Heart Thief (18 page)

She stepped up close to him and her hands went to his shoulders. He wondered if she could feel the tremors coursing through his body. Her expression turned to longing, matching the need twisting inside him. Rising to her toes, she brushed her mouth gently across his. Too gently. He ached desperately for more, but fisted his hands at his side to endure the exquisite pleasure, more emotional than physical, of a woman kissing him. A groan of delight mixed with need tore from his throat.

She settled to her feet, but instead of leaving him, she rested her head and palms against his chest, breathing deeply. Ruis closed his arms around her.

“I can't read you,” she murmured against him.

“No.” He wanted to string some charming words together, but his tongue stuck.

“All my senses open up when I am with you. I experience so much of the physical world without any tinge of the mental. It's wonderful.”

She looked up. Her breasts pressed against him as she breathed, and Ruis could not turn away from either her soft body or the bemusement in her eyes. He could only stand and let her feel the pounding of his heart and the gathering sexual tension of his muscles. “You open up the world to me, yet you keep my mind quiet and safe and—restful.”

She stirred him up to storm, yet smiled calmly at him.

He set one hand at the back of her waist and cradled her head with his other hand. Lifting her slightly, he placed his lips on hers.

How soft! He inhaled and her natural aroma settled into his memory until he knew he would never be free of it. His lips parted and the merest wisp of a tantalizing feminine taste teased him.

He wanted more.

Thought fled. He gathered her closer until all of her pressed against him. Only the delight of her full bosom soft on his chest, her firm bottom under his hand, moved him.

He flicked his tongue across her closed lips. “Open your mouth for me.”

Her lips parted and he delved. She tasted dark, rich, sweet. Desire erupted through his veins. He savored her, drawing into himself all the essence of her taste, her scent, her self.

Her hands slowly brushed up his arms to settle on his shoulders, accepting the kiss and accepting him. Need grew for this delicious woman.

He wanted to touch her everywhere, but could not bear to separate himself from her, even to caress a breast, a thigh. The pressure of her body along his ignited sensation in every nerve.

She plunged her fingers into his hair, her tongue tangled with his and made him groan. Arching to him, her hips rocked against his throbbing arousal.

He lowered them to the ground. The light impact of her softness on him fed his fever.

She gasped, moaned. An odd sound.

He drew back.

Her eyes were dilated black. She panted. Her delicate lips trembled. He was hurting her! He'd paid no attention to her head. He tore himself away, staring at her heart-shaped face and lovely features, her fine-boned body with full breasts and curving hips.

This was no tavern girl to tumble in heedless lust. This was a GrandLady. A FirstFamily GrandLady. A woman who had been kind to him.

Now and then, at his most optimistic, he dared to hope he could court her, win her, ignoring that she had great duties and status. Those last words of hers vowing to help him bolstered his hopes. He could give her something no one else on Celta could—relief from the mental battering of others, an exploration of her physical senses.

Realistically, he could see no good end to their association. She was not his woman. The most they could have was a short affair. His life was too opposite hers, and he now held secrets of the Ship that he didn't dare let anyone—even her—know.

Ailim rose to her feet, her hands clasped at her waist. She looked a trifle mussed from his hands, but not in pain. In fact, her expression was more carefree than he'd ever seen.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She raised perfectly arched brows. “Is that why you stopped? No. You didn't hurt me. I enjoy being with you.”

Samba strolled from some bushes and came to sit beside him. Both her ears moved forward, her whiskers quivered with her subvocal growl.
My FamMan
.

D'SilverFir nodded at the cat, but fear crossed her face. “My Fam, my Primrose—”

Samba snorted beside him.
Young, stupid puppy.

D'SilverFir winced.

Ruis blinked. The name was clear in Samba's meows.

“Holly?” he said.

Holm Holly. Hollys have kept Fams all through the years. Hunting Cats.
Samba lifted her pointed chin.
My Dam is Holly.

D'SilverFir sighed. Her hands tightened. “I'm sure D'Ash will have something to say when I have to pick up a prized puppy from the Holly household.” One of her shoulders hunched, then she angled her chin. “Nothing to be done about it.”

“You're very conscious of appearances.”

D'SilverFir gestured gracefully. “Appearances, manners, propriety, duty. All are scrutinized in a Judge.”

The fact that she was forbidden to him crashed down on him. Anger surged through Ruis. Why had he thought he could ever have this woman? He had been given the Elder Heir's name of Ruis. He was a FirstSon. Without his Nullness, he would be equal to Holly, a match for even D'SilverFir. But not now. He staggered a step and accepted the pain in his heart.

She moved to him, wrapping her fingers around his arm as if to steady him. She frowned up at him, and her other hand touched his jaw. “You have scratches, and bruises. You saved my life and hurt yourself—the spring—”

“Is imbued with healing spells. No healing spells work on me.”

She looked horrified. “Then how—”

He folded his fingers over hers. “I'm careful.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I use herbs. Isn't that how everything started?”

She pulled her hands away to whip a softleaf from her sleeve, then carefully patted his face. “Herbs, yes, of course. This has a little healing spell—”

“Which I have just negated—”

“But it also has an unguent for minor scrapes.”

Taking the softleaf in one hand, he grasped her fingers and held them to his mouth in a brushing, tender kiss. She hesitated and pulled her hand away. Again attraction spun between them, desire—then even more, something he'd never known from a person of any Flair—simple affection.

Now he raised the cloth to his nostrils and sniffed. “It doesn't smell of unguent. It smells of you.”

She flushed and looked down, gathered handfuls of the fabric of her gown and shook it so bits of grass and twigs that had clung to it fell free.

Ruis harkened back to their conversation. “It seems to me that you've always lived a restricted life, not only now. You should enjoy the present moment more. Cherish the now.”

“You saved my life.” She smiled. “Some would say that gives you infinite rights to advise me.” She turned and hesitated at the branching of three paths.

She didn't want to think of reality, either. Ruis walked to her. He wanted to offer his arm, but it would be better to not touch her.

She wobbled on shoes that were fashionably high. He shot out a hand to steady her, and when she curved her own hand above his elbow and hung on, he said nothing. He cherished her touch. And her scent. And the lingering taste of her. The memory he would never forget of her body atop him. His own body tightened.

Samba smacked his boots with her paw.
You are ignoring Me.

Ruis looked down at her. D'SilverFir's steps didn't falter. She was too close to him, connected to him. He halted the woman and waved to a proudly preening Samba. “GrandLady D'SilverFir, my Fam, Samba, and I are honored by your presence.”

Samba snorted.

D'SilverFir looked at him, then the cat. She stooped and tentatively patted Samba's large head. Samba rumbled a purr. “She looks quite the huntress.”

Samba's purr went up a notch.
I am great huntress. I am wonderful Cat and Fam.

Ailim frowned as if she had trouble picking out Samba's individual words.

“Samba is a good Fam.” Ruis held out his elbow and D'SilverFir tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. They began walking again.

“She's smart.”

Ruis didn't translate.

They stopped at the edge of the FirstGrove. Selfishly, he wanted to give her a token to remember him by. Looking around, he saw a lush plant twining up an arbor. Though only a few of the trumpet flowers still bloomed, he could make out their heavy scent—An'Alcha—passionflower. Just thinking of passion caused blood to pound through him.

Just beyond the An'Alcha he saw a bush of delicate BalmHeal, rare and beautiful, a plant to heal any lingering trace of Ailim's headache.

He hesitated, then chose.

Walking past the An'Alcha, he addressed the BalmHeal in Celtan tradition. “Forgive me, I need a spray of your blossoms.” He snapped a small branchlet off. “I will not forget your generosity. Thank you.”

When he turned to D'SilverFir, she was smiling. “Well done.”

He bowed. “For you.”

“Thank you.” She tucked it carefully into a loop near her shoulder, made for displaying flowers.

Ruis couldn't help but smile. It was the first time he had ever given a lady flowers, and to have pleased a woman with so small a gesture made him feel strong and confident.

She smiled back at him, and he realized it was the first carefree smile he'd seen grace her face. For once she must not be thinking of duty and responsibility, of what her station, as a FirstFamily head and a SupremeJudge, demanded of her. He slowed his steps. If this was the last time he dared spend with this woman, he would completely enjoy it.

They came to the wooden door in the dilapidated wall, and D'SilverFir traced a finger in the cracked stone plaque next to the portal. “GrandHouse BalmHeal,” she mused. “How long have they been gone, I wonder.”

Ruis's smile twisted. “They didn't make it two centuries. I researched them.”

When she looked surprised, he straightened. “D'Licorice, the Public Librarian, allowed me use of the system and the archives.” She'd set up a special room for him so he could be comfortable and not affect the collections with his defect.

He looked down at D'SilverFir and smoothed a wisp of blond hair back from her face. The last touch, before they faced the outside world.

She smiled and turned aside.

He nodded to Samba, who opened the door. The hush of the garden was broken by city sounds.

D'SilverFir withdrew her hand and stepped aside. “I can find my way home.”

Ruis followed her through the gate. “I'll make sure you get to D'SilverFir Residence.”

She whirled on him, looking angry. “You've tempted fate too much this eve. I'll—”

“—accompany me when I walk you home. We'll be safe.” He took her arm, then dropped it. “Unless you tire of my presence. My Nullness wears on you.”

Her head jerked up. “You know the reverse is true.” She set her hand back between his side and elbow and sighed. “Very well, but we must be careful.”

Half a septhour later Ruis opened the huge greeniron gate of D'SilverFir estate for her. She led him down a side path toward the castle.

It stood regal in the twinmoonslight, ruddy stone with round towers capped in greeniron that reflected in the lake around it. Like many FirstFamily Residences, it copied some ancient earth castle.

He looked down at her, her blond hair pale in the moonlight, framing her heart-shaped face, and he didn't want to leave. He wanted to be with her, for the evening, for the night, and even for the morn to come—a strange, impossible fantasy. Ruis framed her face in his hands and brushed his lips across hers.

Her mouth trembled against his, and she returned his kiss, pressing her soft, warm body against his. His mind swam with colors and sensations as his body tightened in the urge to mate.

A siren screamed from the castle. A few seconds later the door flew open.

“Intruder alert! I'll send a scan out!” a male voice shouted.

“I must leave,” she said.

Her gaze searched his face, but he saw only yearning in her eyes.

“Run,” he said.

“You, too.”

He grinned and she sucked in a breath.

Before temptation to kiss her won, he said, “Go!”

They ran.

In opposite directions.

Eight

All the serenity her time with Ruis had brought vanished
when Ailim entered the GreatHall and found her Family waiting. She intoned a Word, canceling the alarm, and a HouseHold wind pushed those who had hovered near the entrance firmly into the Hall and slammed the door.