by J. C. Wilder
“Don’t you see it?” Her expression was desperate, terrified.
He shook his head, still trying to get a grip on what was going on.
She dropped her gaze, spied a pumice stone from the vanity, snatched it up and began scrubbing anew. “I tried to fight him…he just kept touching me…and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…I wouldn’t cry…I wouldn’t let him…satisfaction… It won’t come off…” She fairly sobbed the last words.
Stunned, Fayne tried to comprehend the horror of what she was telling him. What in the devil had happened to her? Rage pounded in his temples and a feral snarl threatened to explode from his chest. There’d been times in his lengthy life that he’d been angry enough to kill a man, but never had he taken that final, irrevocable step. Never had he been angry enough to unleash his beast on another human. But, in this moment, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to do just that.
Forcing himself to calm, he moved behind her. Reaching around, he stilled her frantic scrubbing and removed the stone from her fingers. He set it on the vanity.
“Your hands are clean, Erihn.” He spoke quietly, hoping his low tone would break her mania. Her hands stilled as he cupped them, turning them upward into the candlelight so they could see the skin reddened from the abuse of the pumice stone. “See, nothing there.”
A shudder ripped through her body as a keening wail broke from her lips. Her legs buckled and Fayne was forced to tighten his hold or she’d fall to the floor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him and supported her. Sobs racked her body and he swept her into his arms. Her hands fisted into his sweater as he carried her back into the bedroom.
He laid her on the bed before stretching out beside her. He snaked his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She curled into him, crying silent tears. Her legs twined around his as if she were trying to crawl inside him and hide from her demons. He knew very well how futile a pursuit that was.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered against the dampened wool. “I can’t, I just can’t face it anymore.”
Fayne tangled his fingers in her thick mane of hair. “Yes, you can, kitten. What other option is there? Giving up? If you give up, he wins, end of game. Do you want to give someone that much power over you?”
She shook her head and sniffed, her tears slowing.
“You have your answer. You’ll continue as you have been, you’ll keep succeeding and achieving your goals.”
She was silent for a few moments before she spoke again.
“You’re such a nice man,” she mumbled.
Fayne smiled. He’d been called many things in his life but he couldn’t remember a simple declaration meaning more to him than hers did. Her gentle admission touched something fragile in him long since buried.
He glanced down at her dark head nestled against his chest. There was something about this woman, something special, unique. She was delicate, yet strong as steel. She was shy, yet she’d kissed him without a second thought, and she responded to his touch like every man’s dream. She was truly an innocent.
He ran his hand down her back, then up again. She hid her glorious body beneath ill-fitting clothing and long hair, a beguiling mix of woman and child. According to Jennifer, she wrote steamy love novels and had over a million fans, yet she didn’t know how to kiss a man properly. She was such a contradiction, and she intrigued him.
Fayne laid his cheek against the crown of her head when he realized she’d fallen asleep. In sleep, she was as trusting as a child, her limbs heavy and limp against his. The room grew cooler and he continued to hold her, wondering if he hadn’t just handed a previously untouched piece of his heart to the woman in his arms.
* * * * *
He was so handsome, and he terrified her in a way she’d never felt before.
Erihn stood in the arch leading into the living room, watching Fayne. He resembled a statue, sitting Indian-style in the middle of a pile of pillows. Leaping flames showed his chiseled profile to perfection, as if he were carved from a block of marble.
She swallowed. She wasn’t afraid of him physically, but she was certainly afraid of him emotionally. With his gentle words and soothing actions of a few hours ago, he’d reached into her soul and stolen a piece for himself. She knew there was danger in spending more time with this man. If she dared to do so, what sort of damage could he inflict upon her heart?
When she’d awoken, at first she hadn’t known where she was. Slowly, bits and pieces of the last few hours had filtered through her mind. Weary, she’d wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and slip into the welcoming arms of Morpheus once again, but her empty stomach hadn’t let her. Now she stood frozen in the doorway, torn between wanting to speak and running away.
“I thought you might be down for the count this evening.” His voice was a quiet rumble.
She said the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m hungry.” She cringed and caught the tender inner flesh of her lip between her teeth.
A faint smile curved his mouth, and he rose from his comfortable position. Moving toward her, his bare feet soundless on the carpeting, she couldn’t help but be awed by his grace. Here was a man completely in tune with his body, his animal nature, and his surroundings. Her breath caught when he stopped at the base of the steps into the living room and looked up at her with those mysterious violet eyes. He held out his hand.
“Join me for a late dinner?”
Erihn was torn. On one hand, she was terrified to step into the light that was Fayne. At the same time, she was terrified not to. His hand didn’t waver and he waited patiently, his eyes hooded and his expression neutral.
It was his lack of expression that made her decision. That he even wanted to be near her after the madness he’d witnessed was a miracle. For the first time in her life, here was a kind and generous man holding his hand out to her. Was she a fool not to take it?
Mustering her courage, Erihn slipped her hand into his. As his warm fingers curled around hers, Erihn had the sinking feeling nothing would ever be the same again.
Fayne released the breath he’d been holding when he slipped into the kitchen. The wood of the kitchen floor was cool beneath his feet. In a house this size with the electricity out, it got cold rather quickly. Since the electricity went out quite a bit in the wintertime, Jennifer did have a small generator in the basement, but he doubted Erihn knew of its existence.
You shouldn’t take advantage of the poor girl like that.
He brushed the thought away. Erihn would be none the wiser and this was the perfect time to convince her to stay with him. He’d known she’d try and run when she found out he was staying here, and it had taken a lot of convincing for Jennifer to even allow him to remain at the house with her. They were so protective of her, as if she were damaged china. Little did they know that the heart of a warrior beat beneath her skin.
He opened the refrigerator and picked up the platter of steaks and piled a small container of butter and a bag of crusty rolls on top. He picked up the plate of leftover cheese and sausage then hooked a finger around a bottle of wine. Shutting the door, he headed toward the living room. He paused in the doorway to watch Erihn unobtrusively.
She sat on a large pillow, her eyes closed as she finger-combed her hair. Firelight flickered over the long dark strands, turning it into a river of red and gold. There was simplicity to her movements, a timelessness that drew him.
When he stepped into the room, her movements halted. Her eyes opened and she watched him approach, her gaze wary, uncertain.
“How do you like your steak?” He set his bounty on the raised hearth.
“Rare.”
Fayne grinned. “My kind of woman.” He reached for the wire grill he’d located earlier in the garage. He propped it over the flames and, with its long legs, it crouched there like a spider. He grabbed the plate and neatly flipped the steaks onto the grill.
“It’s cold in here.” Erihn sounded worried.
“I wouldn’t worry. We have enough wood for a good long spell.” He picked up the fireplace poker and dug around for the wrapped potatoes he’d buried earlier in the glowing embers. “I brought in enough wood to last through the night.”
“We’re lucky to have this much wood available.”
“Mac enjoys chopping wood. He says it gives him a chance to flex his muscles and it drives Jennifer crazy.” He replaced the poker then picked up the roasting fork and prodded at the steaks before turning to smile at her. “We have enough food and wood for days, and wonderfully stimulating company to keep us amused.”
He was surprised when a faint smile touched her lips. She’d left her hair loose so it tumbled over her shoulders, obscuring her scarred cheek. He’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t a little brown wren at all. She was lovely.
She cleared her throat. “So, how did you meet Jennifer?”
Fayne couldn’t prevent the laugh from escaping him. “That’s a rather uneventful tale.” He settled himself into the cozy nest of pillows, still within reach of the steaks. His knee brushed Erihn’s and, while she tensed, he was pleased to note she didn’t move away. The sooner she got used to him being close to her, the better off she’d be.
“Jennifer and I met many years ago in a small shop in London. We were both in pursuit of a rare piece of crystal. While I didn’t find the crystal I sought, I did find one of the greatest friends I’ll ever have in my life.”
“And Mac?” She selected a chunk of cheese and popped it into her mouth.
“Mac is another story altogether that I’m not sure I’d want to tell in mixed company.” He grinned ruefully and reached for the bottle of wine.
Erihn looked at him, her brow raised. “You realize, of course, I write romance novels and nothing can shock me?”
He doubted that very much. She might write steamy novels, but she was still an innocent about men and the art of making love. He picked up one of the wineglasses he’d brought out earlier. “You realize I’ll take that as a challenge.” He poured a glass of wine and offered it to her with a flourish.
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t respond. He could’ve sworn he saw the light of mischief ignite before she took the glass and averted her gaze. He smothered a grin when she murmured her thanks.
“Mac and I have known each other for many years.” He filled his own glass.
“How many?” she asked.
“Hundreds.”
“What?”
Fayne looked up and caught her startled glance. She doesn’t know the truth…
“Figure of speech,” he lied smoothly. “We’ve known each other so long it sometimes seems like forever.” He grabbed the fork and deftly turned the steaks over.
“How old are you?” she asked, selecting a dinner roll.
He knew better than to answer that truthfully. “How old do you think I am?” He set the fork down and picked up his glass, turning his attention to her.
He watched as she applied the knife to the roll. She’d sliced it so neatly he wondered if she’d smuggled a T-square into the room while he wasn’t watching. Methodically, she applied a layer of butter on one half. Starting from the center, she smoothed it completely to the edge, continuing until the surface was flawless.
Erihn stopped fiddling with the butter and raised her eyes to his, her dark gaze sweeping over his face as she considered. “Maybe late twenties at the most.”
Fayne wasn’t about to tell her she was off by several hundred years. “Close enough.”
Satisfied, she nodded and returned her attention to the roll. “So what do you do for a living?”
Neatly, she nibbled on one edge, each bite tiny, precise. Fayne grew hard as he watched her lick butter from her lips.
He cleared his throat. “Antiques and textiles.” He shifted when his zipper dug into his erection.
“Fabrics?” She popped the rest of the roll into her mouth, her eyes half-closed as if in ecstasy. A thin layer of butter coated her mouth and he stifled a groan. What he wouldn’t give to be able to lick it off those untutored lips.
He cleared his throat again. “I import fabrics for American retailers among other things.” He watched as she picked up the other half of the roll and began buttering it. Once again, she smoothed butter over the shorn top, taking time to adjust here and add more there. She held it out, inspected it, frowned then began smoothing again.
“Are you going to eat that or take a picture?” he asked, amused.
Erihn looked up and smiled. She turned her roll so he could see it better. “Is it not perfect?”
“I wasn’t aware one should strive for perfection in their food. Is it too perfect to eat?”
“Of course I’m going to eat it, silly. I just wanted it to be perfect,” she explained patiently as if he were a dull-witted child.
Fayne frowned. “Why does it have to be perfect?” He reached over and grabbed a roll. Tearing it in half, he dipped a piece into the melting container of butter. Raising it to his mouth, he said, “This is pretty much the same thing and I made it in half the time.”
“What does time have to do with it? Being in a hurry isn’t always a virtue.”
Fayne caught her gaze, raising the bread to his lips. “I don’t hurry through everything.” He flicked out his tongue to lick a smudge of butter off the side of his roll before taking a bite. He enjoyed the way she stared at his mouth as a blush stained her cheeks.
She glanced away. “I enjoy perfection.”
Fayne swallowed. “Perfection can be tedious.”
She frowned. “How so?”
“What’s the attraction to perfection?”
“There’s great beauty in symmetry.”
“In buildings, perhaps. Food, possibly. People, never.”
“How so?” She fiddled with her roll, her agitated movements betraying her discontent with the subject.
“People aren’t supposed to be perfect, that’s the beauty of being human. Making mistakes, eating too much cheesecake, having flaws and bad hair. There is perfection in imperfection.”
She frowned again.
Fayne abandoned his roll in favor of rescuing their dinner from the fire. “In order for people to be interesting, they have to live their lives. Where’s the challenge in always making the right decisions, never making a mistake and never taking the road less traveled? What fun is that?” He offered her a plate filled with grilled steak and a baked potato. “That’s called copping out.”
“When you make the right decisions and you strive for perfection, your life can be easier.”
“Who said that life is supposed to be easy?” Fayne picked up his steak knife and sliced into the steaming meat. “The only thing in life that should be perfect is steak, rare.” He popped the meat into his mouth and growled, “Perfection.”
Erihn bent her head over her plate and applied herself to her dinner. He watched from the corner of his eye as she cut small bites, each one evenly square. They ate in companionable silence then several minutes later she spoke.
“But don’t all men want the perfect woman?” Erihn’s tone was perplexed.
Fayne shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve had many so-called perfect women only to find they were gloss on the outside and empty on the inside. Where’s the beauty in that? I want a woman who has substance and soul. I also don’t want a woman to be perfect for me. I want her to be perfect for herself.”
Her gaze was distant as she reached for her scarred cheek. Nimble fingers traced the narrow ridge before her expression turned hard. She dropped her hand away from her face. Silent now, she turned her attention to back to her steak, her expression unsettled.
“Perfection is elusive, Erihn,” he offered softly. “If that is what you seek, you’ll find naught but emptiness and disappointment stretching before you.” Fayne resisted the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss the lost look off her face.
She looked at him, confusion written on every line of her face. If she only knew that he
r dreams were reflected in her eyes. He was filled with a sudden urge to be the one to turn some of those dreams into reality.
The lights flickered. Bright light from the two floor lamps banished the darkness, leaving them exposed. Unease crept into her gaze and she abandoned her food with a clatter of silverware. Jerkily, she rose to her feet.
“I fear I’m not as hungry as I first thought. I’ll just take these into the kitchen and bid you good night.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean up.”
Fayne caught a faint sheen of tears in her eyes. He couldn’t let her go like this. He rose from the pillows to follow her across the room. Her back was stiff as if she were afraid he was going to strike out at her. She paused at the bottom of the main stairs, turning to face him. Gone were the tears and before him stood the woman who showed only a mask to the world around her.
Slowly, so as to give her time to move away, he raised his hand, tracing the scar down her cheek, along her jaw, ending as he brushed her bottom lip. “You see this scar as a lack of perfection. I see it as a mark of great strength, a badge of courage. Whether you realize it or not, Erihn, you are a warrior.”
Shock, then disbelief, colored her features as she gaped at him. Doubt warred with fear in her eyes before she turned away and ran up the stairs, her feet making very little sound as she made her escape.
* * * * *
The rain delayed him.
Ivan Daniels parked his car in front of the Vail Lodge. It was well after two a.m. and the air held the clear, cold quality that only mountain air could contain. He gritted his teeth as he thought about the lost hours spent in Silverthorne. No matter now, he’d finally arrived in Vail Valley, and soon he’d have his long-awaited talk with Erihn Spencer about her immoral romance novels. As soon as they had their talk, Erihn would understand why she had to write the book he sought.
The book that would bring his beloved Mary back to him.
Ivan sighed at the thought of his missing wife. They’d been happy together for almost ten years until she’d read that abominable Velvet Lover book. Then everything seemed to go horribly awry. Now he had the chance to change their circumstances and bring his wife back to where she belonged, in his arms.
