Immortal Surrender (12 page)

He relived their kiss a hundred times or more. Bathed in the memory of her sweet jasmine perfume. Suffered the tantalizing weight of her breast beneath his palm.

God’s teeth, she tormented long after the stirrings behind her door ceased. ’Twas a miracle he had slept at all. Were it not for the rest the previous day denied him, he would still be chasing the elusive arms of slumber.

A rustle through the walls snapped his eyes wide. He lay still, listening as Noelle moved through her room. Did she dress? Don that scrap of silk and satin he had once removed from her? The vision tugged at his mind once more. Against his thigh, his cock stirred. With an annoyed hiss, Farran sat up and swept the covers aside. He jerked on his jeans.

Ten hours more, and he would be free of her. They would speak their oaths, and he would not waste one moment longer to find comfort in Leah’s embrace. Once he expelled this rush of lust, Noelle would cease to plague him.

Her door opened, bringing his gaze to the hall. Soft footsteps padded closer. Through the gray light, her silhouette took shape. She poked her head through his doorway and greeted him with a hesitant smile. “Where’s the bathroom?”

As if a cool breeze caressed him, his body tightened at her whisper. His gaze swept over her. Tousled long hair revealed her night had not been as restless as his. Sleep still clung to her features, softening her full lips and the brightness of her eyes. She wore the sweatshirt the larger, more robust Louise provided. And ’twas all she wore.

His gaze locked on the thick fabric that dusted the tops of her trim thighs. Barely long enough to qualify as decent covering, it gaped near the juncture of her legs. When she shifted her weight, he caught the briefest glimpse of ivory that covered her feminine flesh.

Jesu
.

Farran swallowed hard and coiled his hands into the bedding at his sides. He dragged his eyes away, but made the mistake of following the short length of her slender legs. She rubbed a toe against the inside of her dainty ankle. Fire lit in his gut. A slow burn that threatened to spread and consume him. The tightening in his groin intensified, and he struggled to breathe.

“Farran? I need to use the restroom.”

He jerked his gaze back to her face. Before he could collect himself enough to direct her to the opposite end of the hall, she lifted a hand to cover a yawn. The sweatshirt pulled. Lifted to expose one hip. A strap so insignificant he could gnaw it in half wound around her waist, securing her damnable undergarment. Though he had glimpsed her underclothes whilst he attended to her injuries, they had not vexed him whilst she slept. She had not moved, had not animated limbs. Had not yet poisoned him with the taste of her silken mouth.

Self-conscious in his silence, she dropped her hands and smoothed her shirt. Her dark eyebrows pulled with worry. She reached around behind her and tugged the hem over her buttocks. “Um.” Glancing at her legs as if she inspected herself for spots, she fidgeted side to side. “Farran?”

He shook his head to clear away the fantastic images that leapt to life within his mind, and glared. ’Twas women’s trickery. The innocent guise. The widening of her eyes. The act as if she knew naught of what her near-nakedness would cause. She wanted something—likely her freedom. As Brighid had done countless times, she sought to soften him. ’Twould not work. He had been the fool once. He would never make the same mistake again.

He pushed to his feet, strode across the room, and grabbed her by the shoulders. With gritted teeth, he turned her so she faced the door at the end of hall and ground out, “There.”

She took a step forward and he tightened his grip. Bending near to her ear, he warned, “Do not attempt to bend me to your wishes by parading your wares beneath my nose. I assure you, damsel, you will fail.” He loosened his fingers. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”

With a none too gentle shove, he pushed her toward her destination and barred her from his sight with the slamming of his door.

*   *   *

Noelle spluttered as she gaped at the barred doorway. Her wares? Bend him to her wishes? Had the man lost
all
his marbles? It wasn’t as if she had a dresser full of nightgowns to wear. Judging from his half-dressed state, and the way his fly hung partly open, he hadn’t slept fully dressed either.

She glanced down at the hem of her borrowed sweatshirt and rolled her eyes. Midthigh, it exposed nothing. Summertime would find her in far less, even if she couldn’t bring herself to wear a bikini to the beach. He really believed she’d chosen this as provocative?

The pressure on her bladder increased, and she mumbled beneath her breath. She stalked to the bathroom, shoved open the door, and flipped on the light. A sweatshirt seductive—of all the ludicrous things. If she’d known heavy cotton that bagged around her torso could do the trick, maybe she’d have had a lover or two by now.

The cold porcelain stool made her shiver, and she huddled down into the thick material. Catching her reflection in the wide mirror, she stared at the fuzzy lines of her face. Even without her glasses, she could see the dark circles under her eyes, the wild mass of knots her hair had become. How Farran could think she’d try to seduce him when she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West defied all rationality. On her best day, she wouldn’t get far enough to elicit a response. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe Farran would find her attractive after a restless night of sleep.

Her business finished, she flushed and turned on the sink. A few splashes of cold water eliminated the drowsiness that clung to her eyes. She gasped at the icy sensation and blindly fumbled for the towel that hung near the light switch. Drying off, she peered at her reflection again.

Nope. No better. Sleep removed, there was simply nothing there to add credence to Farran’s ridiculous insinuation. Her glasses at least made her look intelligent. And her hair … it would take hours to try and tame that mess.

Opting for the easiest solution, she turned to the bathtub and spun the tap. When the water ran a comfortable lukewarm, she stuffed her head beneath the faucet. A tiny bottle of hotel-room conditioner sat on the overhead ledge next to its twin shampoo. She quickly applied a liberal dose and combed her fingers through the tangles. When her hands slid freely, she rinsed and wrung out the ends.

Rising, she returned to the mirror. Wet hair wasn’t much better than tangles. But at least in an hour or so, she’d have somewhat manageable locks. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t catch a cold as well.

As she exited the bathroom, she observed Farran’s door stood open once more. A glimpse of wide bronzed shoulders had her scurrying into her room and shutting the door before he could turn around. She took a deep breath, determined to ignore the way her heart tripped into her ribs at the sight of powerful muscles and a tapering waist. Damn … Why did the nuttiest man she’d ever met also have to be the most gorgeous one?

She refused to give the splendid vision further thought and dressed with haste. Judging by his sour demeanor, it wouldn’t be the wisest move to keep him waiting. Jeans, boots, and coat donned, she yanked her hair into a ponytail then picked up her purse. With a backward glance at the hidden board, she stepped into the hall, ready to confront whatever Farran concocted.

As she stepped onto the top stair, her gaze slid to Farran’s open door. Dark and empty, the room held no sign he’d been there moments before. He’d even made the bed—more than she could say for herself.

Shaking her head at the man’s idiosyncrasies, she descended the stairs. One minute, he created the perfect ideal of what a man should be. The next, he turned into a psychiatrist’s dream project.

She found him in the kitchen, wolfing down a bowl of cold cereal. He paused long enough to lift his spoon and gesture at an identical bowl near the countertop’s edge. “Break your fast.”

It took a moment for his meaning to register. When it did, she declined with a shake of her head. “No, thanks. I’m not really a breakfast person.”

He arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Three more spoonfuls, and he set his bowl into the sink. “You are ready then?”

“Yeah.” In truth, ready had nothing to do with anything. She didn’t have a choice. All her agreement accomplished was a little peace and quiet. At the very least, a pretense of cooperation could only work to her advantage when she needed to leverage the Sudarium. The less Farran had to complain about, the more he’d be apt to set her free.

With a curt nod, Farran indicated the door. He slung a heavy bag she hadn’t observed the night before over his shoulder and eased into the narrow hall. As she followed, she noticed something else she hadn’t seen when they first entered the house—a silver scabbard. It poked out one corner of his black duffel bag and glinted as they passed beneath the overhead light. Where had he come up with a sword? More important … What did he intend to do with it?

She eyed the back of his head warily. Maybe this was where his virtual kidnapping turned into danger. If he knew how to use that thing, she couldn’t exactly claim this journey to Missouri was harmless. Weapons put her circumstances in a whole new light.

Then again, given his attachment to his illusions of the Knights Templar, the sword could be just a prop. If he were taking her to a gathering of fellow Freemasons, it could be ceremonial as well.

Nevertheless, she kept a wide berth as she let herself into the SUV and surreptitiously watched to ensure the sword didn’t land within arm’s reach of the driver’s seat. He tucked it neatly into the back, along with his bag, then slid behind the wheel.

As they backed out of the driveway, Noelle chanced a cautious glance his way. His jaw still held the tight lines of annoyance, but the overall harshness his earlier anger created had eased. His eyes held concentration, not the sharp glint of fury. Encouraged, she braved conversation.

“So. What exactly will happen when we get to this … temple?”

Farran rolled his fingers closed around the steering wheel. With measured words, he answered, “You shall meet Mikhail. You shall meet our commander, Merrick, and his seraph, Anne. We shall exchange our oath, and then you shall be released to your chambers.”

A frown tugged at her brow. “My chambers?”

“Aye.” He repositioned his hands and relaxed into the seat. “Gabriel left orders after Merrick’s pairing. For weeks, men have worked to prepare the rooms that belong to you. You will enjoy them.”

Determined to catch him in a conflict with his stories, she challenged, “I thought you said I would be free to leave when I took this oath?”

Slowly he dipped his chin in a nod. “Aye, you shall be. But the rooms are yours for eternity. Whenever you choose to return, when you lend aid to our battles, you shall have a bed to call your own.”

Noelle let out a heavy sigh. The man was unshakable. Either he’d practiced this game before, or he really believed this stuff. Or …

A shiver crept down her spine. Maybe she wasn’t the first girl he’d dragged off to an abandoned corner of the Midwest. Maybe this was some sick cultish practice.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Farran? Will any portion of this … oath … hurt?”

His frown scolded as he glanced at her. Returning his gaze to the road ahead of them, he answered, “’Tis words, damsel, not a blood pact.”

The touch of sarcasm lacing his response sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She hung her head, sank deeper into her seat. But on the heels of her embarrassment, annoyance sparked. He had no right to shame her. Any rational person would be worried about harm. If anything, Farran ought to be glad she hadn’t screamed her head off or done something drastic to get attention.

She stiffened her spine and returned his scowl. “Why are you doing this? It’s absurd. It’s against the law, for that matter. I don’t know what you intend to do with me, but I swear to you, if this turns into some sick sexual deviancy, I’ll find a way to bring every authority in and gloat when they take your ass to jail.”

Though he didn’t look at her, his eyebrows lifted almost to his forehead. A soft snort rang out over the low radio. “Must I remind you, I do not wish to bed you?”

She folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the sting to her pride. “No, I think you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

“Then we are agreed. I shall not touch you. You shall not expect me to touch you. In return, you may take the lovers you desire.” He paused, then slid a meaningful stare her way. “You will not choose another knight.”

Unable to resist the taunt, Noelle retorted, “No? Why not? I’m not good enough for them?”

His eyes narrowed. His jaw worked. He opened and closed his fingers, repositioning his hands. “Only a fool would make the mistake of touching you.”

Though she longed to be immune to the age-old pain, his brutal honesty cut like a knife. Hadn’t she learned the truth long ago? When Brett Thornbow laughed at her for asking him to the sophomore Valentine’s Day dance, he’d said pretty much the same thing. Her prom date, whom she’d truly believed wanted to attend with her, disclosed she was nothing more than a pity date. The frat boy she’d thought was interested in college echoed similar remarks. Over and over again, she’d confronted the depressing reality that she was an embarrassment. Even Seth, as close as they were, couldn’t help but chuckle when he caught her staring a bit too long at attractive men who entered her lab.

Biting the inside of her cheek to stop a rush of sudden tears, she looked out the window. When her eyes welled anyway, she tugged her ponytail free to cloak her face. She wouldn’t cry in front of Farran. Just as she’d learned she embarrassed men, she’d also learned tears only made it worse. They laughed a little harder. Goaded a little more.

She should be used to this by now. Only, for some reason she couldn’t fully explain, hearing the nutcase beside her shared the same thoughts hurt far more.

Damn it all, she had to get out of here. Back to her lab. Back to the inanimate objects that had stories to tell, but no voices that could speak.

CHAPTER 11

Stars peppered the night sky with pinpoints of light. Farran blinked into the darkness, his eyes dry as bone and his muscles as tight as a belt. Before him, the stretch of Missouri highway wove through wide fields, a ribbon of rolling hills determined to plague him with the need for sleep.