A Kiss of Fire: A Kiss of Magic Book 2 (12 page)

“No…no! It was more than that. You know that it was.”

“I know nothing of the kind. Now let me go and leave me alone!”

“Stop this! Stop fighting me!”

“Then let me go! Please,” she begged him. “Let me go home. I want to go home!”

“There is more for you here if you would but open yourself up to the idea! If you would just—“

“No! There is nothing for me here!”

“Yes there is!”

He hauled her up against his body, her hands pressing flat against his chest, pushing herself away…or trying to. He was too strong for her. He clasped her with one hand around her body and the other diving deep into her mussed hair, he held her head and sealed his mouth over hers.

She cried out against his lips, trying to wrench herself away, but it was to no avail. His mouth on hers was relentless. Demanding she open herself up to him and his command of her, he seared her with his heat. In fact, that was what she felt most from him. His heat. Burning and fierce, rolling over her in singeing waves. His ability over his pyrokinetic abilities was seemingly out of his control…or so it felt as he scorched her from the outside inward.

Ariana was, of course, resistant to the heat and to fire, but she could not seem to make herself impervious to this. She wanted to repel him—wanted to continue to hate him—but he was making it so difficult to despise him with that pure blind hatred she had felt at the beginning of this. He had stolen it away by making her understand him and his motivations better. She wanted to abhor him for forcing himself upon her, but she couldn’t help but admit it was a force she found compelling and arousing. He commanded the moment, commanded her, and it felt good to give control over to someone else for a change.

Tears burned into her eyes as her mouth opened beneath his, as his tongue swept in and took control. Deep, deep control. He kissed her until she was blinded by her own need, victim to her own lust. Her whole body ached, her mind blank of anything save the sweeping heat of him in her mouth and against her body. Where had all her resistance gone? How had it fled her and abandoned her so quickly? What was it this man could do to her?

She realized she was about to find out when he broke from her mouth, panting hard for breath and pressed his forehead to hers. He met her eyes, his black pupils wide…so wide their usual oval shape was nearly indistinguishable. His hands ran down her back until she felt a tug at her waist. He freed the long scarf belting her shirt to her waist, making her shirt fall loosely against her body as he let the scarf drop to the floor. Then, with his eyes riveted to hers the entire time, he slipped a hand beneath the hem of her blouse and stroked the bare skin of her back and spine. His fingers were so hot…burning tracing paths across her skin. It was a wonder her clothing didn’t go up in flames. It may yet.

“God, you’re so soft,” he said in a guttural tone. “So perfectly smooth and so hot.”

She
was hot? No, it was him and he didn’t even realize it.

“Please…” she begged him, not understanding what it was she was begging him for. To stop? To continue? It could have been either one.

He continued.

He kissed her again…and again…each kiss more blinding than the last, her body becoming more compliant and soft each time their mouths met and tangled together. All the while his hand stroked the bare skin of her back, over her side, up across her shoulders. Up and down her spine.

He broke from her mouth again, but only long enough to grip the hem of her blouse and then strip it off of her in one swift movement. He let the silk go and it floated to the floor, forgotten. Naked from the waist up, she flushed deeply pink as he leaned back a little and devoured the sight of her with hungry eyes. She felt him tremble against her and her eyes widened. It was a hint at what he was doing to keep himself in check, that, as much as it seemed otherwise to her, he had not lost control of himself…but was hanging onto it by the merest of threads.

A blast of heat radiated out of him as he looked at her and it warmed her considerably. Not that she needed any warming. She was literally burning up as it was. It was a wonder she could keep her clothes from catching fire. It took control to burn without letting your clothing burn up in the process, to make it as impervious as you yourself were…but she had nothing even remotely resembling control just then.

“I want to make love to you,” he said hotly, the words shuddering out of him as his eyes continued to consume her. His hands gripped at her back, lifting her up on her toes until his lips were brushing over her collarbone. His tongue darted out and flickered against her skin and she moaned, her head dropping back. He took the reaction as invitation—and it was an invitation—and his mouth began to travel over her skin in earnest. Everywhere his tongue touched her singed to a painful point of pleasure.

His mouth traveled down to her breast, his lips and tongue skiing down the slope of it. But just when he reached her nipple, he lifted his head away from her, making her groan in frustration. She wanted his mouth on her in that way. She wanted his hands all over her.

He suddenly swept her up into his arms, scooping her feet off the floor. He carried her across the room and to the bed. He knelt on the mattress and laid her down in the center of it. Then he pulled back, leaving her bereft and bare and exposed. His hands went to her feet and then she realized he was removing her fur boots. He gently massaged each foot as it was exposed, dropping the boots onto the floor somewhere. Then he rand his hands up her bare legs beneath her skirt. Her belly tightened as his fingertips brushed up her thighs. Then they disappeared and she felt his fingers working free the ties to her skirt that were keeping it on her body. Once he had them loosened, he stripped the skirt down her legs and tossed it away into the room behind himself.

Then he stopped, standing on his knees on the bed and simply stared down at her. She was naked, bare of everything but the blush that crept over her. He looked his fill, doing nothing but look at her for several moments until she self-consciously tried to curl away from his regard. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re more beautiful than I even imagined,” he said hoarsely. “And believe me when I say I imagined you very, very often. But my mind did you little justice.”

He reached out then with a single finger and caressed the mole he found on her ribs just beneath her left breast.

“I told myself I would wait for you to come to me,” he rasped.

He leaned forward, dipped his head down, and drew a slow tongue across her nipple. He then sucked the tip into the cavern of his mouth, toying with it until it was a hard point between his lips. Ariana felt the sensations right to her very core. Her hands came out and buried themselves into his hair, holding him to her. His hand came to cup her, to lift her into his mouth. The draw of his mouth grew tighter…harder.

Then he suddenly lifted his head away, his breath coming hard.

“Do you want me?” he demanded of her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“No…do
you
want
me
. Do you, Ariana Colla, triumvir of Saren, want me, Raja Sin, ruler of Kilt?”

She hesitated as he made her aware of who they were. Of the ramifications of her answer. Her fingers were gripping desperately in his hair. Why did he have to talk? Why did he have to make demands of her? Why couldn’t he just quench this interminable burning inside of her?

“That is what I thought,” he said, sounding dejected and more than a little sad. He then stood up away from her, his hungry eyes on her the entire time. “I told myself I would wait for you to come to me.”

Then he turned and left her there—left her there!—and, with a bang on the door to get the guard to unlock it, he walked out of the room.

Ariana lay there panting for breath for a long minute, her shock that he had left her completely paralyzing. Then she grabbed for the cover on the bed, drawing the furs over her naked skin.

What in both hells had just happened? Why had he left? She would have given him what he wanted. He had made his point. The point being that despite all her railing otherwise, she wanted him. Despite who he was and who she was, she wanted him. She wanted him on such a visceral level it was absolutely stunning.

He had left because she had not come to him? Because he had…he had had to force the understanding on her, she realized. He had pressed and pushed and overwhelmed her until she couldn’t think straight. She still wasn't thinking straight. How could she be? She should be grateful he had stopped her from making a grave and terrible mistake. She should be thanking the One God for this reprieve.

Only…she didn’t feel relieved. She felt deprived. She felt lost. Why? Why could she not accept her lucky escape?

Why had he not simply taken her and let them both deal with the aftermath later? He had had perfect opportunity to prove his point. To prove to her how much she craved and needed him. To prove to her that there was a desire between them that was burning out of control. That promised intense and incredible pleasure. She would have given…
why had he not taken
?

She needed to get out of there. She needed to get free and get back to her home where it was safe and easy and comfortable. She didn’t want to be near this man who coaxed and coerced and had her thinking and acting in ways she never would have done only a few short weeks ago. She wanted to run away. From him. From his world. From everything that tempted her.

And yet, if she were being honest with herself, there was an equally powerful part of her that wanted to hunt him down, to throw herself onto him and cry, “I’m here! I’ve come to you! Take me!”

It was those dangerous thoughts that frightened her.

Chapter Thirteen

Sin was sitting in front of the fire…
again
…with a glass of liquor…
again
…staring at nothing but the churning of his own thoughts…
again
.

He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he envisioned her lying naked on a fur-covered bed. He could hear the way her breath caught…heard the soft little moan she had made as he had lain beneath him. He could feel her desperate hands in his hair as she held him to her breast.

He could taste the sweet flavor of her skin still. Even the scorching swallows of the hard liquor hadn’t burned her flavor away. He was hard for her, just as he had been from the moment his lips had touched hers for the first time. Hells, he’d probably been hard for her ever since their kiss on the ice. He couldn’t recall a time, it seemed, when he wasn't hard for her.

“Fuck,” he swore fiercely. Why had he left her? He could have had her. She had been willing and wanton, he could have taken her and she would have loved every minute of it.

Until she came down from the high of it all and realized just who it was she had given herself to. Then she would have hated him even more than she already did…if such a thing were possible. And she probably hated him for leaving her like that.

He was fucked either way.

He tossed back another swallow of his drink, enjoying the punishing burn of it. He deserved punishment. For every moment he lost control with her. For every time he had to force her to acknowledge what was between them. He had made such progress with her today…and then he had thrown it all away because he simply could not control himself around her.

He needed to figure out how to spend time with her without the risk of letting his libido take reign over him. But he knew it was an impossible task. Not between the two of them.

He sat forward in his chair a little.

What he needed was a chaperone. Someone who would allow them to spend time together, yet keep him in check. Keep him from losing what little control he had. It couldn’t be Mariah. It was too easy for him to dismiss her from his presence and she was too afraid of him to say anything contrary to his desires. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid of him. Someone he could trust. Someone who was worthy of Ariana’s time and friendship.

The answer came to him suddenly and clearly. So clearly he wondered that he hadn’t thought of it before. He surged out of his chair, dropping his glass on a nearby tabletop as he passed by it.

The next morning Ariana was not finished with her morning toilette yet when he came to her. Anxiety and excitement, mixed in a wash together, swirled into her stomach. She shooed Mariah away, dismissing her from the room as she stood and faced him. He looked dark and forbidding, shut away from her. She didn’t know why, but she found herself missing the open congenial man of yesterday.

“Are you ready for the day?” he asked.

She was dressed and her hair was done, so that was good enough in her opinion. She snatched up a sash from the back of her chair and tied it about her waist. His dark eyes followed every movement she made. She could see a tic in his jaw giving away the fact that he was clenching his teeth. In an odd sort of way, it gave her comfort to see this sign of tightly leashed control. But was it because it meant he was reining in his impulses…or because it was a sign the impulses were still there and still as strong as ever?

“I’m ready,” she announced.

“Good. Come with me.”

She obediently followed him out of her room. But he had not taken a few strides before he let her catch up to him and placed a light, guiding hand at her waist. They walked in silence for a while before she ventured, “I think we should talk about yesterday.”

Again that tic fluttered in his jaw.

“Not yet,” he said. He stared straight ahead as he said the words. They, and he, perplexed her. She would have thought he would want to talk about it. Want to press his advantages with her.

“But I think—“

“There is someone I would like you to meet,” he cut her off, guiding her into a part of the temple she had not seen before. Like the rest of the building it was shining with newness, the floors made of marble and the walls made of wood paneling. The wood was shined to a gloss, the warm tones of it melting into the smells of fresh cut lumber that still hung in the air.

He led her into a room with arched ceilings and long windows that let the sunlight stream in. There was a large marble fireplace on one wall and tapestries hanging on the others. In the center of the room was a large loom and sitting in front of the loom was a woman.

She was about five and a half feet tall, had long black hair peppered with silver, and a pair of sharp, keen eyes. She took in the couple approaching her with a guarded expression.

“Ariana Colla, this is my mother, Fatima. Mother, this is Ariana, she is a Saren triumvir.”

Fatima lifted a brow at the introduction, but Ariana had a feeling this woman already knew exactly who she was and why she had come there. She regarded her son with a measuring glance, then looked back at Ariana.

“She is a pretty thing…if a bit thin,” she said.

Fatima was a bit rounder of hip than Ariana was. Come to think of it, many of the women she had seen had boasted round hips and abundant breasts. Suddenly, under this woman's regard, she felt she was somehow lacking. She quickly pushed through the feeling though, remembering who she was. She was Ariana Colla. She helped rule her world. She was not lacking in anything.

“So…you are the infamous Saren woman who has stolen into my son’s every waking thought,” Fatima mused.

“Mother,” Sin scolded her, looking discomfited. Then he turned to Ariana. “I thought you might like a companion. That you two might get to know each other.” He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the door they had entered by.

Fatima put down the loom’s shuttle and turned to face Ariana fully.

“Come, let me look at you,” she said, holding out her arms. There was the ringing of tiny golden bracelets jingling on her wrists. She was wearing a peacock blue blouse and an emerald green skirt in the Kiltian style. There was a scarlet sash tied around her waist.

Ariana stepped forward a little reluctantly, but the woman did not seem to notice her recalcitrance. She touched Ariana’s shoulders and drew her in closer. She eyed her critically.

“Well, I suppose you’ll do for looks. Let’s see if you’ve anything to flesh out your pretty face.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ariana asked, affronted.

“Have you a brain, girl? A personality? Go on…tell me what you think of me and my son.”

“I-I don’t think anything about you. I’ve only just met you!”

“Ah, but you have many thoughts about my son. And not all of them good, I’m thinking.”

“He’s brought me here against my will! Please, if you have any influence over him…tell him to bring me back home. Make him see that I am not what he wants!”

“I cannot make him see lies. You are what he wants, and he has gone through a great deal of trouble to get you. Do you understand what it means, this thing he has done by taking you like he has?”

“It means something to him…to Kiltians…but it means nothing to me!”

“Are you so certain?” the older woman asked. “Come. Sit.”

Fatima took her by her elbow and led her to a grouping of chairs by one of the sunny windows.

“Isn’t it lovely? To have so much room?” she asked, taking a seat across from her. “Before the treaty and the land we were all cramped together in a couple of rooms. My son, his brother, his brother’s wives and concubines, their children and me. Generations together, all in one place. Now there is all of this room and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels lonely sometimes. But now you are here and I might share the space with you.”

“Thank you,” Ariana said quietly. She was trying to imagine what it must have been like…all of those people in such a small, confined area. She didn’t think she could have borne not being able to have some privacy. And yet Fatima spoke as though she missed that closeness. “You have grandchildren?”

“Four and one on the way. My other son has two wives and three concubines. It is Harea, his youngest concubine, who is ready to produce my fifth grandchild. There is much in the way of bloodlines for this family. We shall rule the Kiltian people for many generations to come. Although, Raj Vich and his line of kin will only inherit if my son does not produce issue. He needs an heir.”

“Then he should spend his time looking for a woman who would welcome his advances!” Ariana said bitterly.

“Are they?” Fatima asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Unwelcome. Are his advances to you entirely unwelcome? And do not lie to me for I will know. Do not lie to yourself either, for that will only blind you to your own needs.”

Ariana flushed and looked away from the other woman.

“Your son is a very…compelling man. More so than I ever gave him credit for in the past. But that does not change the fact that I am here against my will!”

“Hm. So you do admit to some feelings for him. Some…passion.”

Ariana wanted to deny it, but she found she couldn’t lie to either of them.

“Passion and feelings are two separate things,” Ariana said in defiance.

“Not at all,” Fatima contradicted. “Passion is as much a feeling as it is a physical state of being or acting. My son craves you with great passion…but if you think it is just the physical then you are very mistaken. That is proved by your very presence here in this room.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you mean,” Ariana said with frustration.

“My son is afraid of his passion for you. He fears what it will drive him to do…what it has already driven him to do. In all his autumns as raja, I have never known my son to ask for anything for himself. I have never seen him act selfishly. He has sacrificed everything for his people. But you…he has risked everything for you. He has acted on his own desires. Not without much thought…I am sure he weighed all his options and the ramifications of his actions most thoroughly—it is in his nature to do so—but after weighing everything in his mind he still decided you were worth the risk. Has anyone ever valued you so highly before? To the point where they would risk everything to have you?”

“That isn’t the point,” Ariana said quietly.

“Isn’t it though?” Fatima regarded her with a measured glance. “What is life to us if we are not greatly valued by another? I know men and women alike who would sell their souls to both hells for a chance at being on the receiving end of the devotion my son is showing you.”

“He does not feel devotion. It is obsession. An unhealthy obsession.”

“It is true. He is obsessed with you. But where is the line between devotion and obsession? Do you know where it is? For I do not. Is my son obsessed with the well-being of his people, or is he merely devoted to them? Or is it both? Can you consider the possibility that he is both where you are concerned?”

“Whatever he feels for me is unhealthy,” Ariana said. “If he would just accept the fact that I am out of his reach then perhaps he can—“

“But you are not out of his reach. You are most decidedly within his reach.”

Frustrated she exploded with, “But I shouldn’t be! I shouldn’t be here!”

“And yet you are. Perhaps you should accept that and move on from there.”

“I don’t want to accept it! I have a life with all of its responsibilities awaiting me back home. I will not forget them simply because I have crossed a border!”

“No one is suggesting that you do. I am merely suggesting that you should accept where you are now. Calm yourself. Live in the moment. Let the future work itself out as it is meant to develop. In the meantime, explore what is around you. What is available to you. Learn about the world you are living in and the people in it.”

“I…I
am
learning about this world.” More than she had ever expected she would. She was also coming to understand it more than she had ever expected she would.

“I can see that you have,” Fatima said knowingly. Too knowingly. There was something of wisdom and insight in the woman that only came with age, experience and ability.

“Are you Jadoc?” Ariana asked sharply.

Fatima smiled. “Would that make you feel better? To know my insights into you are easily explained by my power and not from a keenness that comes with instinct?”

“It just makes sense. You seem to see so much and with such confidence.”

“Would it surprise you to know I am what your people call a non? A being without majic?”

Ariana’s jaw dropped open. She blinked widened eyes at the woman.

“That is not possible. Your son is—“

“A very powerful man. Yes. Both of my sons inherit their ability from their father’s side.”

“Then how is it you know so much about what I am thinking and feeling?” Ariana asked, distrusting.

“Perhaps it is because once, long ago, my sons’ father felt the same passion for me that Sin feels for you, and I for his father. We were an unwelcomed match, Jirar and I.” Fatima’s eyes, a dark duplicate of her son’s, grew distant. “It was frowned on for a rajan heir to take a non, even as a concubine. A lover, perhaps, but not as an exalted concubine and certainly never as a wife. But I had just been sold by my father into a pleasure house to pay for his debts and as a virgin my maidenhead was a valuable thing for the man willing to pay the right price. Sin’s father was raj then—heir—and his father was still alive. He was his father’s only son despite his father’s many wives and concubines. The fate of the entire crown rested on his head alone. Jirar had come into the pleasure house with three of his friends and when he saw me…saw how crudely his friends were treating me…saw how wholly terrified I was…he purchased me outright for an extraordinary amount of money. It is a price still talked about in the pleasure houses…when pleasure girls are dreaming that a prince might come and sweep them away one day.