Wicked Exile (An Exile Novel Book 2)

by K. J. Jackson

  His breath still ragged, his hand in the thick of her hair clenched hard, his words weary, near to broken. “It cannot be understood.”

  She tilted her head upward, her chin on his chest. “But it can. Tell me. I will not judge, I only want to listen. Ease the burden of whatever weighs upon you. And I can see how it weighs upon you. Ever since we stepped foot into the castle the weight on your shoulders is visible.”

  He stared down at her, his mouth ajar as words almost formed to his lips.

  But in the next instant, he snapped out of the wanton haze he was in and pushed himself away from her, his voice a wicked growl. “What is this—one of your whorehouse tricks? Suck my cock and I’ll tell ye anything?”

  The slap was instant. Her arm flying before she even gained her feet, her palm directly across his face, stinging her own hand more than him.

  She spun, shoving her skirts down and storming out of the room.

  Leave him to his own blasted morbid silence.

  The bastard deserved it.

  { Chapter 18 }

  He was an ass.

  The second the first word of that sentence flew out of his mouth, Evan knew it, but he couldn’t stop the rest of the words from coming.

  Whorehouse tricks.

  He stewed on it for two hours.

  Stewed on the words, trying to rationalize them, trying to excuse them, trying to silently take them back. The damned stewing stopped him from following Juliet directly like he should have.

  Apparently, it took time to truly understand the extent of one’s own stupidity.

  And now he couldn’t find her.

  Her room, Ness’s room, the library, the solarium, room after room and he couldn’t find her.

  He’d even visited the stables to make sure she didn’t take a horse and leave. Not that he would blame her if she did. She’d agreed to come and charm his grandfather. Hold up this ridiculous ruse. That was it. Not to have to suffer his brother’s ire. Not to have to counsel a grieving woman through the loss of a babe. Not to have to walk these barren, empty corridors alone. Not to have an arrow slice through her.

  Stepping back into the castle via the south door, Evan was at the point where he was going to wake up the entire household to help him find her, when he looked to his left.

  The old east tower. Empty of people for the last twenty years, it was rarely gone into. It’d been left to dust and decay and he hadn’t even bothered to show Juliet the rooms in it. He’d shown her the undercrofts, but not these rooms.

  Lifting the lamp he’d brought from the billiards room, he made his way into the darkness of the wing. Up a tight, stone circular staircase, he stopped at the first level, checking in the three rooms. Nothing.

  Up another level and he checked in the first room. Nothing.

  In the second room on that level at the end of the corridor he found her.

  In an old bedroom with chamber furnishings that hadn’t been touched in a hundred years. A wide, faded unicorn tapestry hung against the outer stone wall. Gilded lamps beside the heavy oak canopy bed. Dark velvet curtains extended down along all sides of the bed and the headboard had an inlaid painting of the same fanciful unicorn theme. Three beastly chests with iron straps holding them together lined the inner wall. Haphazard in the middle of the room sat two wooden chairs, the gilding on the back rungs mostly worn. Two cheval mirrors on opposite ends of the chamber reflected what little light his lamp lent to the space. To its credit, the chamber had décor—which was more than many of the rooms in the main part of the castle had. A remnant from an ornate, extravagant period in the history of Whetland.

  Facing him, Juliet lay on her side in the middle of the dusty, down and feather bed, fully asleep. Peacefully asleep. A candlestick blown out on the table beside the bed. Not wanting to be found.

  But he’d found her.

  She’d folded back the coverlet away from her to minimize the dust and dirt she was sleeping in, though she had snuggled under the sheet. Not nearly enough warmth for the chill of the night.

  The last thing he wanted to do was wake her now. She would probably fall into a renewed rage if she saw him and it wasn’t fair to cause her a sleepless night when he’d been the ass.

  But he wasn’t about to leave her alone in this cold room.

  Lifting himself up onto his toes, he stepped as lightly into the room as he could, almost losing his balance twice. Tiptoeing to the other side of the bed, he set down the lamp on the side table and cut the light.

  After pulling off his boots, he slid onto the bed as gently as he could, difficult with the brittle snaps of feathers below him. Moving forward, he slipped an arm about her waist and shifted, aligning his body to the length of hers.

  A soft murmur from her, and he froze. But then her body twisted slightly, her backside snuggling fully against him, burrowing into the heat of him.

  She may hate him at the moment, but her body still wanted his. His warmth at the very least.

  Her breathing evened out and his muscles relaxed, his arm tightening about her waist.

  It was ridiculous how fast he’d gotten accustomed to this. Her warm body snugged into the front of him. His arm around her. The steady lift of her body with each breath she took.

  Ridiculous.

  Yet undeniably right.

  ~~~

  Dragged from the darkness by a whirling storm in front of him, Evan fought the intrusion, reluctant to leave the comfort of the deep sleep he was in.

  Yet the storm wouldn’t stop, ever insistent.

  He opened his eyes.

  It wasn’t a whirling storm, it was Juliet, spinning in the bed, her legs kicking at tangled sheets as she tried to escape his hold.

  “No—no.” The flurry of her movements blurred in front of him but her voice was crystal clear. “You don’t say what you did to me last night and then find me and hold me—no.”

  She shoved at him, disengaging herself from his arm, ripping the sheet away from the tangled hold it had on her feet. She sprang out of bed.

  Directly into it, then.

  Evan blinked, attempting to clear the fog from his mind.

  Daylight was streaming in from the skinny window behind her, the glow of it setting her loose hair afire. She tried to right her wrapper and night rail, as both had tugged far to the side during the night, her right breast nearly popping free of the fabric.

  The whole of her half-dressed rage struck him as utterly delectable and his mouth watered in spite of himself.

  “No.” She stopped trying to right her night rail and her left hand swung in the air between them. “Don’t you dare look at me like that—not now. No.”

  Evan sat up in the bed, the butts of his palms rubbing his eyes, still trying to come out of his deep slumber. Damn that he slept so hard when her body was next to his.

  “I was wrong, Juliet. Wrong. What I said should never have formed on my tongue.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I was so wrong, and I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  Her arms clasped across her ribcage and she stilled, looking at him. “You should be.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “But you were wrong too. You never should have tried to trick me.”

  “Trick you?”

  “You seduced me, took me to another place, all the while just waiting for a moment to pounce—to ask that blasted question when you thought you would get an explanation. You thought to seduce the answer out of me.”

  Her hand flipped out from her waist. “So? There are a thousand things wrong about this place, and you won’t tell me what’s going on—what’s truly happening here. What am I supposed to do?”

  He heaved a sigh, his glare settling on her. “Not treat me like one of your customers would be a great first step.”

  Her head snapped back, her eyes going wide.

  His hands flew up, palms to her. “Tell me I’m wrong, Juliet. Tell me that’s not what you were doing.”

  “Even if it was, that gave you no right to say what you did to me. You knew e
xactly who you were crawling into bed with when we left the Willows. And for you to say that…” She paused, shaking her head as her look went to the ceiling. She exhaled a long breath, not looking at him. “I just never thought you would do that, I just thought…”

  “That we were more?”

  Her looked dropped to him, the storm in her blue eyes turning into ice. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

  He moved across the bed, standing up, though keeping a swath of distance from her. “What if it does matter?”

  “What?”

  “What if I told you that I put you into a box in my mind after that first time we were together in the carriage. A box where I intended to keep you. This”—his hand motioned between them—“was to be an enjoyable entanglement that would last a few weeks, and then be fondly looked back upon once you left Whetland. That was where I placed you. A box where you would stay neat and tidy and out of my life.”

  His hand ran across the back of his neck. Damn words. Why were words for Juliet so blasted hard? But his mouth continued to open. “But then you started crawling out of the box—seeping into every part of my brain, every thought I had, every hope for who would be standing around the corner in the hallways of this blasted pile of stones.”

  Her head cocked to the side. “I’m in a box?”

  “You were. But then ye escaped somehow, and I don’t think you even tried. But you’re out of the box now, and I can’t put you back in there no matter how hard I try.”

  “What exactly are you saying, Evan?”

  What was he trying to say? He stared at her, taking in the confusion on her face, yet she was still standing there, willing to listen to him even after he’d been an ass. The point of his barrage of words crystallized in that moment.

  “I want you, Juliet. I want every part of you with me for a hell of a lot longer than the rest of this week. For—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Her hand flew up, her palm to him to stop his words. “It doesn’t matter what you say, what you think or feel.”

  The line of his jaw went hard. “It does.”

  “No, my past will always be in your mind—always. Last night was proof of that.”

  He shook his head. “No, not if…”

  Her arm fell and folded back along her ribcage. “Not if what?”

  He ventured a step forward, closing in on her, her body within arm’s reach. “You know how I knew what you were doing to me last night?”

  Her bottom lip jutted upward with a glare and she shook her head.

  “You weren’t screaming.”

  “What?”

  “Your body wasn’t vibrating under my hands. Screams weren’t at your lips. Your limbs weren’t clenched around me. When you are coming, I know you’re mine. I know there is only us. Only our bodies. Not the past. Not the future.”

  “Evan…”

  He took a last step forward, his stare locked on her eyes. “And last night you weren’t screaming. You were servicing.” His right hand lifted and he swiped his thumb gently across her lips. “These lips weren’t gasping for breath, begging for release.”

  Slowly, feeling every swell, every crevice, he circled his thumb about her lips. “It’s then that I know you’re mine. Mine alone. That I have a piece of you that’s never belonged to someone else.”

  She looked up at him, challenging. Stubborn. But softening. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. It’s how you say my name. How your body shakes. How your soul is bared to me in these beautiful, stormy blue eyes. I capture part of you that no one has ever had before.” His thumb drifted downward from her lips and he cupped his hand along her jawline. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Her lips parted as she drew a breath. A heartbeat passed, then two, three. She exhaled it, surrender in the wisp of her words. “You’re not wrong.”

  His mouth collided into hers, his hands wrapping around her body, dragging her up into him. He’d come to live for this during the last week—her body tight against his, his tongue delving deep into her to taste her, her hands that were so quick to remove his clothes.

  Hell—she already had his lawn shirt half dragged up his torso. Not fair.

  He broke the kiss for only a second as she yanked the shirt past his head, and his hands went down to her body, desperate for her skin on his. Her wrapper and flimsy night rail so quick to strip from her body, he had what he wanted in seconds, the heat of her skin against his, her body naked to him.

  Wrapping his hand along the back of her head, he found her mouth again, drinking in the soul of her. Damn, he would never tire of kissing her, the sweet of her mouth, her light breath that sent the air of heaven into his lungs.

  She came at him with wanton fury, her hands ripping open his trousers, shoving down the cloth until his body was bared the same as hers. Her tongue warring against his, the need to be inside of her reached a frenzy along his cock, but he tried to slow it, steeling himself.

  She had none of it, wrapping her hand around his neck and lifting herself up along his body, her legs wrapping around his waist.

  How bloody much did she think he could take? She was going to kill him one of these times, for the toll the sheer control on his muscles took to not slam into her body like a wild beast.

  His left hand sank underneath her backside, supporting her and driving him to a new level of madness. Her mouth never left his as she lifted her hips, finding his shaft, and she drove down onto him.

  Hell dancing with heaven.

  Three steps forward and her back slammed harder into the drapery along the wall than he’d intended. She didn’t pause, her hips already writhing against him, demanding him even deeper. Carnal and unrestrained, just as he most adored her.

  His lips pulled from hers and he buried his face in her neck, his tongue ravenous on her skin as he withdrew slowly. Too slow, for the instant nails into his back, the low scream bubbling from her lips with her panted breath.

  He slammed back into her and the scream burst forth. His name, wrapped in torture and pleasure.

  Again, again.

  Her head rolled back against his hand, crushing into the dark blue velvet drape, the only thing shielding her from the rough of the stone wall behind her. Her lips parted, gasping breaths and screams intermingling.

  Her voiced reached a new pitch, morphing into insistent nonsense.

  He had her now.

  He drew out of her, the frenzy of his cock sliding in and out of her barreling him toward his own edge. But he forced himself to stop, his hand clutching the back of her neck moving up and forcing her face to his.

  Her eyes opened to him—the beautiful raging storm of the blue scorching him.

  “Mine.” His words growled. “Mine right now.”

  She could only nod, echoed screams within her words. “Yours. Please. Now.”

  He rammed into her, sending her body into a wicked convulsion, her scream vibrating in his ear as he charged into his own explosion.

  Pull out.

  Fighting it, he yanked his shaft free of her at the last possible moment—probably too late—his seed furiously surging before he was fully free of her body.

  Bloody hell.

  But so wrong, what he was missing in that moment—coming in her full force, feeling every last roll of her orgasm clenching around his cock.

  Control left him far too easily with her.

  Control he couldn’t afford to lose.

  Control he wasn’t sure he wanted to win the battle against any longer.

  { Chapter 19 }

  Dangerous territory.

  Too dangerous.

  Her body sated, but her mind on fire, Juliet extracted her limbs from around Evan’s body and slid down the front of him, her toes landing on the cool stone. “Your grandfather will be waiting for us.”

  “Aye.” Evan leaned forward, sinking his lips along her neck one last time before stepping back, and he ran his hand through his hair. “He has been most insistent on your company during br
eakfast.”

  She smiled as she slipped her night rail over her head. “I know I was supposed to be the one charming him, but I do believe he has flipped that upon me and has charmed the slippers right off my toes.”

  Evan chuckled as he leaned to his right and rummaged through the pile of clothes for his lawn shirt. “He always was one for a beautiful face and an even smarter mind.”

  Juliet glanced at him as she slipped her arms into her wrapper. She couldn’t stop looking at him when they were together, and that was the exact problem. She was too concerned with his every motion, with his every thought. And she was dangerously close to admitting to herself the very thought that would inevitably destroy her.

  She wanted Evan.

  Wanted him like she’d never wanted another person—not even the viscount, and she’d given up everything for that damn man.

  Dangerous.

  For she was a fool if she thought the possibility of a future with Evan was anywhere near reality. She’d been through this once before. Relying on one man for everything, when the entire time she should have been relying on herself.

  She couldn’t do that again. Couldn’t leave the Den of Diablo and all the security of her life to live in Scotland as Evan’s mistress. Not even for as much as she wanted him—hell—had even begun to love him.

  The whole of it a cruel twist of fate from where her life had been when they’d left the Willows.

  Grabbing the left side of the sash on her wrapper, she stepped over to Evan as he pulled his trousers into place. Turning her back toward him, she looked down over her shoulder. “Can you please nudge the right side of the sash into my hand? I still cannot wedge my right arm backward enough without it screaming in pain. It is the only motion that hasn’t come back to me.”

  “Aye,” he said, the one word a grumble. For how worried he was about her arm healing, he hated talking about it. Hated what his brother did to her.

  And she still needed answers.

  A deep breath in her lungs and she opened her mouth as he finished buttoning the fall front of his trousers. “So let me approach this with directness and not seduction.” She craned her neck to glance at him over her shoulder. “Will you please tell me what is going on in this castle with you and your brother and Ness? Something is very off—wrong—here and I need to know what’s happening.”