Authors: Robin D. Owens
Heart Duel (8 page)
Lark started to intervene, but Holm squeezed her. “Let them be. They're only playing.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest.
“You think I don't know a real fight?” Holm asked, amused.
“Absurd. This whole situation is absurd.”
“No. It might be complicated, but it certainly isn't absurd. Not funny and not trivial.” He couldn't wait. He bent his head to brush her lips with his and claim her mouth.
Just the touch of his mouth on hers sparked something deep inside her. His lips slid against hers, then pressed. She enjoyed the tender kissâmore than enjoyed, delighted in it.
She'd been alone for so long. No oneâno man or woman, lover or friendâhad treated her as he just had, simply holding her. The huge ache she'd suppressed at the lack of human affection had vanished with the first curve of his arms around her. She trembled that such a basic need had been filled so effortlessly and generously. She hadn't been able to resist him.
For so long, she'd been untouched by any man. And as Holm held her close, trailing kisses over her faceâtiny butterfly kisses of infinite gentlenessâshe let him take her to a new, intimate level.
He enveloped her. The warmth of himâas if he carried the sun itself within his body and shared it to comfort her. The strength of himâas if after all these long and lonely years of coping on her own, she would have someone beside her. The security of himâas if he would always be there to hold her.
She twined her arms around him, this vital man, and pulled him close to feel him, and to feel herself held and sheltered and sustained.
With unintelligible words, he shifted them until they stretched on the wide couch on their sides, legs entangled.
His mouth returned to hers, this time to test her lower lip.
Everything changed.
The skim of his teeth, the pressure and pull of them, ignited hot licks of fire within her. She'd wanted this closeness, and now they were too locked together for her to move away, for her to draw back, and all the comforting sensations transformed into something more demanding, something hotter, something wild.
She clamped her arms around his shoulders, grazed her tingling breasts against the hard slab of his chest in a wanton move that she hadn't known before this moment.
She strained toward him, only feelingâthe rapid pounding of his heart against her quickly rising and falling breasts, the carnal caress of his lips, rubbing, nibbling at her mouth, her ear, her throat.
With practiced ease he rolled, and she went with him, under him.
Instantly she was enveloped by his heat, his hardness, his weight. How had she missed that he was completely aroused? She could feel the length and thickness of his erection against her. It unnerved her. It thrilled her and swept her mind away.
Hot and strong and vital as the sun was Holm Holly. And she wanted him.
She tunneled her fingers into the rich thickness of his hair, coarser than her kitten's, but equally pleasing against the slide of her palms.
His hands went to her sides and stroked down her, learning her. He stirred and his arousal pressed against her most feminine flesh. A soft cry of yearning pleasure broke from her. Her nipples tightened, moistness dewed lower. Her whole body spiraled into aching, ever-increasing hunger.
She traced the angle of his cheekbones with her fingers, then dipped below his chin. She opened the collar of his shirt and inhaled the essence of masculinity. And she needed, more than she needed anything before in her life, to taste him.
Lark put her lips to the pulse in his throat, drew in a deep breath of Holm Holly. She tastedâarousal, perspiration, musk, man.
He groaned, and his fingers spread wide over her bottom, clenching, kneading.
She panted in desire and passion against his neck, lost in him.
He lifted her hips against his shaft.
A flash of pure physical rapture speared her. She bit his throat, savoring the firm flesh between her teeth, and the taste of him.
He groaned again, arched himself against her.
His hands pushed up her tunic until she felt them, calloused but gentle, on her skin. She cried out at the delight of it. A man's hands, Holm's hands, muscular and sinewy hands. And she hungered for his touch.
He inched his hands up her midriff, caressing, until he reached her breastband, curved his fingers over her breasts, plucking at her nipples.
She gasped, but wanted more, wanted his hands on her flesh, not her clothes, but found no words.
The warmth of his hands left her, and she moaned and shook her head in denial, twisted her own hands in his hair and pulled him close, found his throat again. Nipped.
Now his hands plunged downward, slipped into her trous, under her pantlettes, and the feel of those rough palms on her bottom was too much to bear. Passion took her, dragging her into the upward vortex of sexual tension toward ultimate release.
“Mayblossom.” His voice came ragged in her ears, low and thick, and added another layer of sensuality to her climb to fulfillment. She was only aware of his voice, his scent, his taste, his touch, and she wanted more. She wanted everything.
“Lark,” he whispered, then groaned as she ripped at his shirt tab, peeled it open, and set her nails into his chest. “Bélla.”
The cats swirled into the room again, rolling and hissing, bumping up against the couch, right beneath her ear.
Her mind rushed back into thought.
She pushed against him. “No!” How could she have let this happen? How could she have been so wanton?
Willing her fingers not to change the warning into a caress, she set her hands against his shoulders and pushed again, turning her head aside. His hands clenched against her bottom. She bit her lip so pain would stave off overwhelming desire.
“NO!”
His head raised and a molten pewter gaze met her own. “It's right. Can't you tell how right it is?”
She only saw his gilt hair, brighter than the evening sky outside the window. She only felt the strong, hard length of him pressing her into the sofaâthe mass of him that told her intimately he was a large, potent male.
“No.” She could only get her tongue around the one word.
“I'm yourâ”
She put her hand over his mouth. “You are an honorable man. Listen to me! I am sorry I lost control and gave into a momentary lust. It was wrong.”
He closed his eyes. She wondered if she'd tempted him beyond the point of no return. His lips firmed under her palm in a kiss, and she yanked her hand away.
He lifted himself from her on his arms, face tight. His hair, mussed from her fingers, fell over his forehead.
Holm flung himself off the couch and onto the floor. He put an arm over his eyes.
Lark scrambled to sit. Looking down, she saw his erection bulging against his trous. She jerked her gaze away. Holm's chest heaved. She hopped off the sofa and over him and staggered into the kitchen, wanting something cold. She opened the chillbox and pulled out a cylinder of icyblacktea spiced with cinnamon. Lark unsealed the glass with a word and gulped. The liquid stung her bitten lip.
“I could use some of that,” Holm said. He filled the small doorway to the kitchen.
Lark choked on another cold mouthful. She hadn't realized until now that the kitchen doorway was smaller than usual, and that there was only one door. She was trapped.
Holm leaned a shoulder against her doorjamb. His silver-blond hair still drooped over his forehead. “Please?” When he smiled, it was nearly his usual charming one, only a little crooked at one corner.
Watching him, she opened the chillbox and tossed him a cylinder.
“Thank you.” He dipped a nod.
She curled both her hands around the glass, grateful for the cold that began taking the edge off her overheated body.
Phyll,
she called telepathically.
she called telepathically.
A few seconds later the kitten barreled into the kitchen.
Holm cocked a brow and looked a little hurt. “You called him, didn't you? There was no need for that.” He moved back into the mainspace, but pitched his voice so she could hear. “Whenever you wish anything from me, my Bélla, all you have to do is ask.”
Bélla?
Bélla?
Another one of her middle names. He'd called her Bélla when they'd been making loveâstop that thought, those images, the revived feelings that quickened her unfulfilled body. Bélla. He'd called her Bélla. First Mayblossom, then Lark, then Bélla, as if tasting each one of her names and choosing the one that suited him.
Bélla?
Another one of her middle names. He'd called her Bélla when they'd been making loveâstop that thought, those images, the revived feelings that quickened her unfulfilled body. Bélla. He'd called her Bélla. First Mayblossom, then Lark, then Bélla, as if tasting each one of her names and choosing the one that suited him.
The intimate note in his voice made her insides shiver, something she decided to blame on the icyblacktea. With a final gulp she finished the drink, then tossed the cylinder in the recycler and used a softleaf to wipe her mouth.
“Phht, Phht, Phlltttt,” spit Meserv, peeking around the doorjamb.
Phyll bounded after him.
Lark shrugged to ease tension in her shoulders and strolled from the kitchen. Holm lounged on the sofa, arms outspread on the back, one hand negligently curved around the icyblacktea, and feet crossed at the ankles.
He looked delectable.
She kept to the opposite side of the room, putting its width between them.
Though he lifted the tea for a sip, his gaze followed her.
“I've waited to taste you for a monthâeternity,” he said.
On the attack. She didn't want to talk about the episode. She didn't want to even think about it.
Still, his words made her catch her breath. “You were interested in me when we met to plan the AllClass HealingHall charity ball?”
He cleared his throat, glanced down his body where his arousal showed. “A little more than âinterested.'”
“But you didn't follow upâ”
“I bumbled.”
She stared. “Everyone knows you never bumble with women!”
His shoulders lifted and fell a fraction, and his mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “I was afraid.” When he gazed at her, she felt as if his eyes alone seared her. “You areâ” He shut his mouth, took a deep breath, and began again. “You are infinitely important to me.” The cadence of his low voice brushed against her nerve endings, making her tremble.
Who was this man that he should make her quiver with a look in his eyes, a tone in his voice? Who was this man whom she'd known when he was a youth and she a young girl, that she'd known
of
ever since?
of
ever since?
She was afraid that she desperately wanted the answers to those questions. She licked her bottom lip and tasted where she'd bitten it. Holm tensed, then stared out the arched windows.
Lark shook her head. She had no time for an affair with Holm Holly, and until this afternoon, no inclination. If it had been last year, perhaps they might have managed an affair. In view of the escalating feud, the whole idea was madness.
And Lark didn't want another husband. General knowledge of the other FirstFamilies was common, so Lark knew that Flair Passages of the Hollys meant death-duels. Holm had never connected with a HeartMate during his Passages. She had experienced great Healing fugues during her Passages but never touched another soul-to-soul as HeartMates were said to do.
There was no reason but basic lust for her and Holm Holly to come togetherâfor a while. The heat of the desire that exploded between them was such that it must burn hot and fast, quickly dying to ashes. She didn't want that. She should focus all her creativity on her Healing career. Lady and Lord knew all her skills would soon be tested to the utmost.
When she looked at Holm again, his expression was stark, jaw set. Since he'd been watching her, he could anticipate her decision.
No. No matter how her body wanted him and what he could give her, it was better that they stop this attraction right now. Being a fighter, he'd only respect bluntness. She squared her shoulders, ready to lay out her decision. There'd be no repeat of the sexual madness.
“I want you out of my life, permanently,” she said.
“Then kill me.”
She blinked, horror spread through her.
“What did you say?”
“What did you say?”
He continued to lounge but raised his brows. “You heard me. I said you'dâ”
“I don't think in terms of killing.”
His voice came softly. “Of course not. You are a Healer. It is a complication that I am so attracted to you.”
“A complication you can quickly eliminate. Just go away and stay away.”
“No.” His eyes darkened to charcoal gray. “That is quite impossible. You will have to become accustomed to having me in your life.”
She lifted her chin. “I have asked to be appointed as the Head of Gael City HealingHall. I hope to be moving there in a couple of weeks.”
Stark incredulity lit his eyes. He stilled. She sensed she'd surprised him for the first time that night.
His mouth flattened. “That can't be, Bélla.”
She whirled to him. “You call me that Heather name because you don't want to think of me as a Hawthorn, an enemy.”
His feet twitched. She realized his languid pose had been false all the time, and wondered at his control, wondered why he bothered to exercise it.
“You aren't my enemy. You will never be my enemy. I will never be your enemy. We both know that. And you are more Heather than Hawthorn.”
“Oh, yes?” She speared her fingers into her hair and pulled them through long black locks. She was the image of a Hawthorn.
He smiled faintly. “A Hawthorn in looks only. You have the temperament and the manner of a Heather Healer.”
“This is insane.” She set her teeth and decided to tell him part of the whole. “My father is determined on this feud.”
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