Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Morana swallowed, her palms sweating, heart racing. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his back.
He stilled completely, turning around to pin her to the spot with those magnificent eyes shining in the moonlight.
She blanked.
Tristan Caine, in motion, was beautiful. But Tristan Caine, in utter stillness, could not be described.
She didn’t even try.
“How are we getting inside?” she whispered, keeping her voice as low as she could, the fear of discovery, of execution, not just hers but his making her antsy.
“Through the door.”
Before Morana could utter a word, he wrapped his long, rough fingers around her wrist. Pulling her behind him, they across the empty patch of grass on quiet feet, his longer strides making her work double to catch up. They ran across the clearing, in clear view of anyone who happened to look their way.
Her heart in her throat the entire time, fear and thrill fighting for dominance in her body, Morana ran faster than she’d ever run, still so much slower than him, his hand pulling her along the only thing to keep her from stumbling at the speed.
They reached the side door to her wing, the one beside the stairs, and he clicked it open. Slipping inside, he pulled her along in one smooth move. In silence, awed by the fact that they’d made it without discovery, they walked in the dark hallway that opened up to the staircase.
The same dreaded staircase her father had all but pushed her down from.
Morana came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, the memory of her disillusionment crashing through her body, the same bruised body that had only just healed at the hands of the enemy. Her father had not known whether she would live or break her neck in the fall. He’d just let her go, and lay a trap that she had fallen for hook, line, and sinker in her emotional state.
She wasn’t emotional now. No. She was logical, calm, and rational where he was concerned.
For some reason, the emotions inspired by the man beside her were much greater in intensity than the one inspired by these stairs, affording her that calm. And for the first time, she was grateful for it. She didn’t want him to witness that, to witness her being any more vulnerable than she had already been when it came to her father.
Without another word, constantly aware of his scrutiny of her, she quickly climbed up the stairs, knowing he was right behind her even though she could not hear him. She’d never thought she’d walk these steps again, and it seemed surreal to be doing so not only stealthily in the dead of the night but also with the man who’d vowed to kill her. She needed to keep reminding herself of that, even as she felt things change inside her. There was a reason he hated her enough to take that vow, and until she discovered it, she could not, would not let all her guards down.
She made her way hastily to her suite, unlocking the door and heading towards the study where she kept her equipment, ignoring any nostalgia inspired by her small haven. Opening the door, she stood for a moment on the threshold, looking around the little heaven she had created for herself in this strange place. She remembered every countless night she’d spent working here, remembered the dreams she’d had of getting away from it all in here.
That girl seemed so different from who she had become. That girl with hope and dreams and the fire to make it.
She didn’t even know who she was any more in so many ways. Had she lost the fire somewhere along the way?
“Get what you need.”
Whiskey and sin. Molten lava and dancing flames.
No, she hadn’t lost the fire. It just lay dormant inside her most days. And what she couldn’t figure out was why him. Why not Jackson, or any of her father’s men, or even Dante for that matter? Why this man with the voice of sin and the body of a sinner? He called her fire forth like a mage and she did not understand it.
Morana nodded to acknowledge his words and quickly hurried about, picking up her laptop from where it still lay on the desk. Opening the bottom drawer, she pulled out her hard drives, dumping them all in a small backpack from the desk. Taking a quick inventory, realizing she had everything she needed, Morana looked about the room one last time, memorizing it, and swallowed down the lump in her throat.
He was watching her, and she needed to be cool.
Inhaling deeply, she turned to him, only to find him leaning against the door casually, like he owned the place. Those focused blue eyes observed everything that crossed her face while his own remained carefully blank. Morana felt her heart start to stutter in that familiar way it did with him, the fire flooding her bloodstream, igniting every cell it touched.
This was not the place for this. If there was ever not a place for this, it was her father’s house.
“All done?” he asked quietly, his voice even but tone heated with something her body recognized and called back to.
She nodded.
He let her take the bag and moved out of the suite as she followed, her warm body not giving her the luxury of emotions at that moment. They went down the stairs, the house dark and quiet, and she didn’t know whether her father was in or not. Nor did she care.
Opening the side door, he escaped out first, pulling her behind him as they stayed in the shadows, walking towards the tree line.
Suddenly, a group of guards came around the corner, talking among themselves, their guns relaxed on their shoulders.
Morana halted in her tracks, her mind blanking as fear filled her veins, and she turned around to run for cover the exact moment a hand pulled her roughly and pushed her face-first against an alcove in the wall at the side of the house. Heart hammering in her ears, blood rushing around in her body with a vengeance, Morana stayed completely still, overwhelming sensations crashing over her as the scent of leather and musk permeating all around her as she took in a few deep breaths, becoming aware of many things all at once.
His arms trapped her against the wall, hands flat beside her head as his body completely covered hers from view, his large form curled over her in a way that was not protective but something else entirely, something she could not define. His breaths brushed over her ear, his scruff rasping against the skin of her neck as he tucked his head in to make them merge even deeper into the shadows.
But it was his body against her back, his tall, hard, lethal body against her small back that made her knees shake.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He did not move.
His erection pushed into her back.
He did not move.
The guards’ voices faded away.
He did not move.
The fire pooled in her belly, low between her legs, making her instinctively arch against him.
Then, he moved.
He pushed the bag off her shoulder to the ground, the strap of her top falling down to her elbow with it. His hand traced her bare skin with a rough finger. Breaths hitched, Morana closed her eyes, feeling the calluses on his hand rub deliciously against her soft skin, the goosebumps scattering all over her arms, making her nipples pebble, making her breasts hurt as heat licked between her legs.
He hadn’t touched her like this the last time. He hadn’t breathed against her neck like this and rubbed his jaw over the spot against her shoulder, all the while keeping his mouth away from her. His hand slowly moved around her neck, leaving her breasts untouched, unattended like last time. She wanted – no, needed – him to touch them. She needed him to tug on her nipples, and give her that sweet pleasure she knew her body was capable of. She needed to rub them against his thumb, and create that delicious friction she could feel pulse inside her core.