Thief of Light (35 page)

“Well, yes, but—”

“The bedchamber’s through there.” She indicated a connecting door with her chin.

Erik’s heart began a slow, slamming beat. Turning, he found a serviceable bolt on the exterior door and slid it home. “And no one knows we’re here,” he said slowly. “We’re safe, for tonight at least.”

Outside, branches creaked in the rising wind, the rain spattering harder on the roof of the pavilion, but the room itself was warm, lit by a uniform golden glow. Wonderingly, Erik reached up to touch a light globe in its wall sconce. “These are Technomage devices,” he said. He flipped on one of the elaborate gold spigots and steaming water gushed into the tub. “Even the plumbing. Gods, Prue, how did you afford it?”

“Went into debt.” Prue’s jaw firmed. “We took a calculated risk and it paid off. Sometimes they do.” Her eyes went bleak and flat. With a shrug, she turned away and bent to adjust the flow of water, the fine fabric of her trews outlining the peach of her bottom, clinging to the shadowed cleft between the taut curves of her buttocks. His eye was drawn immediately to the plump purse of her sex, pushing against the material.

The punch of arousal had him hardening so fast, he felt light-headed. As Prue straightened, he took a step forward, reaching. The heavens boomed, a long, rolling reverberation, and the room was illuminated by a flash of sheet lightning as bright as a summer’s noon. Prue jumped, a stifled noise escaping her. The light blanched her face, highlighting the bones beneath the skin, the shadows beneath her eyes. She looked like some small startled animal, poised for flight.

Long before the thunder had faded, Erik had her hard against him, one palm cradling the back of her head, settling her against his shoulder. Foolishly, he rocked her back and forth, crooning nonsense, patting her back. “It’s all right, love. It’s all right.”

Prue set the heels of her hands against his chest and pushed, looking up into his face. “No,” she said, “it’s not.” When her lips trembled, she pressed them together for a moment. “The prettydeath was meant for you. If it wasn’t for poor Dai, you would have . . . have . . .” She turned her head away.

Behind her, water tumbled into the bath and steam rose, curling toward the coffered ceiling. Rain drummed on the roof, splashed from the gutters.

“But I didn’t.” When he cupped her cheek, her skin was chilled velvet against his palm. “Look at me, Prue. It wasn’t just luck.” He frowned, thinking how best to put it, how much to reveal of the secrets he’d never told a living soul. “The Lord and the Lady have a plan for me. Call them the Sister and the Brother if you like, but the gods have a purpose for me, something I have to do.” Slowly, he began to rub her arms, not caring for her pallor, the shivers running through her small frame.

She nodded. “You have to save the city, yes, I know.”

Erik raised a brow. “And you, Mistress McGuire? What about you?”

“The gods mean nothing to me.”

“They don’t?”

She stiffened in his grasp. “Why should they? They weren’t there when I needed them. No one was.” Her lashes fell, veiling those aquamarine eyes. “You can’t save me either, Erik. I’m none of your business.”

He gave her a little shake, the hot lick of temper taking him by surprise, as shocking as the thunder and lightning outside. “Like hell you’re not! Look at you, you’re wet through, freezing.”

Her chin went up. “So are you.”

Erik ignored that one and slipped the first fastening on her collar. “Do you like these clothes?”

She glanced down. “I did, but they’re ruined now.”

“Good.” The storm seemed to have entered his head, rattling around inside his skull. Erik gripped Prue’s tunic in both fists and ripped it straight down the middle.

“Erik!” Her cry echoed off the marble as he dealt likewise with the chemise beneath.

Her breasts tumbled into his eager hands, the nipples tightly furled, the flesh firm and very cool. Too cool.

He went to his knees, taking her hand and planting it on his shoulder. “Lift your foot.” When she hesitated, he growled, “Do it. Or I swear to all the gods I’ll put you over my knee.”

Only the Horned Lord knew what she saw in his face, but she gasped and a pretty flush of pink brightened her honeyed skin, all the way from breast to cheek. After a pause, she complied, one foot at a time. With grim amusement, Erik recognized the feeling coursing through him as disappointment. He pulled her boots off.

“You too,” she said, her nails digging into his shoulder. “You’re cold too.”

“In a minute.” Hooking his fingers into her waistband, he peeled off her trews and the drawers beneath. “Step out.” Unable to resist, he spread his palm over the creamy globe of one buttock and squeezed gently. Shit, even her ass was cold! Tremors were running through her whole body, bone-deep.

Blinking hard, Prue stared at something past his left ear, wrapping one arm across her breasts. The other hand stole toward the dark thatch between her thighs.

“No.” Gently, Erik took her wrists and drew her arms away from her body. “It’s way too late to hide.” She was all creamy curves, voluptuous flesh underpinned by excellent muscle tone. Prue McGuire could never be described as slim or lissome. She was a pocketsize goddess—a divinity so hot and lush a man could sink into her and lose himself—cock, soul and heart.

Her smooth flank was right next to his face. Before he knew he meant to do it, Erik had turned his head and taken a tiny nip, high on her hip.

Prue hissed and he gave her a grin that bared his teeth, wondering how badly his hunger showed.

Leaning over, he swished a hand through the bathwater. Perfect.

He licked the spot he’d bitten, conscious of an insane desire to sink his teeth into the tender undercurve of her gorgeous backside. “Get in.” Even over the steady drumming of the rain, his growl was loud enough to threaten like the thunder.

Though she was still shaking, she stood her ground, glaring at him, the little fool. “When I’m ready,” she said. “You have something horrible in your hair. Did you know that?”

Erik’s precarious control evaporated. He rose to loom over Prue, taking ruthless advantage of his height and weight. “My hair can bloody well wait, you can’t! Why the fuck won’t you let me take care of you?”

Her eyes widened to enormous blue green pools. Just as swiftly, she lowered her gaze to his boots, apparently struck dumb. Godsdammit, a fucking miracle.

Erik grasped her hand. “Get in or I’ll put you in.” He steadied her as she climbed into the bath. The thing was so deep, it had a set of steps. The sides were carved with shelves and hollows, varying the depth of the water and providing spaces for lounging, edges for holding on to. There was even a kind of hose arrangement, attached to the spigots, worked by flipping a separate lever. Lord’s balls, the erotic possibilities were endless!

She spoke so softly, so much to herself that it was only because he’d just turned off the taps that he heard her at all. “I don’t know how to do that, let someone . . .” Her voice trailed away. Her back was to him, her thick hair curling outrageously with damp, the clean line of her shoulder hunched a little, as though she nursed some tender spot over her heart. When he glanced into the mirror, she looked weary to the bone, utterly defeated, not like the fierce little Prue he knew at all.

Erik stood rooted to the spot, besieged by temptation. Why not set her free to soar with pleasure, take control and give her the peace that came with complete abandon? It would require absolute trust, but all he need do was speak with the Voice. He bit his lip hard enough to hurt.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Towels?”

“In the cupboard.” Now she sounded almost normal, moving her hands under the water, splashing languidly. To his relief, there was more color in her face. Beneath the surface, her skin glimmered, her nipples a serene pink, plumped by the warmth. The indentation of her navel winked at him, the pale curve of her belly drawing his gaze to the shadow between rounded thighs.

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, his arousal pressing painfully against the lacing of his trews. Gods! If he let himself go, he could no longer tell whether he’d devour Prue or fuck her. Fucking her would be a simple matter, blessedly straightforward compared with this overwhelming desire to possess absolutely, to keep her safe and make her his.

He’d lost his battle with the Dark Lady, but he didn’t give a fuck. The challenge was no longer relevant. It simply didn’t matter.

His chest heaving, he wrenched open the carved doors of the cupboard. There were stacks of fluffy towels, black and crimson and cream, row after row of vials and bottles and ointment pots from a high-class apothecary, all neatly labeled. Grabbing a couple that looked useful, he placed them on the low bench near the tub together with a washcloth. That was better. He had his breathing regulated now.

Conscious of an unwinking tip-tilted gaze, he sat to tug off his boots, strip off his shirt and set aside the talisman on its chain. When Prue’s lips curved, he felt heat rise in his face. Ridiculous. Especially after last night. Was he a performer, or was he not?

Unobtrusively, Erik sucked in his stomach, squared his shoulders. He paused in the act of unlacing his trews and arched a teasing brow. “Like what you see?”

A little pink tongue crept out to moisten Prue’s pouty lower lip and a hard shiver of anticipation whispered over his balls. The skin there was so sensitive. “You’re fishing again,” said Prue calmly, but beneath the water, he saw her grip her hands together, her shoulders rigid with tension. She shot him a glinting half smile, all woman, all challenge and hard-won courage. “It’s rather . . . sweet.”

That did it.

Rumbling with pretended outrage, Erik dropped the trews and kicked them away. Ignoring the weighty demand of his rampant erection, he surged into the bath, so focused on Prue he barely noticed the delicious heat lapping his thighs. When he reached her, he seized her shoulders and jerked her up into his arms.

“You,” he said, fighting against the insistent press of the Voice in his chest, his breath lost in the struggle against instinct. “You . . .”

He spread a big hand over her cheek, his fingers aligned along the fine bone of her jaw, holding her steady. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Her hand came up to cover his. “No.” Her lips framed the word, but no sound emerged, her eyes huge, cynicism fighting with the temptation to let go and believe. “I’m not . . .” She cleared her throat. “Not the type to . . . stir strong passions.”

She’d gone rigid again, her body like smooth, warmed marble under his hands. Prue didn’t know the first thing about subterfuge, she was honesty to the backbone. The tragedy was that she took self-assessment from beyond clear-eyed to brutal. How could she not see her own worth? His eyes stinging, Erik gentled his grip. “Do you believe I want you?”

“Oh yes.” By way of emphasis, she pressed harder into his embrace, nudging his hardness with her belly. But her smile went awry even as she did it.

All he could do was show her he wanted more than her body. Much more. “I can wait,” he said. Sliding his palm down her arm, he entwined their fingers. “Come here.” Gods, that had come out perilously low, commanding. Settling his back into the concave shape at one end of the tub, Erik tugged Prue down so she was nestled between his spread legs, her spine pressed against his chest. He reached for the hose, frowning over the lever arrangement.

“But what—?”

Ah. Warm water gushed out in a fine spray. “Close your eyes and hold still.”

Carefully, he wet her hair, smoothing it over and over with one hand, watching it darken and soften with the weight of the water, like sodden silk.

“Erik, what do you think—?” She tried to look over her shoulder, but he cupped the small, precious shape of her skull in his palm, preventing her.

“Sshh,” he said, dismayed by the thread of desperation in his voice, but helpless to prevent it. “Let me do this for you. Please.”

A pause. “Will it make you feel better?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the bottle labeled as a hair cleanser and poured a good dollop onto the crown of her head. It smelled of something green and fresh, with a hint of astringency beneath, rather like Prue herself. He found he liked it.

Gently, Erik worked the sudsy stuff through her hair, using the tips of his fingers, first one hand, then both. Once all the tangles were gone, he massaged her scalp, starting cautiously, his touch light and soothing.

“Oh,” said Prue. “Oh, gods.” Her head tipped back and her eyes fell shut, the wet lashes lying on her cheek like lace fans beaded with water. Her mouth was no longer pale, but a satiny pink, the upper lip so prettily carved, the lower so carnal, he could feed on it for hours.

Some of the knots inside him slithered loose and he relaxed into the water and the warmth. She was right. He did feel better. Methodically, he worked his way over her scalp, and when she purred her pleasure, he smiled, pleased to his bones.