Immortal Hope (26 page)

His eyes followed the trim lines of her body to her toes, then up to lock with hers, and his mouth went dry. Her cheeks bore a touch of pink that emphasized the fullness of her rosy lips. Her eyes, however, rendered him unable to breathe. Highlighted by the color of her sweater, they were as blue as an ocean, and every bit as fathomless. They sparkled with her smile, danced with her light laugh.

Trapped between his hips and the mattress, his cock stirred. His stomach quivered as something deep inside plummeted into a bottomless abyss. Saints’ blood, she was simply stunning.

He could no more rise from the bed than he could pretend he was immune to her. His body felt like hewn stone, his muscles strained so miserably. Grinding his teeth together, he tore his gaze away and studied the sheets.

Her intended. She wanted to finish the search today. He should be joyous. Her pairing freed him to fulfill his duty to Fulk. ’Twas what he wanted, was it not?

If so, why did he feel as if he had just tripped off a high cliff?

“C’mon, get up, big guy.” She slapped a shirt across his hip, her chuckle as unnerving as her smile.

“Leave me be, Anne. I am in no mood for your wit.”

To his disbelief, she laughed once more and started for the door. Yet where he expected her to pull it open and exit, she instead bent over and swept up a stack of his clothes. She set them on his table, then one by one, folded each article into a neat square.

“What are you doing, damsel?”

“Cleaning up your mess.” She smoothed the wrinkles out of his long-sleeved red shirt and flashed him a smile. “I don’t think you want this clutter around if you’re going to have friends in and out.”

“What nonsense do you speak of? ’Tis my chambers. I have no cause for visitors.”

Undaunted, she shook out a jumbled heap of black, then tucked the sleeves inside. “I’m going to use your table. I thought it would be a good idea to write down the marks as we find them. That way, if other women come, you can pair them easily.”

His table? He grumbled beneath his breath. Not only did she wake him, but she intended to take over his personal effects as well. Damnation if the sight of her tending to his laundry did not set his heart to tripping.

Defeated, Merrick rolled onto his back. “All right, little demon. We shall do things your way. The sooner your curiosity is sated, the sooner I shall find peace.”

Light and airy, the musical notes of her laughter washed over him, stirring his already warm blood. “I thought you might agree. Now get dressed.” She tossed his jeans into his lap.

Shifting around the edge of the table, she subtly presented her back. Though he felt not the slightest bit of modesty, he recognized the gesture as a symbol of hers and quickly tugged on his jeans. He slid his legs off the side of the bed and bent for a shirt, choosing a long-sleeved gray jersey. Once donned, he stood to tuck it in. The shapely curve of her backside caught his attention as she bent forward to smooth another square of fabric. Merrick choked on a renegade groan.

“Where do these go?” Anne turned around with a stack of shirts between her hands, spoiling Merrick’s fantasy of bending her over the table and nuzzling the delicate skin at the back of her neck.

He reached for his clothes, only to have her pull them out of his reach. Their fingers brushed. Her smile faltered in time with the trip of his pulse. Then, her eyes lit and she regained her composure. “I’ll do it. You go wake your friends.”

Annoyed beyond all measure, he stalked to the wardrobe, pulled open a door, then stomped into the bathroom. Wake his friends. Find her intended. Turn her over to another man’s keeping …

He pushed his fingers through his hair with a mutter. She asked the impossible. Nay, not her. Gabriel, the archangels, the Almighty, they all expected sainthood.

Merrick took a moment to wash the sands of sleep from his eyes, then returned to the adjoining room where Anne busied herself with making his bed. He deliberately avoided watching her—’twas too tempting to push her into the pillows and resume last night’s play. Instead, he stuffed his feet into his boots and swiftly stalked to the door.

Halfway there, he made an about-face and caught her by the arm. She turned, blue eyes wide with surprise. Without thought, Merrick gave in to the longings he had dreamed of and dipped his head to capture her mouth.

Anne flatted a delicate palm against his cheek, the gentle press of her fingertips enough to assuage the fierce heat in his veins. He softened his lips, allowed her perfume to settle into his senses and soothe all the conflict that raged inside his mind. Like this, he felt whole. In her arms naught else mattered, not the pledges of centuries, not the darkness that threatened to consume him. He knew only one thing—the magic of her.

Slowly, thoroughly, he kissed her. If this was to be their last moment together and she would walk out of his chambers with another man, he wanted to remember the sweetness of her mouth until he succumbed to taint of evil. He did not try to delude himself into believing he did not want her to remember this as well. To remember him.

For he could no longer deny he wanted nothing more than to mark her in such a way she would never forget him, though she might give herself to another. ’Twas beyond the measure of rationality, a yearning he should feel shame over. And yet he could not bear the thought that in a few hours she would walk away. That he would look upon her from afar and never again know the simple pleasures of her touch, her concern, her breathtaking smile.

A low guttural murmur rumbled in the back of her throat, awakening the desire that lay dormant in his blood. He eased the kiss to a languorous close before temptation possessed him and he did more than take liberties with her mouth. Cupping the back of her head in one hand, he pressed her forehead to his and took a deep breath. ’Twas time. He must resign himself to the purpose Gabriel chose for him and stand witness as she discovered her mate.

Loathing what he could not control, he released Anne and strode from the room.

CHAPTER
20

Anne traced a nail down the length of a jagged scar embedded in a roughened palm. She took care to keep the caress light, the movement slow. She studied the nondescript mark, her mind automatically comparing the man’s hand to Merrick’s. This one’s fingers were fatter. His palm awkwardly large. And he desperately needed to learn the value of lotion.

Pretending interest in these strangers lost its appeal after she’d witnessed the hope in the second man’s eyes dim, then flicker into nothingness. Though maintaining the charade came easily enough, now on the tenth potential knight, she felt more like a betrayer than any preordained savior. Her heart broke a little more with every grim expression, every brusque nod.

But as she snuck a glance at Merrick from the corner of her eye, the agitated way his jaw worked when she took a few moments to delay her verdict, said her efforts were working as she’d hoped. He’d paced all the way through her initial conversation with this man, only stopping to lean against the table’s edge when this knight presented his hand. Every once in a while, when she caught him looking, his eyes sparked with the same unmistakable fire of a man who couldn’t chain his jealousy.

She lifted her chin enough to look at the man through veiled lashes and found what she hoped was another sultry smile. “You have strong hands,” she murmured. She ran her fingers down the length of his as she’d seen Sophie do on more than one occasion when she tried to hold a man’s attention. “I am sure they will please your lady, but I’m afraid this scar doesn’t match.”

With a gentle squeeze, she released his hand.

The man’s body sagged ever so slightly as he offered her a deep bow of his head. Wordlessly, he crossed to the door, where Merrick already waited to excuse him. Merrick clapped the knight upon the shoulder, his smile having disappeared after the first go-around, and pulled the door open.

Another knight entered before the first cleared the doorway.

Anne pulled in a deep breath and summoned a bright smile. “Good afternoon.”

This one wore the curious band of crimson on his left arm, and instead of taking her hand to bring it to his lips as all the others had, he dropped to a knee. “Milady, I am Gareth of Aletorp and honored to be in your presence.” In a fluid movement, he drew his sword and laid it before his foot.

Anne’s stomach rolled over, and she held back a groan. “How many times must we do this?”

The knight lifted his head. Soft brown eyes brimmed with confusion. “I beg your pardon? I have yet to swear my oath.”

Anne looked to Merrick for an explanation. Head down, he moved back and forth in front of the window, too intent on ignoring her exchange to be of any use. Her brows furrowed as she studied the man in front of her. “I would swear the entire temple was at dinner the other night.”

Gareth chuckled low. “Mayhap they were.” He shifted, twisting just enough to bring his left arm in front of his body. A band of crimson cloth wound around his bicep. “This brands me as Raphael’s. We have only just arrived. ’Twas indeed a delightful surprise to find a seraph in attendance.”

“Oh.” She felt the rush of heat in her cheeks and sought to cover her embarrassment with another smile. “Well, to tell you the truth I hate this part.”

When Gareth laughed, his eyes twinkled. His features held the arrogance of youth, and the roguishness of the devil. Handsome, indeed, Anne didn’t need anyone to tell her Gareth knew his way around women. He was just the kind of man they’d fall all over, and she instantly liked him.

“Then let us end it quickly.” He dropped his chin to his chest with a dramatic air.

Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to charm me.”

“But of course. Only a fool would not attempt to win the affection of one so very enchanting.” A grin set off a solitary dimple.

The movement at her side came to an abrupt halt. As Anne bent down to pick up Gareth’s sword, she glanced at Merrick and clamped her teeth down on her lip, silencing another burst of laughter. His glare held the threat of black thunderheads that waited to unleash deadly bolts of lightning, and that baleful look was directed at Gareth. One hand held the pommel of his sword in a death grip. The other worked in agitation at his side, his fingers curling and uncurling, only to repeat the pattern again.

Before he could notice she watched him, she averted her eyes and focused on returning Gareth’s sword. “You, sir, are a flirt.”

Neat white teeth broke through his broad smile as he leapt to his feet and sheathed his weapon. “The better we shall pair then, milady. For the same runs in your blood, I fear.”

Anne giggled again, unable to stop the sound from escaping. Damn. Whoever found him would have a hell of a time keeping him in line. A shame Sophie wasn’t here to see this knight. He’d match her beat for beat. She might even learn a new trick or two.

In the far corner of her field of vision, she noticed Merrick fold his arms over his chest. Feet spread apart, his wide stance gave him an intimidating air. A little shiver of delight trickled down Anne’s spine. Charming as Gareth might be, he would never embody the meaning of
knight
the way Merrick did. Merrick must have been a formidable foe on the battlefield. One look at the firm set of his jaw, the brittleness of his unyielding stare—she couldn’t imagine anyone giving him much of a fight.

His grin still intact, Gareth inclined his head toward Merrick. “Let us move forward so I may whisk you off and away from my churlish brother.”

“Indeed.”

Merrick grunted.

Gareth pulled his shirt from his black jeans and lifted it up, exposing a hard, flat abdomen covered with a fine shadow of golden hair. What made Anne suck in her breath, however, wasn’t the rigid muscles running the length of his torso, but the deep scar that ran from one rib to the opposite hip.

“Aye, ’tis not pretty. But you will notice it bears the distinct form of a cross.”

She squinted to get a better look. Sure enough, a faint pink mark, half the length of the first, neatly divided the longer bar. “What happened?” she murmured.

The blond knight chuckled. “’Tis naught but a childhood accident. The result of brothers who chanced upon their father’s swords when they were too young for more than wooden toys.”

“I see.”

Anne picked up her pen and scribbled Gareth’s mark in her notebook. When she lifted her head to give him her sweetest smile, she grimaced inwardly at the brightness in his eyes. She would squelch that light in a moment. If she only had a list of matching marks this would be so much easier. She could refuse, then point these men toward their respective women, and she wouldn’t feel so damn guilty.

“Well, sir knight, I disagree. That’s not an ugly mark. It’s quite handsome. I am sure it will earn you some…” She paused, dropped her lashes, and lowered her voice. “Entertaining sympathy.”

Gareth’s shoulders shook with unspent laughter. To Anne’s relief, where she expected his bright gaze to dim, those brown eyes lighted even more. “Say no more, milady. ’Twill not be your sympathy I enjoy.”

Anne shook her head.

He snapped his heels together, set one hand over his midsection, and offered her a formal bow. Straightening, the adorable dimple puckered his left cheek. “Then allow me to remove myself before Sir Merrick plants his fist into my jaw.”

Anne heard, rather than saw, the fury in Merrick’s response. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth. He stalked to the door and jerked it open.

In a moment of sheer daring, Anne stood. She caught Gareth’s hand, and mimicking what she’d seen in movies a dozen times, she gave him an awkward curtsy. With absolute sincerity, she said, “I do hope your lady arrives soon. It’s been lovely meeting you, Gareth. I hope to see you soon.” Punctuating her heartfelt wishes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Indeed.” He turned with a one-handed wave, and strode through the door.

As the next man neared the threshold, Merrick kicked the door shut with his heel. “Enough,” he barked.