Kathleen Creighton - The Rebel King

His eyebrow shot up. "Do you now?"

Guilt made a hard lump in her chest; rejection of the guilt made her breathlessly angry. "Yeah. You're thinking I was too hard on him-my dad. After all, he didn't abuse me, he gave me presents, put up with all my crap, and I was a spoiled, thankless brat. Well…you'd be right. But there are two things-two…things, okay? One. I was just a kid. And two… he robbed me of my mama. My mother. I can't forgive him for that. I won't forgive him for that."

She was shaking, suddenly too angry to sit still. She would have jumped up, paced up the stairs, run down them…anything to release the pent-up emotions…the rage and the sorrow. But Nikolas's hands were resting on her shoulders, massaging, kneading, compelling…keeping her firmly anchored. And so she gave in to their gentle prompting and leaned her head against his thigh instead, and sighed and closed her eyes. And it felt so good… .so safe there…the tears that had been threatening all day came seeping through and puddled beneath her lashes.

"And did you find her?" Nikolas asked softly, his fingers lightly stroking. "Your mum?"

"How did you know-"

"Hush-" a chuckle stirred through her hair, like a sweet warm breeze "-d'you think you're the only one with empathy? Obviously you went to find her. It's what I'd do."

"I did." Her whole body ached now with the memory… memories of the last time she'd cried. She gave a liquid, hiccupping laugh. "I guess you could say it was…my first missing persons case. And my first failure. Because I was too late. Mama was gone. She died just a few months before I got there. She'd left me…" she drew a shuddering breath "…her saxophone. It's all I have of her now."

Nikolas stared at the stained-glass window at the opposite end of the great hall until his eyes burned dry in their sockets. He asked himself when the conviction had come to him that what he felt for the woman sitting quietly nestled against him, her head resting on his thigh, her soft hair wafting like a baby's breath over his hands…that what he felt for this woman, perhaps the sexiest and most desirable woman he'd ever known…wasn't at all about sex. Well, at least, not all about sex.

Had it ever been?

He thought about that magical long-ago encounter on the balcony of a Paris hotel, and the events that had brought that fantasy creature back into his life, this time as a very real, veiy human, flesh-and-blood woman. Was she a part of it, this destiny with which he seemed to be on a collision course?

His mouth tightened and a little quiver of resolve skated down his spine. She would be a part of his future. He would make sure of that.

With that resolve came emotion, emotion so powerful he didn't know what to do with it, except wrap the cause of it tightly in his arms and bury his face in the soft curve of her neck, close his eyes and breathe the sweet scent of her into his lungs, let her warmth seep into his pores and the shape of her body and the texture of her skin imprint themselves eternally on his mind and his senses, make her his in every way he possibly could. In every way…

The wave of desire that hit him then was unlike anything he'd ever known. It grew out of those overwhelming emotions like a tsunami out of an earthquake… a natural force, impossible to ignore or defend against or deny.

"Memories," he said, and she turned her face up to him, eyes tear-glazed and questioning. He touched her face…cradled her cheek in his hand and answered in a thickened voice, barely able to get the words out, "Memories of your mother- the ones you told me about. You have them, too." At least you have those…

But he didn't say that aloud.

Rhia stared at him, stared at him so hard her eyes burned, as if his image were being laser-printed on her retinas. Memories… Her whole body ached with the thought: That's all I will have of you, too, one day… soon.

And then, through the blur of unshed tears, she saw the pain in his shadowed eyes. She hadn't believed it possible to hurt more than she already did, but in that moment her own sense of grief felt as if it had doubled. Oh, selfish Rhee! Thinking only of your own loss. Talking about your own past. What about his? This day, this trip, this time-it's for him, not you!

She placed her hand over the bigger one that lay warm on her cheek and whispered brokenly. "I do have memories. But you don't. You don't have anything of your-"

"Hush…" His voice sounded harsh, even angry. "Can't miss what you've never had."

They both knew it was a lie.

She started to say something-to tell him so, maybe-but his mouth came down and she let it take hers, so desperately, achingly glad to have him touching her that nothing else mattered. I'll have this, at least, she thought, and as she opened her mouth to him she gathered the memory up and tucked it away in her heart like a greedy child hiding candy.

Was it just her natural gift of empathy that made her respond to his kiss like dry tinder to a match, Nikolas wondered, or could she possibly be as hungry for him as he for her?

What did it matter? He only felt the burn of it, the heat of her body colliding with his as she turned in his arms and reached for him… the sting and sizzle of her fingers on his skin as she half lay across his lap, her mouth surging up to his, meeting the rhythmic thrusts of his tongue with little whimpering pulses of her own. Desire-his need of her-ripped through his body with cruel force, doubling him over like a bad cramp. A groan slipped unguarded from his throat.

Rhia tore her mouth from his and gasped, "Nik, what-"

But he caught her to him, hid her face against his throat and whispered hoarsely, "Nothing…nothing, my love. I just want you so badly…" It wasn't what he wanted to say.

She could feel his body shaking with silent, rueful laughter. "I want you, too." she whispered back, shaking, too. though not with laughter.

"This is insane…" But his hand dove under her jacket, plucked her shirt free from the waistband of her pants, and then his fingers were thrusting beneath it and spreading urgently over her flesh…and the abrasion felt so sweet and good it made her want to weep. "I feel like a bloody teenager."

"Nik, we're on the damn stairs. We'd prob'ly kill ourselves." She was laughing now. clinging to him. spotting his shirtfront with her tears.

"And I, for one, would die blissfully happy."

"And…Elliot's going to be back any minute."

A heavy groan rumbled from his chest. "Woman, you are entirely too practical-minded for my-" He stopped.

As tuned to his moods as she was. she felt the change in him instantly. She tensed and drew back to look at him. "What? Nikolas?"

He was looking over her head. his expression a study in conflicting emotions. His eyes flicked down at her and he smiled, if somewhat crookedly. "I don't think Elliot's going to be coming for a while." He nodded toward the front of the hall.

She lay back in his arms and turned her head reluctantly to follow his gaze. "What…"

"Look at the stained-glass window. The light's gone."

"It can't be that late." She was struggling to sit up.

"It isn't, dear heart. We appear to be fogbound."

"You're kidding." She was squirming in his embrace, trying to reach the cell phone on her belt.

"Trust me," he said, "if there's one thing I know about, it's fog." There was a cryptic note of irony in his voice.

She paused…stared at him, thinking she should feel dismay, trying hard not to grin, understanding fully the ambiguous look on his face. "So…" she said in a low voice, thoughtfully weighing the slender device in her hand, "you're saying we're stuck here? As in…stranded?"

He gave her a sideways look and nodded. "Uh-huh. For the night, at least."

"Bummer," she said somberly. And deliberately tucked the phone back into its case.

He caught her to him, taking her breath away, his laughter gusting into her hair. Then, for a few minutes they simply held each other, rocking slightly, laughing in wonder at the unexpected gift they'd been given. A gift of time, Rhia thought… like happening upon a lovely little tropical island in a sea of chaos.

When the laughter died, finally, they drew back and looked at each other. Just…looked. Nikolas let his fingers trail down the side of her face, tracing the curve of her cheek…the velvety line of her jaw…the incredibly, impossibly perfect shape of her mouth. And he shook his head, dazed to silence by the enormity of what he felt inside.

"What?" She was gazing at him, her eyes as guarded as he knew his must be.

"Nothing," he murmured. "It's just that you're so damned beautiful."

She gave a tiny squeak of laughter, and laid her fingertips against his lips, reverently, the way people do when they petition a saint. "I think you're beautiful, too."

He closed his eyes and exhaled gustily. "God, I want to kiss you so badly. But if I do, I'm absolutely certain I won't stop, and intriguing as the idea of making love to you on the stairs of Vladimir's castle might be… I think we'd better find a place to spend the night while we can still see our hands before our faces."

There was a long pause during which neither of them moved. Nikolas kissed her nose and said tenderly. "Rhee- my dearest-I need you to be strong and get up, because I don't think I can bring myself to let go of you otherwise."

"Me! What makes you think I'm stronger than you are?" Her eyes narrowed. "What about that legendary willpower of yours?"

He snorted. "Evidently I have none whatsoever where you're concerned. All right, then-we'll do this together. Ready? One… two…"