Her Dark Knight (17 page)

“Trust goes two ways, Chevalier.”

“I know that.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me I was being followed?”

“And what would you have said?”

“That I didn’t need a babysitter. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve to know.”

“I apologize. You’re correct, of course. Sometimes I forget that you can take care of yourself.”

The chagrined, boyishly forlorn look on his face cooled her anger, leaving her more exhausted than before. “You make it hard to stay mad at you.”

“I try my best not to make you angry, but it’s a hard thing to do.” He tried to smile but she could see in his eyes how hurt and frightened he’d been. The loneliness had crept back in there too. Something she hadn’t seen in days. Despite his heavy-handed ways, deep down he was a lonely man at heart and that saddened her.

Despite her exhaustion and residual anger, she smiled. “Tell Ronald I’m sorry I left him out here for so long.”

“I take it Giselle wasn’t kind when you returned.”

Lainie shrugged.

“Why do you continue to work for her if she’s so cruel to you?”

“Because I need the money.”

He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. “I don’t like that you’re being abused. Let me help. I can set up a trust for your father—”

“I pay my own way. But thank you,” she added, softening her tone. She wasn’t a charity case. Her father was her responsibility and she would take care of him like he took care of her for all those years. It was only right.

“I have plenty of money. You wouldn’t have to work so hard—”

“No, Christien. I appreciate the thought, really I do, but I won’t take your money.”

She pulled her hand from his and continued on.

“You’re going back to your apartment.”

It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway.

Christien stopped walking and as much as she knew she should keep going, she stopped and turned back to him.

“I thought you were coming back to me.”

“Christien.” She understood his reasons for having her followed, but it still didn’t make his decision right. If she were in danger she had a right to know and to accept or refuse his offer of help. He didn’t give her the choice and that didn’t sit well with her. How many other times would he take her choice away from her? How many times would he autonomously decide what was best without consulting her?

“I made a mistake,” he said. “I should have told you.”

The warm breeze ruffled his dark hair. The red neon light from the business they stopped beside shined down on him, highlighting one side of his face, while plunging the other into shadows.

“I had a right to know.”

“You did.”

Damn him for agreeing with her. It made it difficult to argue. “How many other choices have you taken from me?”

He took both her hands and drew her closer. “None. And I will never make that mistake again. I promise,
ma chérie.
But you have to promise something as well.”

The heat from his hands warmed her. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d become since their phone conversation.

“Promise you won’t run away every time you are angry. If we are to make this relationship work, we need to communicate.”

Shame washed over her. He was right, of course. She couldn’t run away every time he angered her. “I’m sorry. The next time I’ll make sure to talk before I walk.”

One half of his face smiled, the other still lost in the shadows. “You’re so sure there will be a next time?”

“Oh, I think there will be many next times. We’re bound to argue here and there.”

He drew her closer until their bodies brushed and she pulled in a startled breath. “Think of all the making up we’ll do.” His sensuous lips curled into a knowing grin.

“Just think.”

“Do you forgive me, Madelaine?”

“For wanting to keep me safe? For thinking of my best interest even though you didn’t discuss it with me? Of course. Do you forgive me for wanting to run?”

He kissed her, a sweet, tender kiss that stole her breath. “As long as you never leave me again. You are my heart,
ma chérie.
And without my heart, I would die.”

Oh, my.

“Come home with me.”

She nodded, tears clogging her throat and together they walked back to his home.

Christien stared blindly at the report in front of him. Acting on a hunch, he had Madelaine’s family investigated more deeply than before, and the report confirmed his hunch was right.

Now what? What should he do with the information?

He shifted his gaze to the window. Two days ago, when Madelaine didn’t return home from work and he realized she wasn’t going to, he’d panicked.

She’d been furious about his deception and rightfully so. He should have told her about the bodyguard, but in truth the thought of telling her never crossed his mind. He had her followed initially to find out more about her and, yes, to determine if she was in league with Lucheux. He’d kept the man on her to ensure her safety.

’Twas an error on his part that he wasn’t honest with her. It was why this information was so disturbing. His gut reaction was to keep it from her, to not upset the balance of her world. But Madelaine would consider it as making a decision without consulting her. She would want to know.

Just as she wants to know who your enemy is?
He winced at the damn voice inside his head. Another thing he was keeping from her. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his thumbs, for the first time in a long while unsure what to do and where to go from here.

Tell her about Lucheux? Not tell her? Now that she understood reincarnation, she might be willing to accept that Lucheux was also reincarnated. Except he wasn’t. He was immortal like Christien.

Good God. The lies of omission kept piling up.

He had to come clean. Tell her everything. Even about himself.

He grabbed his phone and punched in a number. When the rough voice on the other end answered, Christien gave orders to dig deeper.

He left the office and hurried through the crowded club, keeping a keen eye on the wait staff as they expertly maneuvered around the dance floor, balancing drinks and taking orders. Sabine waved to him and he lifted his chin in greeting, making a mental note to give her a raise. Since Madelaine’s accident, he’d spent more and more time with her, leaving Sabine to run the club. It had been his intention all along to step back and let Sabine handle everything. Maybe now would be a good time to put his plan into action.

Stepping on the elevator, he glanced at his watch. Madelaine would have arrived home from work a quarter of an hour ago and would be changing out of her work clothes right now. He briefly thought of joining her in the bedroom and helping her out of those clothes, but he was well aware of how tired she was each night. Giselle was pushing Madelaine far too hard, and his tongue was half-bloody from all the words he’d bit back. He wanted her to quit her job and let him take care of her.

If only she would let him, Christien would make Madelaine’s life much easier. It would be fairly simple to set up a trust for her father and she would have the comfort of knowing he was well taken care of and would never have to leave the home he was comfortable in. But every time he mentioned it, she closed herself off. He admired her pride but sometimes pride got in the way of good sense.

When he stepped off the elevator she was coming down the hallway, her hair piled on top of her head, dressed in baggy sweatpants and an old T-shirt that said Peanut Butter Jelly Time. He smiled at the T-shirt, but wanted to frown at the dark circles under her eyes.

She went up on her toes and kissed him. A sweet, tender kiss of hello he’d looked forward to since she moved in with him several days ago. For centuries he’d lived alone, but surprisingly didn’t find it hard to adjust to living with Madelaine. Each morning was a hardship to get out of bed and each evening he was impatient to get back upstairs.

He put a hand on her waist while the other cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. Her eyes flew open in surprise, but she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He walked her backward until she was against the wall and his hips pushed into her pelvis, searching for the sweet release only her body could provide.

Her hands stroked up his back, pulling his shirt out. She wrapped a leg around his hip. His erection slipped easily into the V of her legs. The heat of her surrounded him.

Her fingers skimmed his back, came around to the front, teasing his chest and his nipples.

“You better watch it,” he said between kisses. “We may not get dinner if you keep that up.”

“Who says I’m hungry for dinner?”

He groaned and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples puckered into sharp points, begging him to take them into his mouth. He obliged, bending to suckle. Madelaine put a hand on either side of his head and arched her back. Her moans drove him on as his hips pumped.

Quickly she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled him out. He gasped when her hand went around him, sliding up his length, then down to cup his bollocks. He surged forward, his eyes drifting closed, every nerve ending on fire.

She slid down the wall and took him in her mouth. Her moist heat surrounded him. Her tongue swirled around his tip and he cried out. Bracing his hands against the wall, he hung his head to watch her lips surround his shaft. The scene below him was so erotic he knew he didn’t have much time left. He was racing toward climax, his bollocks tightening as the pressure built.

He began to pump into her, grunting with each thrust.

“I’m close,
ma chérie,
” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You should stop.”

She made a humming noise and cupped him in her other hand, squeezing lightly. He lost control and surged into her mouth one last time. His semen shot from him so forcefully it nearly buckled his knees and he yelled out, beyond thought, operating on nothing but instinct. His climax went on and on. They’d had sex almost every night. He should be drained, but Madelaine managed to squeeze more out of him until his muscles quivered and he saw black spots before his eyes.

His arms gave out. Breathing hard he leaned against the wall. Beneath him Madelaine looked up and grinned that mischievous grin he loved so much. With a growl he scooped her up from the floor and carried her to his bed where he laid her down on the soft velvet comforter and spread her legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving as good as I got.” He pulled her sweatpants down and discovered much to his delight she wore no underwear. He looked up at her. “Minx.”

She laughed and tried to pull him on top of her but he shook his head. “This one is all for you, my love.”

He parted her curls and sucked in his breath at the wetness dripping from her and the bright pink bud nestled within.

“Christien?”

“Relax,
mon amour.
And enjoy.” He positioned his lips over her and sucked her in. She gasped, her body rigid, her legs tensing and he sensed this had never been done to her before. He took his time, lapping at her, putting pressure on the one place that had her squirming and calling out his name.

He lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders to open her wider. She moaned, grabbing handfuls of the comforter, her head moving from side to side.

Her hips pumped against his jaw, faster, then faster still. He worked her, his tongue gliding against the small bud until she began to gasp. She was near her climax. Her soft moans grew louder and his cock, rock hard again, pressed against the bed. He couldn’t believe he was this ready after his last climax, but he was and if he didn’t stop, he was going to come all over the comforter. His hips pumped in rhythm to hers. She let loose the comforter and grabbed his hair.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whimpered.

Her legs tensed and her hips came off the bed so violently she smashed his nose into her pelvic bone. He put a finger inside her channel and she shattered around him, screaming. It was too much. He came with her, his own climax nearly as intense as the last one.

When she went boneless beneath him, Christien withdrew his finger and laid his head on her stomach, listening to the rise and fall of her breaths as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Wow,” she said.

He smiled and turned to look at her. She was staring up at the ceiling, her hair spread around her, a light sheen of sweat coating her brow.

“Can we do that again sometime?”

He chuckled and crawled up the bed to take her in his arms. Immediately she curled around him and sighed.

“Anytime you want.”

“Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow?”

Miraculously he began to stir. For a seven-hundred-and-thirty-year-old man, he wasn’t doing too badly.

“Tomorrow it is.”

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes still glazed. “I’m starving. You ready for dinner?”

He looked her up and down, taking in her glorious nakedness, the plump breasts that were a little more than a handful, the dark curls glistening at her center. “I’m sated.” He cocked a brow. “For now.”

She playfully swatted him and scooted off the bed. “Well I’m not. Let’s see what we have to eat.”

After cleaning up and putting their clothes back on, they scavenged the refrigerator and made turkey sandwiches. Madelaine grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the balcony.

They settled on the two-seater glider and looked out over the dark abyss of Lake Michigan. It was close to May and the warm weather was holding on, fighting the good fight against the last gasp of winter. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She pulled her feet beneath her as he pushed the glider into motion.

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“In the summer with the boats on the lake and the sun reflecting off the waves it’s magnificent.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Would she be around in the summer? Would she still be with him when she realized who he was and that once again he was keeping secrets from her? He pushed the glider a little harder, wishing he could push his thoughts away as easily. He would have to tell her everything, but for now he held his tongue. ’Twould be best to tell her when he had all the facts. That gave him a day or two of reprieve.

“Have you been to the lake at night?” he asked.

“I haven’t been to the lake at all except to drive past it every now and then.”

“You need to get out more, love.”

“This from the man who works seven days a week.”

“Touché.”

Even in the dark, the lake was beautiful with the nearly full moon reflecting white light off the waves. Maybe he’d buy her a sailboat and they’d sail along the coast, stopping at the small towns along the way.

The idea sounded wonderful, but he recognized the impossibility of it. To take his mind off the treasure would be disastrous, yet he found it difficult to concentrate when Madelaine was around.

“Tell me about your family.” He didn’t need to ask because he knew everything. More than even Madelaine knew, but he found himself wanting to hear about her life from her. And, yes, he wanted to connect to someone who had a family.

She shrugged. “Not much to tell. I grew up on a farm and was an only child.”

“Growing up on a farm sounds like fun.”

He’d grown up on a farm, as well. For the first time in years he let himself think about his long-dead family. His four brothers and five sisters were always into mischief, always laughing, always happy. Looking back, he had to think his mother had been stressed but she never showed it. He remembered her laughing a lot and even wading through the creek that ran beside their house, searching for toads with them. His father had been a hard worker, always in the fields, coming home late at night and leaving early in the morning. ’Twas a wonder he managed to impregnate his wife as many times as he did.

They were all dead, of course. Wiped out when the bubonic plague spread through their small village. By then Christien was already immortal and deep into the intrigue of the Knights Templar, but he’d still grieved for them.

She shivered, bringing him out of his musings.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Content.”

He drew her closer for a quick hug, feeling the same contentment, an emotion he hadn’t experienced since wading in the creek and laughing with his mother.

She twisted her head to look up at him. “Tell me about you,” she said. “And your family.”

He shrugged, dislodging her head then guiding it back with the tips of his fingers until she rested comfortably again. “I was born and raised in France—”

“What city?”

He hesitated. “A small town you wouldn’t recognize.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

How much to tell her? On his official biography put out through his company, he listed himself as an only child because it prevented people from looking too deeply into his past. A past he reinvented every few decades. And yet a part of him wanted to tell her about himself—his real self—not some story created for the press.

“None,” he finally said, hating himself for lying and not yet ready for the truth.

“Parents?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry.” She covered his hand with hers.

“’Twas a long time ago.”

He pushed the glider again. From so far up they barely heard the long line of people outside the club.

“Tell me,” she said into the silence, “about us. In that other time.”

Christien stilled, but quickly resumed the motion of the glider.

“’Twas a dark time,” he said softly. “So much fighting. To return to you… It made me happy.” He didn’t mean to refer to himself in the first person. He held his breath, waiting for her to discover the mistake. Waiting for her to ask. This would be the opening he needed to tell her everything. To tell her he hadn’t been reincarnated like she thought. But she didn’t catch his slip.

“You made her happy, too,” she said. “I think you were the only bright spot in her life as well.”

He rubbed his chin on the top of her head and pressed his lips into her hair.

“Did you love her?” she asked.

“More than anything.”

“And yet you two couldn’t be together.”

“I was a lowly knight, you—she—a countess. We were worlds apart.”

“How sad.”

“Not sad. We took what we were able and were happy for it. Bittersweet, maybe, but never sad.”