against the hard slab of his chest in a wanton move that she hadn’t known before this moment.
She strained toward him, only feeling—the rapid pounding of his heart against her quickly rising and falling breasts, the carnal caress of his lips, rubbing, nibbling at her mouth, her ear, her throat.
With practiced ease he rolled, and she went with him, under him.
Instantly she was enveloped by his heat, his hardness, his weight. How had she missed that he was completely aroused? She could feel the length and thickness of his erection against her. It unnerved her. It thrilled her and swept her mind away.
Hot and strong and vital as the sun was Holm Holly. And she wanted him.
She tunneled her fingers into the rich thickness of his hair, coarser than her kitten’s, but equally pleasing against the slide of her palms.
His hands went to her sides and stroked down her, learning her. He stirred and his arousal pressed against her most feminine flesh. A soft cry of yearning pleasure broke from her. Her nipples tightened, moistness dewed lower. Her whole body spiraled into aching, ever-increasing hunger.
She traced the angle of his cheekbones with her fingers, then dipped below his chin. She opened the collar of his shirt and inhaled the essence of masculinity. And she needed, more than she needed anything before in her life, to taste him.
Lark put her lips to the pulse in his throat, drew in a deep breath of Holm Holly. She tasted—arousal, perspiration, musk, man.
He groaned, and his fingers spread wide over her bottom, clenching, kneading.
She panted in desire and passion against his neck, lost in him.
He lifted her hips against his shaft.
A flash of pure physical rapture speared her. She bit his throat, savoring the firm flesh between her teeth, and the taste of him.
He groaned again, arched himself against her.
His hands pushed up her tunic until she felt them, calloused but gentle, on her skin. She cried out at the delight of it. A man’s hands, Holm’s hands, muscular and sinewy hands. And she hungered for his touch.
He inched his hands up her midriff, caressing, until he reached her breastband, curved his fingers over her breasts, plucking at her nipples.
She gasped, but wanted more, wanted his hands on her flesh, not her clothes, but found no words.
The warmth of his hands left her, and she moaned and shook her head in denial, twisted her own hands in his hair and pulled him close, found his throat again. Nipped.
Now his hands plunged downward, slipped into her trous, under her pantlettes, and the feel of those rough palms on her bottom was too much to bear. Passion took her, dragging her into the upward vortex of sexual tension toward ultimate release.
“Mayblossom.” His voice came ragged in her ears, low and thick, and added another layer of sensuality to her climb to fulfillment. She was only aware of his voice, his scent, his taste, his touch, and she wanted more. She wanted everything.
“Lark,” he whispered, then groaned as she ripped at his shirt tab, peeled it open, and set her nails into his chest. “Bélla.”
The cats swirled into the room again, rolling and hissing, bumping up against the couch, right beneath her ear.
Her mind rushed back into thought.
She pushed against him. “No!” How could she have let this happen? How could she have been so wanton?
Willing her fingers not to change the warning into a caress, she set her hands against his shoulders and pushed again, turning her head aside. His hands clenched against her bottom. She bit her lip so pain would stave off overwhelming desire.
“NO!”
His head raised and a molten pewter gaze met her own. “It’s right. Can’t you tell how right it is?”
She only saw his gilt hair, brighter than the evening sky outside the window. She only felt the strong, hard length of him pressing her into the sofa—the mass of him that told her intimately he was a large, potent male.
“No.” She could only get her tongue around the one word.
“I’m your—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “You are an honorable man. Listen to me! I am sorry I lost control and gave into a momentary lust. It was wrong.”
He closed his eyes. She wondered if she’d tempted him beyond the point of no return. His lips firmed under her palm in a kiss, and she yanked her hand away.
He lifted himself from her on his arms, face tight. His hair, mussed from her fingers, fell over his forehead.
Holm flung himself off the couch and onto the floor. He put an arm over his eyes.
Lark scrambled to sit. Looking down, she saw his erection bulging against his trous. She jerked her gaze away. Holm’s chest heaved. She hopped off the sofa and over him and staggered into the kitchen, wanting something cold. She opened the chillbox and pulled out a cylinder of icyblacktea spiced with cinnamon. Lark unsealed the glass with a word and gulped. The liquid stung her bitten lip.
“I could use some of that,” Holm said. He filled the small doorway to the kitchen.
Lark choked on another cold mouthful. She hadn’t realized until now that the kitchen doorway was smaller than usual, and that there was only one door. She was trapped.
Holm leaned a shoulder against her doorjamb. His silver-blond hair still drooped over his forehead. “Please?” When he smiled, it was nearly his usual charming one, only a little crooked at one corner.
Watching him, she opened the chillbox and tossed him a cylinder.
“Thank you.” He dipped a nod.
She curled both her hands around the glass, grateful for the cold that began taking the edge off her overheated body.
Phyll, she called telepathically.
A few seconds later the kitten barreled into the kitchen.
Holm cocked a brow and looked a little hurt. “You called him, didn’t you? There was no need for that.” He moved back into the mainspace, but pitched his voice so she could hear. “Whenever you wish anything from me, my Bélla, all you have to do is ask.”
Bélla? Bélla? Another one of her middle names. He’d called her Bélla when they’d been making love—stop that thought, those images, the revived feelings that quickened her unfulfilled body. Bélla. He’d called her Bélla. First Mayblossom, then Lark, then Bélla, as if tasting each one of her names and choosing the one that suited him.
The intimate note in his voice made her insides shiver, something she decided to blame on the icyblacktea. With a final gulp she finished the drink, then tossed the cylinder in the recycler and used a softleaf to wipe her mouth.
“Phht, Phht, Phlltttt,” spit Meserv, peeking around the doorjamb.
Phyll bounded after him.
Lark shrugged to ease tension in her shoulders and strolled from the kitchen. Holm lounged on the sofa, arms outspread on the back, one hand negligently curved around the icyblacktea, and feet crossed at the ankles.
He looked delectable.
She kept to the opposite side of the room, putting its width between them.
Though he lifted the tea for a sip, his gaze followed her.
“I’ve waited to taste you for a month—eternity,” he said.
On the attack. She didn’t want to talk about the episode. She didn’t want to even think about it.
Still, his words made her catch her breath. “You were interested in me when we met to plan the AllClass HealingHall charity ball?”
&nb
sp; He cleared his throat, glanced down his body where his arousal showed. “A little more than ‘interested.’”
“But you didn’t follow up—”
“I bumbled.”
She stared. “Everyone knows you never bumble with women!”
His shoulders lifted and fell a fraction, and his mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “I was afraid.” When he gazed at her, she felt as if his eyes alone seared her. “You are—” He shut his mouth, took a deep breath, and began again. “You are infinitely important to me.” The cadence of his low voice brushed against her nerve endings, making her tremble.
Who was this man that he should make her quiver with a look in his eyes, a tone in his voice? Who was this man whom she’d known when he was a youth and she a young girl, that she’d known of ever since?
She was afraid that she desperately wanted the answers to those questions. She licked her bottom lip and tasted where she’d bitten it. Holm tensed, then stared out the arched windows.
Lark shook her head. She had no time for an affair with Holm Holly, and until this afternoon, no inclination. If it had been last year, perhaps they might have managed an affair. In view of the escalating feud, the whole idea was madness.
And Lark didn’t want another husband. General knowledge of the other FirstFamilies was common, so Lark knew that Flair Passages of the Hollys meant death-duels. Holm had never connected with a HeartMate during his Passages. She had experienced great Healing fugues during her Passages but never touched another soul-to-soul as HeartMates were said to do.
There was no reason but basic lust for her and Holm Holly to come together—for a while. The heat of the desire that exploded between them was such that it must burn hot and fast, quickly dying to ashes. She didn’t want that. She should focus all her creativity on her Healing career. Lady and Lord knew all her skills would soon be tested to the utmost.
When she looked at Holm again, his expression was stark, jaw set. Since he’d been watching her, he could anticipate her decision.
No. No matter how her body wanted him and what he could give her, it was better that they stop this attraction right now. Being a fighter, he’d only respect bluntness. She squared her shoulders, ready to lay out her decision. There’d be no repeat of the sexual madness.
“I want you out of my life, permanently,” she said.
“Then kill me.”
She blinked, horror spread through her. “What did you say?”
He continued to lounge but raised his brows. “You heard me. I said you’d—”
“I don’t think in terms of killing.”
His voice came softly. “Of course not. You are a Healer. It is a complication that I am so attracted to you.”
“A complication you can quickly eliminate. Just go away and stay away.”
“No.” His eyes darkened to charcoal gray. “That is quite impossible. You will have to become accustomed to having me in your life.”
She lifted her chin. “I have asked to be appointed as the Head of Gael City HealingHall. I hope to be moving there in a couple of weeks.”
Stark incredulity lit his eyes. He stilled. She sensed she’d surprised him for the first time that night.
His mouth flattened. “That can’t be, Bélla.”
She whirled to him. “You call me that Heather name because you don’t want to think of me as a Hawthorn, an enemy.”
His feet twitched. She realized his languid pose had been false all the time, and wondered at his control, wondered why he bothered to exercise it.
“You aren’t my enemy. You will never be my enemy. I will never be your enemy. We both know that. And you are more Heather than Hawthorn.”
“Oh, yes?” She speared her fingers into her hair and pulled them through long black locks. She was the image of a Hawthorn.
He smiled faintly. “A Hawthorn in looks only. You have the temperament and the manner of a Heather Healer.”
“This is insane.” She set her teeth and decided to tell him part of the whole. “My father is determined on this feud.”
“I know. I can’t believe T’Hawthorn would let you leave Druida.”
The feud was more critical than her conflict with her father. Lark waved that distraction aside. “The feud’s about—”
“I know what it’s about, too,” he said. His face softened, and his long elegant hands picked up a small oblong neck pillow that sat in the crease of the couch and stroked it. “Hulver Pass. He’s not going to win.”
Her heart thumped in her throat. “Stop the fighting. You can stop it.”
Five
They stared at each other.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m not T’Holly. Even if I were, I don’t think I’d stop the feud. Hulver Pass was one of the first pieces of land our Family claimed, in the second generation. It’s rugged and deadly. We’ve cleared the rock, placed great, generational spells on the cliffs to prevent rockslides, built a decent road. And we did that because seven Hollys died in that pass. Their remains are still there, buried under a whole cliff-face of scrag. We have a memorial plinth with their names. It’s not only that it is our land, but it is integral to the history of our Family. The T’Holly died there, leaving an infant daughter, and no acknowledged heir. We won’t be forgetting that, Bélla.”
She covered her face with her hands, a despairing ache settling in the pit of her stomach. No, no Family would give up land soaked with their blood, sharded with their bones. “I can’t bear it. A Hawthorn feud. Terrible.”
She didn’t hear him cross the room, but his fingers curled around her wrists and drew them away. He turned her hands palms up and kissed the hollows.
“Bélla, my Bélla.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Mayblossom Larkspur Bélla Hawthorn,” he chanted softly. “Bélla is another of your names. A name no one else has ever called you. A name that will be unique to us. What will you call me?”
“Fool. Stup. Idiot.” Lark jerked away from him and opened the door to her apartment, waving an arm at the threshold.
“Lover,” he whispered.
Heat rushed into her face.
She blinked, then noticed a dark bruise on his throat. “Lady and Lord!” She reached out to Heal it, but Holm captured her hand.
Holm grinned wickedly. “I like it. It’s the mark of my lover’s passion for me which I’ll treasure. The mark will make up—a little—for having to leave you now, Bélla.”
He kissed her fingers. Just the touch of his mouth on her hand sent her pulse racing even as her mind noticed how smooth, easy, and accomplished his gesture was.
Holm bowed with exquisite style, then snapped his fingers and teleported Meserv into his hands. “Thank you for letting the kittens play. Play is very important. I think I will have to remind you of that. Often. Expand your horizons.” He arched his brows. “Thank you for your company.” His gaze swept around the room. “Your home is bright with color, yet very serene, very comfortable. Until we meet again.” He blew her a kiss. “Blessed be.”
“Go with the Lady and Lord,” she mumbled, unable to stay silent.
He smiled and it stunned her. She had never seen him smile like that before, with gentle joy. Lark stood frozen as his footsteps faded.
She was left with questions.
Had Ethyn ever wanted her this much? He certainly hadn’t expressed so much passion as Holm, or demanded a response from her. Ethyn had never received such a sexual response from her. Then she shivered. This had just been a kiss. A first kiss.
She’d bitten him, and at the time had liked it, the taste and feel of his taut flesh against her mouth. His touch ignited a wild, primal desire that made her forget everything. Even that she was a Healer, sworn never to inflict pain.
He liked his lover’s mark of passion? The way his eyes gleamed, she thought he might want her to bite him again, or more. More? How could she live with the woman she might become with him? She didn’t know that woman.
She’d never expe
rienced the sensuality with Ethyn that she had for Holm, the blood-sizzling, thigh-loosening, deep-pooling erotic sensations that Holm had created.
Stop! Don’t think of this. Don’t dwell on it. The situation is impossible. Impossible!
Surely the man would see that.
Phyll wobbled to her. I have done much today and want food. Meserv gets all the food all the time He wants.
“Meserv is fat.”
Phyll’s whiskers twitched. And slow.
She picked him up and carried him into the kitchen. “I’m proud of the help you give me at the HealingHall.”
Everybody loves Me there, Phyll said.
With a Word, she opened the cat section of the no-time food storage unit and dished out his special diet. “You will eat nutritious foods and become a strong, long-lived cat.”
I am stronger than Meserv. Phyll cocked his head. But no one is as strong as Holm Holly. I like him. We will see him often. Meserv and I will play together, and I will win.
He started eating.
Lark stared at him, wondering how she could convince everyone, including herself, that she didn’t want Holm Holly.
Holm stroked Meserv’s head with his forefinger and contemplated the closed doors of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon, wondering if his Uncle Tab still locked the place against him. He needed to work off the pulsing energy of his lust.
He didn’t know how he’d managed to stop from taking his Bélla’s sweet body when she’d called a halt to their lovemaking.
Even so, he cursed himself. He’d been too hasty and come on too strong. Faults he’d never had to curb before. Faults that could cost him his HeartMate if he didn’t check them now.
The first time they’d been together, he’d jumped on her.
He shook his head to banish erotic images as much as to regret his lost skill and sophistication with women. He sensed all his suavity was gone for good with his HeartMate. Lord and Lady knew how he was going to scrape through this situation with any sort of finesse.
He’d simply jumped on her.
Served him right that he ached up to his teeth.
At least he hadn’t pushed the telepathic bond.
Heart Duel Page 6
