The Heart of the Phoenix (22 page)

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. Are you all right? Did they harm you?”

“I need to get down and walk. I’m numb.”

He slid off and helped her dismount, holding her waist until she steadied. She clung to his forearms when he tried to remove his hands, but still she didn’t meet his eyes.

“Evie. Were you harmed?” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.

She took a shaky step, her head averted. With a small laugh, she said, “If you mean was I trussed up like a goose, knocked unconscious, threatened, made to fear for you and all my friends, yes. If you mean was I, um, assaulted, no.”

She looked at him then, eyes huge. “Oh, Stephen, I think I may have killed a man,” she murmured.

Were those tears filling her eyes? A mix of anger and dismay filled him. He was used to seeing her incensed, angry, playful, impetuous, but his little shadow seldom wept.

He gathered her to him. “If you did, it was justified. Don’t worry.”

She slid her arms around his waist, stepped closer until her body met his, nestled her cheek against his chest. She was trembling again.

“What happened?”

“The one who’d been set to guard me threatened…that is, he made me think he would…” She looked up at him. “I tried to discourage him, so I screamed. I never thought his commander would react so violently.” She shivered.

“He killed him?”

“I think he must have. He cut him in the arm, and it bled so badly. Then he forced him onto a horse, and they rode out. Neither had returned when you arrived.”

Stephen wrapped his arms tighter, one around her waist, the other around her shoulders and leaned against a tree trunk. “You were right to protect yourself. Whatever happened was not your fault.” Her face turned into his chest again, and her body trembled.

“Look at me,” he urged. “Evie. Look.” She finally lifted her face, eyes wide and miserable and, yes, filled with tears. Something shifted inside him.

He moved a hand to brush away the dampness from her cheeks. As if it possessed a will of its own, it curled around her chin, and he dipped his head.

His mouth touched hers, only in comfort, he told himself. A little hiccup slipped from her, and he pulled away with a trace of a smile. Wonder filled her eyes, luminous in the night. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw, making it flex. They slid around his neck, and she rocked up on her toes.

With a short, low groan, he dragged her closer, his kiss no longer gentle. His mouth sucked and nipped and opened against hers. The tip of his tongue teased the seam of her lips, urged them open. And when she gasped against the touch, he slipped inside.

He felt the vibration of her moan as he stroked the sensitive spot behind her teeth. Felt her shudder as he ran his tongue further back, then drop to stroke across and under her own tongue. His body hardened. His hand slid from her waist to cup her behind and his hips thrust forward.

The sounds of pleasure deep in her throat drove him, and when she rubbed against his erection, he thought he would explode. His hands touched, caressed, urged. They brushed against her breasts. Trailed to her mound where they stroked through the layers of fabric, and when his long fingers moved deeper, she gasped.

The sound of her voice brought him to his senses. What the hell was he doing? This was Evie, his best friend’s sister. A lady promised to another. He’d just rescued her from kidnappers. And he wanted nothing more than to lift her skirts and sink his very hard and throbbing cock into her. He tried to set her away, but she held on for dear life.

****

Evie clung to Stephen’s arms to keep from falling. Her body ached in all those wonderful places he’d touched before. She wanted him to do so once more. With a soft sound deep in her throat, she arched her hips, searching for that blissful feeling. He was too tall. That wonderful hardness she’d felt a moment ago pressed her belly.

Then his leg slid between hers and brought her down on his thigh. Oh, yes. She struggled to lift her face for another kiss, but he kept his chin against the side of her forehead. He moved his leg against her, guided her hips, showed her how to slide against him. She didn’t need instructions. The knowledge seemed to burst from her depths. Her body knew the way even though it had never traveled this path before.

The sensations were like those she experienced days ago, when they hid from the storm. But more intense. More compelling. Tonight he wore no mail and his hard, wonderful body throbbed against her. Tonight the fright, the excitement, the fear propelled her. And she wanted more.

Her breath quickened into quiet gasps. But she was not so lost in sensation that she didn’t realize her stomach rubbed against his hard length as he guided her movements. He hissed in a long breath, then clamped strong hands against her hips, halting the slide.

“We can’t,” he uttered, his voice so hoarse she didn’t recognize it.

“Yes,” she insisted in a whisper. “Please. Don’t stop now.” As she struggled against the restrictive hold, her upper body jerked against him. He grew harder, if possible, and she could feel the pulsing throb through the layers of their clothing.

Her arms curled around his shoulders, her hands slid into his thick hair and she managed to pull his head down. He groaned and whispered a curse. Then his mouth clamped over hers. At last his hands loosened their insistent grip, and she took up the rhythm.

Up and down she moved. Her hand reached to steady herself and landed against the hard ridge, arced high against his belly. She curled her fingers around him, drawing a guttural moan that vibrated through her sensitive breasts. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, set a pace that matched the movements of their bodies.

She ached at her core, reached for something she didn’t understand but needed, wanted desperately. She whimpered in frustration. Then his hand was between them to touch that spot below her mound. Stars filled her vision, and she jerked away from the kiss to cry out.

Evie trembled against Stephen, her mind drugged in the aftermath of the shattering sensation. Beneath her ear he exhaled a long, deep sigh, his chest carrying her gently down. But he continued to hold her so she couldn’t move. Finally, she shoved back to peer up into the smoky depth of his intent gaze. His lips were swollen, moist.

She freed a strand of her hair tangled in the bristles on his jaw. At least the new growth didn’t entirely hide his strong chin. Without thought, she tiptoed up to trace the indent with her tongue.

“Don’t move.” The urgency of his tone stopped her.

“Why?” Had she done something wrong?

In a movement so sudden it felt violent, he set her away and spun around. He fumbled with his clothing, and she heard a deep groan. His head drooped forward, and he reached to grasp a low branch above his head.

She teetered at the unexpected lack of support, flung out a hand to steady herself. It lit on his back, and he flinched at the touch. She snatched it back; sucked in a breath. Why had he turned away so quickly? And now he couldn’t stand her touch. She pressed a hand to her mouth and winced. It felt swollen, too, tender.

Fumbling her way, she found a boulder to lean against while her other hand rubbed her chest and stomach. A vast chasm opened inside, but she didn’t understand how the dark emptiness could be filled with such pain.

Her cheeks tingled. A touch showed tenderness there, as well, along with small bumps. What had caused that? Then she recalled the feel of Stephen’s face against hers as his lips commanded, demanded. The beard stubble had marked her.

Her fingertips traced the tiny abrasions. They would disappear, but she’d never forget. Her glance lifted. He stood as he had, fist wrapped around the small branch. Did he not feel any of her wonder, her confusion? The branch cracked. She fought back a nervous laugh. Perhaps he did, after all. But he obviously refused to act on the emotion that roiled between them.

For a moment the pain ebbed as she relived the sensations. She’d felt comforted the first time he brushed his mouth against hers. But then she’d found herself holding on, touching his beautiful, hard jaw, reaching up to match her lips to his once more.

After that, she’d been lost. She recalled urging him to touch her, recalled moving against him in wild abandon. And the feeling when he pressed low against her, his long, strong fingers gentle but firm as they sent her into the sunburst culmination. Her breath shook, and she closed her eyes at the memory. What a magnificent, beautiful feeling. Thoroughly forbidden.

When she had touched him, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tightened, his member jumped and hardened beneath her fingers. What might it be like to caress him skin to skin?

A moan of embarrassment slipped out. Stephen of Rively made her forget every lesson ever learned. The truth was, she wanted to know the wild abandon of lying with him, loving him.

Love. The word stung like ice against her burning flesh. He didn’t love her. Would not. Could not. Hadn’t he made that perfectly clear over the last two years? The last few days? Just now, as he turned away?

Tonight meant nothing. He fulfilled his body’s urgings when he wanted, with any woman available. She need only think of the Saracen lady who followed him to that Normandy inn.

How stupid of her. How could she have allowed herself to lose control, knowing what he was like? If he rescued her, it was because of obligation. That was all. Evelynn of Chauvere represented duty, not desire.

Duty. Dear God in Heaven. The trembling heat of embarrassment gave way to icy memory. She was betrothed. Stomach roiling with nausea, she slid to the ground. Not one thought of her husband-to-be had entered her mind the entire night. Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie. A steady, handsome, charming lord. A celebrated warrior, trusted by the next king of England.

Her duty lay with him. She buried her face in her hands. Was she a wanton? Betrothed to one man, allowing another to kiss her? Caress her? Desiring every one of the touches?

She curled inward against the rock as she fought to impose some semblance of her usual self control. She had, indeed, lost bearing in the past hours.

With a shudder, Evie straightened. The past couldn’t be changed, but the future lay ahead. She’d make certain it unfolded properly.

****

Stephen struggled to bring his body back to normal. He thought he could control his desire as he brought her pleasure. But he failed. If only she hadn’t pressed against him that last time, sliding up his body to lay her tempting mouth on his chin. As it was, he scarcely managed to break away, fumble himself free of his clothing, before his release caught him.

Now he must face his actions—and Evie. Lady Evelynn. Best start thinking of her with a little more formality. As shattering as the last few minutes had been, she could never be his.

Christ’s chains. She belonged to another man. In the past hours, he’d forgotten. All he’d been able to think of was his little shadow, the girl who troubled him so often as a youth. His friend’s sister, who’d grown into a beautiful woman. Beautiful of face, of mind. Spirited. She made him forget Sorya, and from that night on the icy roof, he’d resented her for it.

When he wasn’t dwelling on her lips or her smile or her gentle care and compassion. Evie, gentle? He managed a laugh. She’d not been gentle with her captors, from the sound of it. Far from the helpless innocent she appeared.

The way she responded to him was far from innocent. Not true. Her lack of experience cried out in every move she made, even in the untutored ride he gave her. But she caught on quickly. Damn. The way she stroked him. He’d thought he’d explode at the touch of her soft fingers. No, that came later. He grunted in disgust at his own lack of restraint. Never had he lost all control with a woman as he did with Evie.

He’d intended comfort when he ran his mouth across hers. She had been fearless when rescued, never complaining, matching his mind perfectly when they freed the horses. She’d felt soft and sweet in his arms. Who would have guessed her defenses had been so decimated she would flame up? What a fire. It singed him, right enough. His breath still drew ragged.

And when he stroked her, he’d had to fight the compulsion to haul up those skirts and rip down his braies. He’d wanted nothing more than to thrust deep, to brand her, stamp her. Just the memory was enough to stiffen his cock again. The branch he held cracked under the force of his clenched fist. That made him angry, as well.

What fiend of hell possessed him to touch her in the first place? He didn’t want her. He wanted no woman, certainly not one who would demand attention and affection. Look what caring for a woman had brought before. Death, and the sorrow and guilt that drove him since.

He didn’t need entanglements. What he needed, any woman could provide. Lady Evelynn must remain a duty.

Cold reality doused him.

Concentrating on duties would put the temptation of her from his mind. Odd, he realized as he turned, thinking of her as Lady Evelynn seemed appropriate. The woman standing before him was no child. The remembered sensation of her full breasts sent an itch through his palms, but he pushed it away. No more weakness. Time to travel.

They still had a distance to go.

Evie evidently planned to pretend the interlude never happened, for as he helped her into the saddle, she nodded thanks then stared ahead without speaking. When he settled himself behind, she jumped at his touch. As the gelding resumed an easy canter, she sat straight, as if to escape contact.

He wasn’t too happy about the closeness either. The warmth of her back scant inches away, the friction of her legs against his, all served as reminders of what they’d shared. His arms circled her as he lifted the reins, and the movement of the mount sent them brushing her sides.

“Is Marie all right?” The words burst from her. “And Sir Macsen?” Her voice became tentative. “The last I saw, he’d been struck down.”

“Davy found Marie a league from the attack, sitting where her pony ran itself out. They returned shortly before I left. Macsen lived the last I saw, but his wounds are serious.” He heard a shaky gasp.