by Boone Brux
“I’m glad you like it.” Her praise seemed to make him happy. He walked to stand next to her. “You complete this space.”
She didn’t turn, couldn’t look at him. “Thank you.”
Was that the right thing to say? It sounded inadequate once she voiced it.
“Come, I’ll show you where I sleep in case you need me during the night.”
Heat infused her cheeks. Needed him during the night? Her errant imagination conjured a bevy of reasons she could possibly need him during the wee, lonely hours of the night. She inhaled deeply and followed him out of her chamber and into the next room. Dark, heavy furniture dominated the space. Leather, jewel-toned fabrics, and fur rugs swathed his furniture, windows, and floor. It was a room for the master of the house.
He sat on the edge of his bed. “If you need me, I’ll be right here.”
She moved to stand beside him. “That’s very reassuring.” He stared at her, saying nothing. She gave him a tight smile and let her eyes wander around the room. “Your room is beautiful as well.”
Rhys took her hand. The Sisters’ condemnation of such situations flared to life. Here she was alone in a man’s bedroom—with a man. She stared at their connected hands, unable to look at him. Bless The Sainted Ones but she liked the feel of his hand in hers. Slowly, as if testing, he pulled her to him. She shuffled woodenly, her will resisting the urge to go to him, but her legs moving of their own accord. Only inches separated their bodies. She braved a look at his face and felt her resistance weaken. He was so handsome. His fingers skimmed the sensitive skin of her neck before pushing a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. She fought the urge to fidget against the tingling in the pit of her stomach.
Rhys sighed and lowered his head to rest against her chest, wrapping his arms around her hips. The feel of his arms around her while not on a horse was amazing. She wanted to be closer and craved more of him. Her arms slid tentatively around his neck and cradled him against her breast. His need for touch radiated from him. Her need for touch answered. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he sighed again, another single perfect moment.
“You are beautiful,” he said into her body. He squeezed her tighter. “I like you here. I like you with me.”
His words made her happy, but the intensity of the emotions rushing through her frightened her. She concentrated on the softness of his hair, sifting the strands through her fingers. “I like being here—with you.”
He looked at her and slowly stood, raking his hands upward over her hips and ribs. The world stopped as his hands came to rest at the sides of her breasts. She stood, paralyzed, unable to move, unable to flee. Did she want to flee? She couldn’t think with his hands on such a personal part of her body. Surely, he could hear her heart hammering against her chest.
His gaze caressed her face, and slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. She waited, eyes wide, watching its agonizing descent. Rational thought seeped from her mind to be replaced with the overwhelming desire to feel his lips against hers. Mother of pearl but she would burn in The Abyss for this.
Soft like the velvety petal of a flower, his lips brushed hers. Her eyes closed and her wayward body leaned into him. A small growl rumbled in his chest as he deepened his kiss. She wanted more, something she couldn’t name.
He nudged open her mouth and she complied, shocked by the feel of his tongue playing against hers, moist and oh so intimate. She should pull away. She really should. One of his hands slipped to the front of her dress and cupped her breast. She jerked, nearly jumping out of his hold.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered and moved his hands to cradle her back. His mouth teased hers, nipping at her lips. “Truly.”
She relaxed, opening to him again, granting him her kisses.
“I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist,” said a masculine voice from the doorway.
Chapter Fourteen
Ravyn pushed against Rhys, heating with embarrassment. He groaned and released her, but didn’t look at the door.
“I’m sorry, Ravyn.” It was his second apology in less than a minute. Thankfully, his body blocked her from their visitor’s view. “Go away. I’m busy.”
The deep voice floated into the room. “Yes, I can see. Is this any way to treat a lady, pawing her like an inexperienced altar boy?”
Rhys turned and glared at the man at the door. “Not that you’d have the faintest idea of what a lady is.”
Ravyn craned her head, but Rhys blocked her view. Who in The Saints’ name would be so rude?
“She looks quite comely from what I can see of her,” the disembodied voice continued. “Maybe you should let me have a go. I’m sure she’d appreciate my expert skills as a lover.”
Ravyn gasped. The nerve of this disrespectful trespasser.
“Or I could beat some manners into you.” Rhys’s words held an obvious threat. “Clearly it’s been too long.”
Mortification, embarrassment, and fear that the two men would start brawling swamped her. Her pride would heal, but she couldn’t tolerate any more fighting. She stepped around Rhys, intending to talk some sense into the two men, and froze.
The man standing at the door was beautiful. No, the word beautiful lacked magnitude. Glorious or breathtaking. Rational thought abandoned her, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the golden angel framed in the doorway. He filled the space, not only physically but beyond that which could be seen. Strength and raw appeal poured from him. Only Rhys equaled the stranger in size.
Hair the color of winter wheat hung to the man’s waist. Sun-kissed shocks of white threaded through the darker blond and glistened with the slightest movement of his head. Bronzed skin accentuated his crystal blue eyes, and heavy brown lashes framed his lids. If Rhys was the darkness, then this man was the light—halves of a whole. Power radiated off him in waves, making the hair on Ravyn’s arms stand on end.
“I see my beauty has left you speechless, fair maiden,” he taunted. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll give you a taste of a real man?”
Rhys stepped in front of Ravyn, blocking her from the man’s view. “Get out.”
Ravyn peeked around his shoulder. The stranger smiled. “Not before you introduce me to your lady?”
With Rhys blocking her, she couldn’t see their silent exchange. Finally, he stepped aside and said, “Ravyn, this is Luc Le Daun.”
Luc executed a deep bow, complete with mocking humility and an exaggerated flourish of his arm. “At your service, my lady.”
Rhys crossed his arms.
Luc entered the bedchamber, seeming to take up more than his share of the space. The room shrank and pressed around Ravyn and she was happy Rhys stood between her and the intruder.
“You’re as crass as ever,” Rhys said.
“And you still can’t take a joke, my friend.”
“Are you?” Ravyn interjected.
Both men looked at her.
“Are we what?” Rhys said.
She waved a hand toward Luc. “Friends?”
Rhys cocked a brow. “Unfortunately, yes.”
A brilliant smile spread across Luc’s mouth, displaying two rows of perfect teeth. It seemed everything except his manners was flawless. Rhys stepped toward him and clasped Luc’s forearm, pulling his friend into a one-armed hug.
“Good to see you, old man.” The warmth in Luc’s tone eased some of Ravyn’s anxiety. “It’s been too long.”
“Feels like a lifetime,” Rhys replied. He held out his arm to Ravyn. “May I introduce Lady Ravyn Mayfield of Menda Abbey?”
She took a tentative step toward the golden stranger.
He closed the distance and stopped two very short feet from her before executing another bow. “A pleasure, Lady Ravyn. I hope Rhys has been…” He cleared his throat. “Treating you well.”
“Luc,” Rhys warned.
The burn of embarrassment infused her face. Her spine stiffened and she scooped her hair back over her shoulder. “Very well. Thank you for
your concern.”
“How did you meet?” he continued, a little too interested. “I’ve never known Rhys to travel with anybody, let alone a woman. Says they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
A low growl rumbled from Rhys.
She bit her lip to stop from smiling. “Yes, he’s told me as much.”
“Your personal observations are unwanted,” Rhys said. “If you must know, I found Ravyn dangling twelve feet above the ground.”
Luc’s brow furrowed. “You weren’t trying to climb through her window, were you? Remember what happened last time?”
Ravyn looked at Rhys in question.
He pointed at Luc. “I’ve never climbed through a woman’s window. That was his exploit.”
Luc coughed but the noise sounded suspiciously like Camilla.
“As I was saying.” Rhys paused and glared at him. “When I found Ravyn, Icarus was intent on hauling her off to the Shadow World. At least I believe that’s what he’d planned. I didn’t have the opportunity to interrogate him during our tug-of-war.”
Luc’s expression lost all traces of humor. “Why would Icarus want Ravyn?”
Rhys shrugged. “Her extraordinary abilities perhaps.”
“Really?” Luc turned his full attention to her. She shifted under his riveting stare but didn’t look away. “I’d love to hear all about them.”
“We’ll catch up at supper.” Rhys placed his body between her and Luc again. “Now, leave.”
Luc crossed his arms. “I will if you will.”
Rhys looked over his shoulder but didn’t turn away from his friend. “Most likely Nattie left a change of clothes in your wardrobe.”
He reached for Ravyn’s wrist and pulled her so close her chest pressed against his back. As he guided her out of his room, Rhys used his body as a barrier between her and Luc. She couldn’t be sure his show stemmed from jealousy or his protective nature.
“I’ll wait for you out here.” He deposited her inside her bedroom and chanced a glance at his friend. “Lock it.”
He tugged the door shut, the latch giving a decisive click. Ravyn smiled. He definitely didn’t trust Luc. She remembered some of the advice she had heard from the girls at the abbey: Men want what other men have—and breasts. There had been many conversations about men and breasts. Looking at Luc, she was certain he could have his pick of any woman.
The man was vexing, but to his credit, Rhys considered him a friend. She couldn’t help but wonder if the devilish personality Luc exhibited was all there was to him or if his mischievous behavior hid a more complex man.
Ravyn washed and searched the wardrobe. Three dresses hung inside. After scrutinizing each gown, she decided on the pale violet piece with insets of black lace. The neckline dipped low, far lower than anything she’d ever worn. Whereas Willa’s gowns were serviceable and pretty, this dress shouted scandalous. She draped the material along her torso and snugged the waist of the dress against her body with her arm. Daring—maybe too daring. Did she have the nerve to wear a garment so obviously made for a…woman?
After quickly undressing, she slipped the soft lavender material over her head. The fabric slinked down her body, hugging her form. Her curves were more ample than the original owner’s, but the gown would work for tonight. She twisted left and right to survey her reflection in the mirror.
Well, Ravyn, there’s no doubt you’re a woman.
She bent and shimmied, braving a bit more cleavage. Most of her courage fled when she straightened and caught sight of her image in the mirror. She grabbed the material at her neckline and heaved it back up. The point was to look womanly. Not like a tart. She ran her fingers through her hair. Did the tousled mess look sensual, or like she’d been traveling on a horse all day?
The way Rhys had kissed her had unraveled some of the mystery between men and women. Heat spread through her chest at the memory of his lips against hers. Even with so little experience to draw on, she was beginning to suspect she desired him in more ways than she could put into words.
She released a soul-weary breath. Life was too short. The yearning ebbed as her sobering reality sucked the joy from her musings. Her life might be even shorter than most. Seize the day—or the night, maybe.
Timidity swamped her, and she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door. She could do this. It was only a dress. With a slow release of breath, she stepped into the alcove. Rhys and Luc stood by the railing, laughing at a private joke. She stopped. Saints be damned, they were good-looking.
She turned and pulled the door shut. Blood pounded in her ears and her arms suddenly felt awkward, as if they didn’t belong to her. She licked her lips and put on a confident smile. Her body fought her as she forced her feet to pivot and face the men again.
They glanced toward her, their conversation dying. Rhys’s smile slid from his face and it was Luc’s turn to stare openmouthed. Seize the day. She lifted her chin and walked toward them with a steadiness she didn’t feel.
With her arms held out, she performed a slow turn. “How do I look?”
The answer was written on their faces; otherwise she wouldn’t have had the courage to ask. Luc gave a low, appreciative whistle.
“Thank you,” she said, dropping into a quick curtsy. She faced Rhys. “Well?”
His eyes raked her body, lingering at her breasts a few seconds beyond proper. How about that? The girls at the abbey had been right. He detached himself from the rail and offered her his arm. “You look very nice, my lady.”
Nice? Not exactly the glowing praise she had hoped for. “Thank you.” Her answer sounded tight.
Luc surprised her by offering his arm. She hesitated and glanced at his face.
A lascivious smile stretched across his full lips and he winked at her. “You look ravishing.”
That was the response she’d wanted from Rhys. With a quick tip of her head, she accepted his offered arm, then turned and slipped her arm through Rhys’s. He didn’t look happy. Doubt picked away at her thin layer of confidence. Maybe he disapproved of the dress. Did she look like a tart? She chanced a glance at him again. He scowled over her head at Luc. Was he jealous or just being protective? Some of her confidence returned. Maybe it was a good thing to let him wonder if she found Luc appealing—maybe.
The three walked down the wide spiral staircase and entered a cavernous kitchen. The aroma of roasting meat and warmth enveloped Ravyn. Her stomach growled in answer to the savory scent.
“Hungry?” Rhys asked.
“Starving.”
Nattie looked up from where she sliced a large chunk of meat and smiled. “My, my.” She pointed a wicked-looking carving knife at Ravyn. “Don’t you look lovely.”
Ravyn detached herself from the men and smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt. “Thank you for the gown.”
“It’s nothing, dear. We have plenty. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the wardrobe room and we’ll outfit you with what you need.” She tilted her head and appraised Ravyn’s breasts. “Perhaps something a little more…well…a little more. Now sit, dinner is almost ready.”
“Can I help you serve?” Ravyn asked.
Nattie waved the knife in the air again. “You can help tomorrow. Tonight, you’re a guest of Alba Haven.”
“You’ve been warned,” Rhys said over the banging of pots and pans. He guided her to the table. “Once Nattie puts you to work, you’ll barely have a moment to yourself.”
“Lies, all lies,” Nattie said. “Don’t listen to a word he says, Ravyn. I’m very reasonable.” Another pan clattered to the floor. “For the love of the Sainted Mother, Jaspar, what are you doing?”
“Found it.” Jaspar’s fingers appeared over the edge of the table as he heaved himself up, clutching a dented goblet in his other hand. “Thought you could hide it from me, didn’t you, you meddling fishwife?” He hoisted the goblet above his head. “But I found it.”
Nattie pointed the huge blade at him. “That filthy cup will not touch my tabl
e. Go drink your swill with the pigs for all I care, but you’ll not befoul my table with that tainted tumbler.”
Ravyn leaned close to Rhys. “What’s wrong with the goblet?”
Luc plucked a grape from a wooden bowl and popped it in his mouth. “Took it off a dead man.”
“That’s right, and Jaspar will burn in The Abyss for such sacrilege.” Nattie said.
“Wasn’t the dead man one of your suitors, Nattie?” Luc goaded.
The healer jabbed the knife at him. “Hush before I cut the tongue from your mouth. He was a friend, nothing more. And Jaspar stole the goblet before his body was cold.”
Luc gave Jaspar a nod of support. “Well, it’s not really stealing if the man was dead.”
Ravyn scooted closer to Rhys, putting distance between her and Luc. He certainly enjoyed antagonizing people. Jaspar picked up the wine pitcher.
Nattie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you do it, old man.”
The pitcher hovered above the offending cup. Jaspar glared at the woman and poured.
Nattie leveled the carving knife at his heart. “I’m warning you.”
Jaspar set the pitcher back on the table and, with aching slowness, brought the cup to his lips. Nattie sputtered and hissed, spitting obscenities as he drained the goblet. In a show of supremacy, he slammed the vessel on the table and wiped his arm across his mouth, his stare never leaving hers. He refilled the tankard, clutched the cup between both hands, and shuffled from the room.
“Cur!” Nattie shouted to his back.
“Hag!”
Ravyn looked from Rhys to Luc, and then over to Nattie.
The older woman shrugged. “Keeps him on his toes when I hide his stuff. Don’t want his mind getting muddled.”
“You provoke fights?” Ravyn asked.
“Every chance I get.” Nattie turned back to her meat.
Never had Ravyn been around people who were so…loud. Life in the abbey had been quiet and full of contemplation. She picked up the wine pitcher and filled her goblet. “Well, there’s no doubt life here will be interesting.”
