by Rebecca King
It is too late now if he isn’t.
She was already upstairs with him, and on her way to his room.
But it is going no further than a few wonderful kisses, she promised herself moments before she forced herself to lean away from his loving kiss.
“Tell me something,” she whispered, forcing herself to focus on why she was there and not on what he was doing nibbling away at the base of her neck. He was eliciting shivers of delight which slithered down her spine and settled amidst the growing warmth deep inside her core.
“Anything,” Dean murmured huskily.
“Do you have to wear those guns? Are you one of the magistrate’s men?”
“Star Elite,” Dean whispered, seeing no reason to lie to her. “I am with the Star Elite.”
Pheony heaved a mental sigh of relief. She eyed the guns on his hips warily. “Can you take them off?”
“Not out here, no.” Dean grinned, and waved to the room behind her. “In there.”
Pheony studied the door behind her but squared her shoulders and entered the room. She had barely stepped into the room when long arms swept around her waist again and hauled her back against him. She didn’t want to cling to his shirt but had to because her knees weakened and threatened to buckle beneath her. Dean eased her back against the door. Ordinarily, with a woman whose good opinion of him didn’t matter, he would have allowed passion to get the better of him. However, something deep within him warned him not to be too rough with this young woman. She was far too special for rough and ready passion. Abigail was almost refined.
And untried.
For the first time since she had approached him, Dean began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, and if she really should be in his room. He wondered if she had been asking if she could stay in his room because she needed his protection. Had he misread that she was sexually interested in spending the night with him? Although it cost him dearly, Dean forced himself to really look at her, but with nothing more than the warm glow from the fireplace lighting the room, he struggled to see anything more than dips and hollows defined by the shadows of the flickering flames. What he could see was seductive, and it did nothing to help him keep a tight hold of his self-control.
“God, who are you?” he whispered. “Where did you come from?”
Pheony watched his lips move. She felt as if she had known him all her life, although how she could feel anything like that with a total stranger like him was beyond her. He was familiar to her touch. She anticipated the way he turned his head to press a gentle kiss against her fingers when she reached up to touch his cheek. She smiled into his eyes and watched faint crows’ feet appear at the corners of his wonderful brown eyes which sparkled in the firelight, teasing with rueful good humour. When accompanied by dimples bracketing his mouth, he was strikingly handsome. In that moment, he stole a little piece of her heart.
“I don’t even know your name,” she whispered, horrified that she could even be in the room with a man as handsome as he was while ignorant of his name. It was astonishing that someone like him had even noticed her, much less desired her or wanted to kiss her like he was. Because he was, she was ensnared by him, and unable to resist him. Like a moth to a flame, she was compelled to dance about him, testing and pushing, drawn to the brilliant warmth and loving kisses he offered her. She couldn’t resist the compelling brilliance of his gentle smile, or the softness in his warm brown eyes. Pheony couldn’t resist him at all. It was as simple as that.
“Dean. My name is Dean.”
“Dean what?” she whispered, loving the way his husky voice had deepened now that they were alone in his bed chamber.
“Dean Vasey-George, but you call me Dean,” he murmured gently, pressing a gentle trail of lips down her neck until he could bury his lips in the hollow at the base of her neck again. The scent of her shivered through him, and he felt his body respond.
“Dean,” she moaned when he placed a hand on her hip and tugged her closer.
“Abigail.”
“What?” Pheony frowned.
Dean knew the second that he saw the confusion on her face that she hadn’t been honest with him. Rather than back her toward the bed, he backed her into the room until they were in front of the fire.
“Pour the wine,” he whispered, then slid into one of the chairs before the fireplace. Because he was used to being outside in all weathers, he didn’t sit beside fireplaces very often. Consequently, the heat of the fire started to make him sweat. Rather than move, and probably end up falling over, Dean decided to find out if the woman was playing games with him. He yanked his shirt over his head and tugged his boots off without looking at her. He sensed her hesitation when she turned around to hand him a goblet of wine and realise that he was nearly naked. Leaning back in his seat, he smiled at her with eyes that were challenging, and accepted the goblet with a husky murmur of ‘thanks’ before watching her pour herself a goblet. He nodded to the chair opposite. “Come and join me.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
Pheony forced herself into a chair opposite him. Given the room they were in was in a traveller’s tavern, the furniture was functional rather than luxurious. They both sat stiffly facing each other. For Pheony, it was difficult to believe that they had been kissing passionately just a few moments ago. Something had happened to stop him wanting her, she was sure of it. To bolster her shattered nerves, she drank the bittersweet wine far faster than she knew she ought and winced when it immediately burnt a blazing trail down to her stomach.
Life with Augusta hadn’t allowed her many luxuries in life, so she was unused to the rich ruby liquid. While it slid warmly down her throat and settled in a flaming ball of fury deep in the pit of her stomach, and it warmed her through, it wasn’t comfortable given that she was already seated before the warm fire. Like Dean, she started to sweat. It didn’t help that each time she looked at Dean, her cheeks heated. She became even more flustered when her gaze repeatedly fell to the rippling muscles of his bared stomach. She had never seen a man’s chest before. It was intriguing as much as it made her awkward. Her fingers twitched with the need to reach out and touch him, to find out for herself if that thick patch of dark hair running down the centre of his chest, which tapered downwards until it disappeared into the waistband of his breeches, was coarse or soft. To see if his flesh were warm to touch, or if the curls at the nape of his neck would really cling to her fingers.
“Tell me who you are,” Dean whispered.
“Another glass of wine?”
Dean downed his drink and dutifully held his goblet out for her to refill it. The second she stepped closer to pour, though, he caught her wrist in a firm grip. Easing the bottle from her limp fingers, he poured his own wine before standing up.
Pheony was aware of how much she had to tip her head back to look up into his face. She hadn’t realised just how tall he was. He positively towered over her when he was so close. His height alone made her feel precious, and protected, and fragile against his masculine strength yet also incredibly vulnerable. When their eyes met, and she saw shadows of concern in his steady gaze. Her eyes fell guiltily to his chest. This time, she didn’t stop to think about what she was doing. She knew she had to make the most of this moment and satisfy her curiosity while she was here like this with him. If she didn’t, not knowing was going to drive her out of her mind for the rest of her life.
At first, her touch was featherlight, but his body responded with shocking speed. In the warmth of the room, Dean’s flesh rippled with goose bumps which elicited a shiver that swept down his spine. Despite its sleep deprived state, his body demanded satisfaction. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on the bed because the longer he stood upright the less energy he seemed to have. He didn’t know if it was the goblet of wine he had consumed after so much ale, or exhaustion, or something she may have put into the bottle while she had been bending down behind the bar. Whatever it was affected Dean so badly that he struggled to remain upright and focus o
n the delectable woman before him.
“Bed. Now,” he growled, determined that she wasn’t going to escape him regardless of what was wrong with him. When she didn’t immediately move, he used the last ounce of strength he had to stomp over to the bed chamber door, which he locked before he marched over to the bed. Rather than wait for her to join him, he tucked the key beneath the heavy mattress and promptly dropped down onto the bed. She had to now move not just himself but the heavy mattress before she could get the key and leave. Smiling with his inventiveness, Dean tucked his hands behind his head. “Go on then.”
“Go on then what?” Pheony whispered, shaken by how seductive he looked lounging so negligently on the bed. “You really are one of the Star Elite, aren’t you?”
“Why are you so worried about it?” he challenged. “Do you have something to hide? Should I arrest you for something?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Pheony informed him pertly.
“Yet.” His gaze was steady yet challenging when he said that, as if daring her to deny it. He thought he saw her flinch, but he was confused as to why she should. She didn’t look like a hardened criminal. She looked frightened, worried about something, and more than a little flustered. Because he knew that his exhausted body wouldn’t manage anything more than another yawn tonight, Dean patted the empty side of the bed. “I am not going to take things further than a few kisses tonight. If that disappoints you then you are going to have to leave. Before I go to sleep, would you like me to let you out of here? I warn you now that I need to leave at first light. I have a business meeting to attend.”
Pheony slid into a chair before the fire, unsure if she should be delighted or bitterly sorry at his apparent lack of interest. “I am alright here. If that is all right.”
“Who are you running from?” Dean whispered when she had settled down.
“Nobody. If you are happy for me to stay, I will just sit here.”
“Come and lie down. I won’t hurt you,” he urged softly. “I haven’t slept in nearly two days. I am tired and need to get some sleep.” Outside, the church bell struck once. Dean felt as if he needed six days’ sleep rather than the few hours he was going to get, but just a few short hours might revive him enough to be able to get through the next day or so. If it didn’t then he was going to drop, and Roger was going to have to find someone else in the team to investigate Finlay Morton and his associates.
CHAPTER FIVE
Within minutes of a heavy yet comforting silence settling between them, Pheony heard snoring coming from the bed. She turned sideways to study him. He really was incredibly handsome with luscious light brown hair which curled behind his ears and a roguish smile that was charming. With a dark shadow of bristles cupping his face as well, he looked the epitome of masculinity. Pheony eyed the empty mass of bed beside him. She too was exhausted but still uncertain about joining him.
“But he is one of the Star Elite. He won’t hurt me. It isn’t what the Star Elite do. They chase criminals and fight dangerous people. He is a protector, not a scoundrel,” she whispered. “He will help me.” Pheony knew that she wasn’t going to get any sleep if she stayed in the chair even if she tried. It was barely padded, and looked as old as the hundred-year-old tavern they were in.
Cautiously, slowly, she edged toward the bed. She listened to his steady breathing for a few moments before she eased onto the side of the bed. Swinging her legs onto the covers, she eased down until she was lying flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. She was hot and so sat back upright to remove her boots. Once she had removed her shawl too, she lay back down again. Turning to face the doorway, with her back toward him, made her feel vulnerable. She would much rather keep an eye on him, and so flopped over again but then found herself staring soulfully at him. With a heavy sigh, she forced herself to close her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
Eventually, Dean heard her breathing settle. He peeked at her and saw that she was indeed sound asleep. He had seen her indecision. Someone that doubtful wasn’t going to wake him up in an hour or two trying to suffocate the life out of him. What concerned him the most was that he had no idea who she really was, where she had come from, or who she was trying to escape. But he sensed that she needed help and had, for some reason, turned to him. He didn’t mind and wouldn’t until he could find out what she wanted him to do for her. He knew what he wanted to do even while his common sense told him it would be the stupidest thing he could do. Everything he was screamed at him to leave before she woke up, but he wanted her to answer a few questions for his own peace of mind if nothing else before he decided what to do about her.
Easing up onto one elbow, Dean removed the pins from her hair and took a few moments to ease the strands out of the high knot they had been coiled tightly into. They were as soft as they looked. Rather than retreat to his own side of the bed, Dean settled down in the middle and draped a possessive arm across her waist, partly because he would wake up if she tried to leave, and partly because he wanted physical contact with her.
Pheony rolled over and sighed when a delicious warmth stole through her. She snuggled deeper beneath the covers of the soft bed, which seemed to draw her deeper into their luxurious folds. For the first time in a long time, she was content, at peace with her world. She almost dreaded the moment she had to open her eyes and look at the room she was in.
It took her a moment to realise that the blankets draped over her were a little heavier than the ones in her bed at Augusta’s house. Further, her bed at Augusta’s house wasn’t this soft. When she eventually sighed, something in the bed with her moved. Pheony’s eyes popped open instantly. To her surprise, she found herself staring into the most slumbrous eyes she had ever seen. To her bemusement, they drew closer and closer until they disappeared completely the second that a pair of lips settled over hers.
“Dean,” she whispered huskily.
The memories of what had happened last night slammed into her. She was shocked that she had not just come to his bed chamber with him and had climbed into the bed too! She should be appalled, horrified, running out of the room screaming. To her surprise, she was now under the covers. At some point while she had been asleep, Dean had removed the sheets from under her and had tucked her into the bed with him. Not only that but he had removed her dress too. With her heart pounding, Pheony snuck a quick peak beneath the covers.
Dean, who was in the process of pressing loving kisses down her neck again, mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t bother to stop because unless the tavern was burning down, nothing could stop him. He was compelled to keep savouring Pheony until she told him that she didn’t want him to go any further.
“Tell me that you don’t want this,” he hissed. It was a little annoying that his mind struggled to form a proper sentence. He had to concentrate to get the words out in the right semblance of order. “Tell me,” he demanded.
Pheony wanted this. This embrace. This level of intimate affection. Him. This, whatever it was, compelled her to remained mute. She wanted to know what came next even though she was inwardly already lowering her head in shame. She gasped when Dean suddenly appeared above her, his heavy weight pushing her down into the bed. The kiss he gave her this time was more focused than any she had received from him. The emotions they created within her made her lift a hand to press against his shoulder, but when her fingers found the warmth of his skin, they lingered rather than pushed. They stroked rather than slid away. She knew it was wrong but couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. She wanted this – whatever ‘this’ was.
Dean did too. He had meant to scare her, but when he found her softness beneath him and felt the gentle sweep of her fingers against his chest, he knew he was lost. His body was already waiting to claim her, to make her his. His ale-soaked brain struggled to remember exactly what they had been discussing, and what she had told him downstairs. What he did know was that this had never felt so right. No woman had ever felt as if she belonged in his arms. No woman he had ever k
issed had made him lose his mind and his common sense like she did. Nobody had ever compelled him to forget everything and simply savour, enjoy, taste, demand, long, and need like this woman did.
“Pheony,” he growled without thinking. He mentally cursed when she immediately stiffened beneath him.
“What?” she whispered without thinking.
“Nothing. I just like saying your name.” Dean smiled to soften the chiding tone of his voice. “That is your name, isn’t it? It’s not Abigail.”
Pheony felt the name settle between them. It created a little distance, but Dean soon pushed it aside when she nodded. “I am sorry for lying to you.”
“Pheony,” he whispered, sliding one large palm up the smooth skin of her thigh, across the sharp protrusion of her hip, into the nipped in waist, and higher to the ripples of her ribcage. His fingers slid slowly but steadily higher until they tentatively cupped the underside of her breast. He waited for her to object, but when she merely wriggled against him, he slid his hand higher still until she was completely claimed. Dean lifted his head. He stared steadily into her eyes, waiting for her to boldly stare back. “Don’t lie to me again.”
“I won’t,” she whispered because she wouldn’t.
“Good,” Dean growled. “Because I won’t allow anything to stand between us.”
“Anything?” Pheony gulped when Dean disappeared and began to wriggle around underneath the covers. Her heart was hammering wildly. She wanted to object to his disappearance, but he hadn’t really gone anywhere and within seconds he was back. It was then that she felt an instant physical acknowledgement of his need for her. It pressed persistently against the smooth surface of her belly. Pheony couldn’t shy away from the evidence of his need for her because there was nowhere for her to go.
