by Shayla Black
She moaned, overwhelmed by the preternatural beauty of the male staring down at her. His large palm cupped the back of her head, his long fingers speared into her hair as she took the full depth of him into her mouth at a relentless tempo.
“Seraphina,” he uttered hoarsely. “Ah, fuck...”
On a sharp groan, he withdrew from between her lips and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He carried her down into the steaming bath, fastening his mouth on hers in an urgent, fevered kiss as he sank to his shoulders in the warm water with her held aloft in his arms.
He tore his mouth away from hers, scowling fiercely. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you, if you recall.”
She lifted a brow in challenge. “Is that your charming side talking or your wicked one?”
Sparks flared in his hot gaze. “Which do you prefer?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Pivoting under the surface of the water, she faced him on his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. The thick jut of his cock rose tall between them, the crisp hair at its root tickling her sex. She looped her arms over his shoulders and drifted close for a teasing kiss. “Fortunately, we’ve got all day to figure it out.”
His hands gripped her ass and he smirked against her mouth. “All day, and another five nights after that.”
“You think it’s long enough?” she murmured, her lips still brushing his.
His answering chuckle was purely male and totally wicked. As was the meaningful shift of his hips that positioned his erection at the hot and ready entrance of her body. “Why don’t you tell me if it’s long enough?”
He lifted her onto him, and her laugh melted into a pleasured sigh as he sheathed every last inch.
CHAPTER 14
When he’d first arrived at the villa, Jehan had imagined what Seraphina might look like unclothed and wreathed in the steam of the bathing room as he made love to her. Now he knew. And none of his fantasies were any match for the true thing.
She met his rhythm stroke for stroke. Arousal arced through him with each rotation of her hips, making his vision bleed red as fire filled his gaze. This woman had ruined him for any other. She destroyed him with a smile, with every moan and gasp, and he hadn’t even begun to show her what true pleasure was.
He rocked inside her, balanced on the edge of madness for how incredible they felt together.
Eight nights wasn’t enough.
The part of him that was more beast than man snapped at that tether. Eight nights was nothing. And they had already lost three of them.
The part of him that was nearly immortal demanded much more than that. It wanted forever.
Something he couldn’t give Seraphina.
Not when forever meant one of them would have to give up the life that waited for them on the other side of the handfast.
Real life—the one that she had devoted herself to, and the opposite one he was equally committed to. Real life, where her selflessness had nearly gotten her killed a few hours ago, and where he was the Order warrior whose work revolved around violence and death. Where cowardly men like Karsten Hemmings served diabolical groups like Opus Nostrum.
He couldn’t turn his back on the things that mattered to him any more than he could ask Seraphina to turn her back on hers.
But it was damned tempting to think about forever when they were enveloped within the fantasy of the handfast.
With his arms around her and her legs circling his waist as they moved together, joined beneath the fragrant, steaming water, forever was the only thing on his mind.
Eternity with Seraphina at his side.
As his Breedmate.
Bonded by blood.
The thought sent his gaze to the smooth column of her throat. Her pulse fluttered, beating with a rhythm he could feel echoing in his own veins. His fangs, already elongated from passion, now throbbed with an equally primal need.
A dangerous, selfish need.
One bite and there would be no other woman for him as long as he lived. All it would take was a single taste. Everything Breed in him pounded with the urge to sink his fangs into her flesh and take that binding sip.
Equally strong was his need to bind Seraphina to him by blood as well. If she drank from him, she would belong to no other male. His forever.
He couldn’t do that to her.
He wouldn’t.
Instead he guided her toward a fevered climax, driving into her body with all the hunger that rode him in his blood. He gave her pleasure, moving relentlessly until she broke apart in his arms on a scream.
Then he pivoted her around and moved in behind her to follow her over the edge.
As he came inside her on a shout, he couldn’t dismiss the cold knowledge that the clock on their time together was ticking—so fast he could feel it in his bones.
Eight nights with Seraphina wasn’t enough.
But somehow, at the end of it, he was going to have to find the strength to let her go.
CHAPTER 15
Sera woke from a long sleep later that morning feeling drowsy and sated. Sore in all the right places. She couldn’t curb the smile that crept over her face as she recalled the hours she’d spent in the bathing room making love with Jehan. Their sex had been exhausting and incredible—which, she was beginning to realize, was the norm where he was concerned.
He was a tireless, wickedly creative lover. When she’d lost count of her orgasms and was sure she couldn’t take any more pleasure, he had lifted her from the steaming pool and carried her to one of several nests of plump cushions and silk pillows on the floor for another bone-melting round.
If she’d thought watching their bodies move together in the darkness of her camp tent had been erotic, it had been nothing compared to seeing every carnal nuance of their passion in the candlelit reflection in the bathing room mirrors.
Just the thought of their tangled limbs and questing mouths had her pulse thrumming all over again as she wandered into the villa’s kitchen for a light breakfast. Jehan was awake too—if he’d slept at all. His deep voice carried in a low, indistinct murmur from the main living area in the heart of the retreat. He was on her phone apparently. She hoped he had gotten back to Marcel after his brother’s repeated messages for them to report in.
Sera made some tea and grabbed a peach from a bowl of fruit on the counter. Her long curls poured loose around her shoulders and over her bare breasts as she padded quietly out of the kitchen in just her panties to join him.
Biting into the ripe peach as she walked, she considered how much sweeter the juice would be if she were licking it off Jehan’s muscled body. Or sucking it off the hard length of his cock.
Oh God...she had it bad for this male.
He made her feel more alive than anything in her life ever had. Yes, she lived for her work. It had fulfilled her for a long time, given her purpose. But Jehan gave her pleasure. He gave her yearning and contentment, excitement and peace. He had opened a part of her she hadn’t even realized had been closed before.
Most unsettling of all, he made her long for the one thing she’d never imagined she might need. A mate by blood. A bond that could never be broken, not even by time.
As he’d made love to her hours ago, there had been a moment when she almost believed Jehan might want that too.
She wouldn’t have refused him.
They’d been drunk with passion, and in the heat of that limitless pleasure, he could have taken all of her—body, heart, soul, and blood. She would have surrendered everything she was. Without even knowing what a future together might look like once the handfast was over and they left the cocoon of the villa.
She would give it all to him now too, clear-headed and sober.
Not at the end of their eight nights, but now.
And as much as it scared her, she had to let him know what he meant to her. Even more terrifying, she had to know if what she’d read in his tormented eyes a few hours ago was anything close to the depth of emot
ion she felt for him.
If he loved her too, then nothing else mattered. They would find a way to blend their lives and form their future together.
But as she rounded the corner of the corridor and overheard some of his conversation, all of her hopes faltered, then fell away. He wasn’t talking to Marcel. She hung back, out of Jehan’s sight as he spoke with one of his fellow warriors.
“I appreciate your understanding, Commander. I’m eager to be back in Rome to assemble my team and put the new mission into action. I’ll be there as soon as my obligation here is over.” He paused to listen to the warrior on the other end, then exhaled a heavy sigh. “No, I haven’t made Seraphina aware of my decision. To be honest with you, sir, my mind is made up where she’s concerned. I don’t intend to give her any room to disagree.”
He chuckled as if he and his comrade had just shared a joke. Meanwhile, Sera felt as though she’d been punched in the gut.
He was going back to Rome. Eager to get back to his team there.
As for her, he’d just disregarded her as if she didn’t matter to him at all.
Sickness roiled in her stomach, in her heart. She shivered, suddenly self-conscious of her nudity in the center of the romantic villa. Silently, she retreated back to the kitchen and dropped the half-eaten peach in the trash.
What a fool she’d been to let herself think this was anything more than a joke to him. It had been from the start. An obligation he felt compelled to fulfill.
One he just admitted to his commander that he would walk away from as soon as it ended.
Thank God she hadn’t let herself look even more idiotic by confessing her feelings for him.
Now she had several more nights of torture to look forward to, knowing that Jehan couldn’t wait to be finished with the handfast and leave her behind.
CHAPTER 16
Complaints of a headache had driven Seraphina outside to the sunshine for most of the afternoon. Jehan had tried to persuade her that another vigorous round of orgasms might make her feel better instead, but his attempt at humor—and seduction—had failed miserably.
If he wasn’t mistaken, her escape to the daylight on the patio seemed no less deliberate now than it had that first full day they’d spent together at the villa. When she’d gone there in an effort to avoid his company.
Had he done something wrong?
Or had she realized how close he’d been to burying his fangs in her carotid the last time they’d made love and was now determined to steer clear of him?
Whatever it was, it bothered him that she didn’t seem interested in talking to him about it.
Roaming around the villa alone while she avoided him outside was maddening. He missed her, and she had only been away from him for a couple of hours.
How empty would his life feel if she was gone from it for good?
That was the question that had ridden him most of the past twelve hours—ever since their escape from the danger at the camp. Now that he’d had Seraphina in his life, in his arms, how would he ever be able to return to his existence without her?
He thought he’d known the answer, but maybe he was mistaken.
As twilight fell outside and she still didn’t come inside to face him, Jehan decided he had to know. If she didn’t feel the way he did, then he was ready to call off the rest of the handfast and try to save some shred of his sanity, if not his dignity.
He was stalking toward the patio doors when a knock sounded on the villa’s front entrance.
Diverted from his mission, Jehan swung around and went over to see who it was.
Marcel stood there in the moonlight, grinning like an idiot.
And beside him—clinging to his arm with an equally besotted smile on her face—was Leila.
“You didn’t return my call, brother.”
Jehan raked a hand through his mussed hair and blew out an impatient curse. “Yeah. I, ah, was just about to do that.”
“Bullshit.” Marcel gestured to the Range Rover. “What the hell happened to the Rover? It looks like you drove it through a sand dune.”
“Long story,” Jehan said. “Suffice it to say things have been somewhat...interesting around here.”
“Things have been a bit interesting with me too. With us.” Marcel glanced at Leila, and she bit her lower lip as if to stifle the giggle that burst out of her anyway.
Jehan glanced at both of them. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Leila tried to peer around him, into the villa. “Where’s Seraphina?”
“She’s out on the patio, getting some air. Why are the two of you grinning like you’ve lost your damn minds?”
“We’re in love!” Leila exclaimed.
“And we’re blood-bonded,” Marcel added.
“What?” Before Jehan could choke out his astonished response, Seraphina did it first. She stood behind him now in a long skirt and curve-hugging tank, a look of utter shock on her face. She crossed her arms. “What do you mean you’re in love? How did that happen? And blood-bonded so soon? For God’s sake, you only just met each other.”
Jehan glanced at her, tempted to point out that they’d only just met too and he was already ruined for anyone else. But her pained expression kept him silent.
Marcel and Leila’s excitement left no time for him to reply either. The pair stepped inside, practically vibrating with their news.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together the past several days,” Leila gushed.
Marcel wagged his brows at her. “And a couple of nights.”
“Marcel!” She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were flooded with bright color. “At first, we thought we only had the handfast in common. We both wanted it to be a success, of course. And honestly, we thought the two of you would make an adorable couple.”
Jehan noted a cooler shift in Seraphina’s posture as her sister mentioned the handfast. “How can you be sure you’re not making a terrible mistake, Leila? You don’t know anything about him. No offense, Marcel. You do seem like a good, decent male.”
Unlike his brother? Jehan wondered.
Leila stared up at Marcel, warmth beaming from her eyes. “He makes me feel alive, Sera. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel special and beautiful, like I’m the only woman he sees.”
Marcel cupped her face in a tender caress. “Because you are.”
They kissed, leaving Jehan in awkward silence next to Seraphina. He glanced at her, but she stared rigidly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Congratulations,” she murmured as the jubilant couple finally stopped devouring each other’s faces. “I’m happy for you both. I’m sure our families will be happy to hear this news too.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Marcel said. “The handfast—”
Leila nodded. “Now that Marcel and I are blood-bonded, there’s no need to continue with the handfast. It’s over as of right now.”
Marcel must have read Jehan’s grim expression. He cleared his throat. “That is, unless you want to continue...?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seraphina replied quickly. “Neither one of us wants that. We’re both very eager to be done with this obligation and get back to our real lives. Isn’t that right, Jehan?”
He scowled, uncertain how to answer. It seemed obvious that continuing the handfast with him wasn’t what she wanted. He was impatient to get on with his life outside the villa too, but only if she would be part of it.
She stared at him as he struggled with the urge to tell her how he felt and risk her rejection in front of both their oblivious, elated siblings.
“Sera,” he murmured.
But she was already pivoting away from him. “Now that this farce is over, I’ll go collect my things.”
When she sailed off in a hurry, both Marcel and Leila gaped at him.
“What the hell did you do to her, brother?”
Jehan shook his head. “I don’t know.” And then, the truth settled over him. Something about what she said. Someth
ing about how she said it...
She’d heard him today.
His conversation with Lazaro Archer back in Rome.
He cursed under his breath. Then he started to chuckle.
Marcel frowned at him. “She’s pissed as hell at you about something and you’re laughing?”
“Yeah, I am.” Because now he understood her cold-shoulder today. He understood her anger at him now. And he’d never felt more elated about anything in his life.
Rounding up his brother and Leila, Jehan pushed both of them out the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Sending you on your way,” he replied. “Don’t come back for four more nights. This handfast isn’t over until I say it is.”
He closed the door on their confused faces, then turned to go after his Breedmate.
CHAPTER 17
Sera folded the red silk gown and placed it on the bed, trying not to let her heart crumble into pieces.
Outside the massive bedroom suite, the villa had gone quiet. As much as she wanted to celebrate Leila and Marcel’s newfound love and bond, part of her was aching for everything she thought she might have had with Jehan.
Now that the handfast was over, she didn’t even have those few remaining nights left with him.
Which was probably for the best.
Being around him now was its own kind of torture.
He was already making plans without her. Plans he didn’t intend to discuss with or allow her any say in.
So why should she mourn the fact that their week together had just been cut short?
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She froze at the sound of his voice but forced herself not to turn around. If she did, she was afraid she’d be tempted to run to him. With her heart so heavy in her breast, she was afraid she’d be unable to keep herself from whirling on him with pounding fists and streaming tears. Demanding that he explain how he could look at her so tenderly and make love to her so possessively if he only meant to leave her behind in a few more nights.
