by Lois Greiman
With her middle finger, Charm traced a path over the precipice of his lip to the small indentation below, and from there to his chin. It, too, was stubbled with dark, unshaven hair, like nothing she had ever felt, but below that his throat was smooth. A trio of her fingers rippled across a taut tendon of his neck before following the ridge downward to fall finally into the deep hollow between his collar bones.
Life beat there in a steady thrum of vibration. Charm breathed to the rhythm. Resting her fingers in this little valley, she noticed again how light her skin looked against his.
"Have you met your father?" Charm had no idea why she asked the question, but it came nevertheless, seeming somehow pertinent to the moment.
She could feel his warm gaze on her face. "No. I've never found him."
His chosen words, as well as his tone, told her something. She lifted her gaze to his, trying to discern what it was. "You've been looking for him?" she asked. "All these years?"
He drew a deep breath, making his nostrils flare more dramatically. "Since Mother died."
She wanted to delve into his past, to draw their similarities into the coldness of light. But she lacked the strength, or whatever it was that allowed two people to share their frailties.
"Since I was thirteen," he added. In that moment, Charm wondered if he was so much stronger than she, that he could speak of reality with such seeming ease.
She dropped her gaze to her own fingers, where they still rested in the warm depression of his throat. "Why?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. She shifted her gaze to his face, narrowing her eyes and asking again, "Why have you been looking for him?"
There was another pause, but he answered finally, his tone harsh but carefully controlled. "Maybe to kill him."
She held his gaze, seeing there the deep well of his soul. There was nothing between them now. No artifice. No lies. Only the open, aching wounds of the past and the unhidden reality of what they were.
"I don't think so," she said softly, but he shook his head quickly, as if loath to allow her kind misconceptions.
"I did plan to kill him, Charm." His expression was hard and intensely honest. "For leaving her... us."
Still she watched him. "And now?"
Raven drew a deep breath and let his heavy shoulders relax against the headboard behind him. She could see the tight tendons in his throat soften a bit. "It's not that I hate him any less," he said, as if warning her of his lack of soul. "Maybe I've become complacent. Still..." He looked at the jagged flash of light against the blank blackness of the window. "She deserves vengeance."
He was very handsome, Charm thought in that moment. And very lonely. Her throat felt tight. Again she thought of fleeing, but she did not, for he looked so sad, like a lost boy.
"She had such an ability to believe in goodness. In truth. In loyalty." He laughed, but the sound was strained. "Her naivete used to make me angry. But now I miss..." He shrugged, looking weary, letting the lines around his mouth and eyes soften. "Maybe she needed something to believe in. Maybe it was her weakness." He shifted his gaze solemnly to her face. "Maybe it's one of mine too."
The room was very quiet but for the thunder that grumbled from afar. "Maybe not," Charm whispered and shifted her gaze away.
"What?"
There was an image in Charm's mind. An image of a mother with her son upon her lap. His hair was raven black and his eyes were closed in slumber. "Did she hold you?"
She knew he shook his head in bewilderment, though she didn't glance up to see. "Did she hold you in her arms? Did she rock you to sleep?" The boy in her mind stirred, snuggling closer against his mother's breast, and the woman smiled, showing such tender adoration that it made Charm's chest tighten and her heart ache. "Maybe it's not a weakness at all."
Thunder rumbled quietly again before letting the room fall back into silence.
"I'm sorry, Charm."
She shook her head, still staring at her hand against his chest. "For what?"
He was quiet for a moment, as if searching for words, then, "For making you cry."
Charm meant to shake her head in denial again, but suddenly she felt the wetness on her face and lifted her fingers to touch it. She drew them away, able to see the sparkle of moisture by a diffused flash of lightning. How long had it been since she'd allowed herself to cry over her past?
Not long enough, said the cynical, wary part of her mind. But the cynical, wary part had no needs, no desire to touch another human being, to share that which made her flesh and blood. She swallowed, perhaps only now fully realizing the risk she took by being here.
Charm swiped the knuckles of her hand across her cheek and pulled a shaky breath. "You must look like your father," she said quietly.
Raven's inhalation was little different from hers. "Why?"
"Dark skin." She swiped her other cheek, then ignored the wetness as her opposite hand moved of its own accord, sweeping across his hale pectoral and down to where the muscles lay taut and rippled across his abdomen. His next inhalation was sharper. "All this dark skin. He must be dark, like you?" She lifted her gaze to his face.
"Charm," he said and raised his right hand, but she jerked away and he forced himself to draw back, flattening his fingers against the linen sheet beneath him. "You don't look anything like your father."
Though she could feel her heart hammering a terrified rhythm in her chest, she refused to flee. There was something here to be discovered, if she only had the nerve. Raven watched, his dark gaze steady, his body unmoving.
Lightning crackled close at hand.
"I'll go with you." She had fought with every demon she knew to force the words past her terror, and still she was surprised when she heard herself speak.
Raven moved nothing but his head, which turned slowly, as if he had not heard her correctly. "What?"
She raised her chin slightly and very slowly forced herself to place her left hand against the bare flesh of his chest. "I said, I'll go with you."
His first impulse was to pull her into his arms. His second was even more foolhardy. But he did neither. Instead, he held a tight check on his reactions and felt some pride in his well-honed self-control. "To St. Louis?"
Her expression was one of sheer terror. "Is that where Eloise Medina lives?"
Raven tightened his fist against the coverlet and wondered if she had quit breathing again. "Yes."
"Then that's where I'll go."
Suddenly, and for some peculiar reason, Raven felt like arguing. He wanted to ask, why now? What had finally convinced her that he spoke the truth? But he dared not question her motives. He must get her far from this place as quickly as possible. He must head south and east before it was too late. Jude might be following. Clancy certainly would be, for he was not the kind to pass up the opportunity of a small fortune, even if it was someone else's. Leave immediately, said his good sense, but her hand was still on his chest. The slim tapers of her fingers were just below his mother's ring. They felt warm and gentle, and indescribably needy.
Transfixed, Raven stared at her hand now, then cleared his throat and tried to think clearly, to remind himself of his mission, of his need for haste. He opened his mouth, intending to speak, but when he saw her face he stopped.
Her eyes were downcast, and upon her cheeks remained the evidence of her tears.
Something twisted in his gut. Get her to St. Louis before she changed her mind, practicality insisted. Retrieve your reward and get out, good sense demanded.
"We'll stay here tonight," his lips said.
She didn't respond but remained very still, as if she were too frightened to move and too uncertain to question.
He cleared his throat, feeling the light touch of her hand burn through his skin to what used to be his soul. He'd been a fool to encourage her to touch him, he realized suddenly, for it only made his own desire more fierce. But what was desire? Nothing but temptation. Temptation to be used to sharpen his self-control. And she was only anoth
er temptation. Something he could not have. Something to be used to gain the greater prize—but only if she trusted him.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he said, though the words sounded harsher than he'd intended.
"No," she said quickly but didn't lift her gaze from his chest. "I mean. Last night worked out all right. I think..." She swallowed, sitting very still. "I think the same arrangement would suffice again."
Well, she was wrong! Dead wrong. The same arrangement would definitely not suffice tonight, because he knew his limitations, and one night was it. His limit! "I'll sleep on the..." he began again, more forcefully this time, but in that moment her gaze lifted to his. Emerald emotion smote him with the impact of her gaze and he drew back, feeling the force of her need like a physical blow. She had given him this fleeting gift of trust. A gift she had, perhaps, never given another man. A gift a wanderer like himself might never receive again. "Bed," he finally said with a single nod, though he mentally berated himself as a thousand kinds of fool. "I'll sleep on the bed." He cleared his throat again. "Right here." He nodded, still holding her gaze. "Right..."—he tapped the coverlet with a forefinger that he'd just pulled from the tight grip of his fist—"here."
She continued to stare at him, but the inside of her lower lip was now caught between her teeth and she was breathing again. He could tell because her chest was rising and falling slightly.
Damn! The only thing worse than her not breathing was her breathing.
Raven pulled in a light draught of air and raised his brows, trying to relax. "You could sleep there." He nodded vaguely toward the opposite side of the bed, though he didn't quite manage to break eye contact. "On the other side." But her hand didn't move. Damn again. He could feel the effects of her touch clear down to his toes, for every inch of him ached now, as if something had given his body the false impression that now was the time to be aroused.
Now was not the time. In fact, now would be a first-rate time to pull away from her—to turn his back and go to sleep. He almost snorted at such a ridiculous thought, for he was anything but drowsy. "Tired?" he asked, then noticed that his tone was a bit high-pitched. Good God, he was acting like an idiot again.
Her hand slipped slightly lower, toward his abdomen. He drew a sharp breath through his teeth and began to sweat.
Her gaze rose quickly to his face. Her eyes were very wide, and for a moment he thought she might beat a hasty retreat, but she did not, though he could feel her tension.
"I am." He nodded, staring straight into her face and doing his best to make his lie believable. "Tired." He nodded jerkily. "Really tired." He yawned. It was, he was certain, not even remotely credible and made him look like a braying jackass.
He watched her swallow. Her throat was slim and fine, her lips slightly parted and bright as wild strawberries.
"Do you want to sleep?" she asked in a whisper.
Good God! What were the options here? Was this a test? What if he said no? What if he admitted he wanted to peel that damned modest gown from her body and lick her belly button? What then? Would she impale him with some as yetundiscovered weapon, or was she hoping he would admit his desire? Was she wanting him as much as he wanted her? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she found him irresistible. Perhaps she was as randy as...
"Because you haven't eaten yet."
Her words shattered his illusions. God damn, she was worried about his meal getting cold, and he was worried about beginning to drool, like a hound on a hot scent.
Somehow the knowledge of their differences made him angry.
"You have to eat or you'll never mend. A healthy appetite is the first sign of healing." She straightened slightly, pulling her hand slowly from his chest. Its absence made him feel suddenly bereft. "Aren't you hungry?"
"No." The lie came fairly easily, spurred on by disappointment. Knowing she was suffering too would have somehow made celibacy easier.
She frowned. "I'll get Doc," she said and turned to rise.
Raven caught her hand without thinking, and though she jumped, she didn't pull away.
"No," he said, softening slightly. "There's no need."
Her scowl deepened. "You haven't eaten for days. I'm worried you'll—"
"You're worried about me?" His voice was quieter than he'd planned. If he was going to lie and play her for a fool, he should do so with some panache, he thought, but he failed to correct his mistake.
"It's just..." Her face was very tense. "It's my fault."
"Then I'll eat."
"What?"
"If it'll make you feel better, I'll eat."
She blinked once, looking very young. "Thank you."
Thank you! Raven almost smiled. It was the first time he'd ever heard those words from her lips. And there was nothing more gratifying than hearing them for something he wanted to do anyway.
But, he realized suddenly, in order for him to eat, she'd have to move away, and despite all his better judgment, he didn't want that.
"If you help me," he said quietly.
"What?" She sounded surprised. And there was certainly a good measure of terror thrown into the wild expression on her face.
"My left hand. It's..." He winced, as if trying and failing to move it. "I'm certain it will recover soon."
He watched her gaze shift guiltily from his arm to his plate. "All right." Her acquiescence was soft.
She moved away only long enough to retrieve the platter, and then her soft hip was nestled up against his leg again. It was comfortable having it there.
The meal consisted of pork roast and cooked potatoes. Charm balanced the plate on her lap and cut up the meat. Her cheeks were slightly pink, Raven noticed, and her lips pursed as she worked. It made a charming picture.
Finally the first forkful was raised to his lips. Raven dutifully opened his mouth. The meat was cold, but tender, and very tasty. He ate several bites, feeling ravenous. Perhaps lust increased his appetite, but he dared not give up the slight edge he'd gained by playing on her sympathy.
"That's enough," he said quietly.
"But you must eat."
"You worry too much," he complained.
"You fainted and fell off Angel," she countered.
He grinned, lifting only one corner of his mouth. "I'm not even going to ask what possessed you to name that mule-headed beast such a celestial name. Maybe I just fell off."
She scowled, looking sweet enough to eat, which was very confusing, considering the girl could be called a number of things, sweet not being amongst them. "He was standing still, and you fainted," she insisted.
"Maybe it's got nothing to do with the injury. Maybe I faint all the time," he countered, intrigued by her look of concentration. "Maybe I'm just sickly."
To his surprise, she lowered her gaze to his chest, letting it settle there for a moment before skimming it back up to his face. "You don't look sickly."
He'd meant to make a joke, to lighten the mood. Charm's husky tone, however, brought everything back to base reality. Which was that he was as horny as a bull moose in autumn, and she was too damned close.
Pull back. Pull back, caution warned, but suddenly he was taking the plate from her hand and setting it unceremoniously aside.
"So I fainted," he said dismissively, not admitting even to himself that he'd staged the whole thing to gain her sympathy and keep her from leaving. Besides, at this moment it seemed quite possible that her presence could cause a man to swoon. "Maybe I was overcome by your nearness."
She bit the inside of her lip, looking scared. "Are you flirting again?" she asked, her tone breathy and barely audible.
Raven stared at her, and indeed, her presence did make him feel faint. "Damned if I know!" he admitted.
She tilted her head, looking quizzical.
"You make it hard to think when you..." When she what? When she breathed? When she sat? When she looked at him? None of these things seemed wise to admit. Still, she watched him with that unique, childish stare, as if she were trying to find t
he answer to some mystery that continued to baffle her. "It's hard to think when you're you." His explanation didn't seem to answer the unspoken question that lingered in her eyes. He sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. "You're very tempting, Charm," he admitted. "No use pretending otherwise."
"Tempting how?" she whispered.
His smile had long since fled. "I think you know."
She shifted her gaze swiftly to the window, which was black and blank now. "What if we kissed?"
For a moment, Raven couldn't quite believe he'd heard her correctly. He drew a deep slow breath, trying to think, to delay any foolish reactions. He shoved the splayed fingers of his right hand through his hair again, feeling the tension galvanize his muscles.
Her gaze returned jerkily to his face, where their eyes met with a jolt.
Charm held her breath and remained motionless, afraid to move. "I didn't... I didn't mean it." She tried to shake her head, but her neck felt wooden. His fingers were still embedded in the raven blackness of his hair, while his upper arm remained parallel with the bed. The muscles stood out taut and rigid under his dark skin. Charm's gaze caught there, where his biceps flowed into his muscular shoulder. Beneath his arm, she glimpsed a bit of silky black hair. Below that was a slight hollow, and then his ribs began, row after row of lean muscled bone, curving down toward his abdomen. She swallowed, feeling very weak. "I didn't mean it," she repeated.
He lowered his arm very slowly, and though she tried to ignore it, she didn't fail to notice the tight ripple of muscle through his torso as he moved. "You're frightened again."
"No!" she denied, and found the ability to shake her head.
Raven watched her face in silence, making her feel foolish. She drew a deep breath and straightened her back, wondering if it would be wise to deny it again.
"Afraid of a kiss?" he asked softly. "Or what you think it would lead to?"
