Authors: Colleen Gleason
Was he to have no secrets, no barrier between them?
“So it wasn’t because you wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. That it was a mistake.” Her voice was very,
very
neutral.
“That was precisely the problem—I
wanted
to forget, I wanted it to be a mistake, but bloody damned hell…it wasn’t going to be. I couldn’t forget it. I felt guilty as hell, but I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
Savina gave a low, husky laugh. “You have one hell of a gift for self-preservation, Max Denton,” she said, leaning into him again. “Keeping your emotions and self all closed off and brooding and angry. I’m very glad to see you can shed that when necessary. Now…are you going to stop talking and let me seduce you, or was this moonlight picnic plan of mine all a big mistake?”
“I’m not sure who’s going to be seducing whom,” he said, taking it upon himself to unbutton the front of her dress, “but all I know is I’ve been wanting to see all of what’s beneath that bloody corset of yours since you tricked me into lacing you up.”
“You seemed perfectly willing to play lady’s maid,” she said, sliding her hands up over his shoulders as he attended to the matter at hand. “And I seem to recall you doing a bit of
un
lacing as well.”
“I sure as hell didn’t want
Purcell
doing it,” he muttered, pulling the dress down over her arms, then attacking the corset. “Vampire or not.”
Savina laughed and reached up to touch his face. “I’m glad you shaved all that off.”
“It was your idea in the first place,” he muttered, then wondered why the hell they were talking when he could be tasting her.
He lowered his mouth to hers, sliding one hand into her heavy, silky hair while the other managed the hooks down the front of her garment. She shivered against him when he kissed her slowly and thoroughly, then found the opening of her corset and covered one breast with his hand.
Her nipple was hard and ready, and when he touched it, teasing it into a tight, wrinkled nub, Savina twitched and sighed and pulled his face closer to her mouth. She was sleek and warm, her tongue dangerous and her lips soft and sensual as she teased him along his lips and jaw and finally settled into the warm curve of his neck.
Max sighed, closed his eyes, breathed.
And then he decided he wanted to be in control, and so he pulled away and returned to divesting her of her clothing in a most efficient manner. Moments later he had her just as he’d imagined: sprawled, naked in the lamplight, her body just as lovely and curvy as he’d anticipated.
He caught his breath, devouring her with his eyes as he slid his hands over her dusky golden skin from shoulder to breast to hip. She smiled lazily up at him and began to unbutton his shirt.
“All’s fair,” she murmured, her slipping her hands beneath the white cotton and splaying them over his shoulders. But he wasn’t about to be distracted quite yet. Propped up on one elbow, he bent to take her taut nipple into his mouth, using his tongue to lazily swirl around it as his free hand skimmed down over her belly.
She arched a little, her hands falling away from him when he slipped his hand between her legs. She was hot and full, very slick and ready, and Max loved the way she shivered and trembled as he explored and stroked and penetrated with his fingers, both skillful and ruthless.
“Not…fair,” she moaned, reaching for the collar of his shirt. “I want to…” But she stopped when he began to slide and tease a little more urgently, biting her lip as her eyes slid closed and her breathing became more like sexy little panting interspersed with soft sighs.
She came, long and sweet and slow against his hand, and Max realized he could do this all night…watch her eyes flutter, her lips part, her body undulate with pleasure. When she had come down a little from her high, he bent forward to nuzzle her throat, gently kissing the wounds from Purcell’s fangs, and then trailing along the curve of her collarbone.
“I think,” she said, pulling at his shirt again, “that it’s my turn to see some skin, since you’ve seen so much of mine. Take it off, Max. Now.”
He huffed out a laugh and sat back on his haunches to yank off his shirt. She made a satisfied sound when she sat up and captured his shoulders with her small hands, levering herself onto his lap. She was warm and soft, spicy-scented and now musky with her own essence. Her hair was in his mouth and nose, and her lips seemed to suddenly be everywhere: on his shoulders, along the curve of his neck. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, with her nipples imprinting on his skin. He was in a haze of heat and desire, a maelstrom of sensation with pounding veins and all sensation centered in his throbbing erection, of her soft, spicy skin and handfuls of silky hair…a world of heat, and slick tongues, and a full, wet quim settling against his palm.
But she scrambled off too soon—or perhaps it was just soon enough, for she was already dealing with the opening of his trousers before he quite caught up to her. He felt a pang of his own satisfaction when he realized she didn’t really know what she was doing, unfastening a man’s pants, and he gladly took over, yanking them open himself.
He sighed when his cock sprang free at last, turgid and oh so ready, and he’d hardly scrambled out of his trousers and drawers before Savina had her hands around him. Max closed his eyes and struggled for a moment, then nearly lost his way when she slid her hands up and down along his length in a slow, smooth stroke.
“Hold on there, ace,” he said when she did it again, and removed her hands firmly. “Not so fast.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Max,” she replied impudently and pulled him down on top of her. “I’m the one who set up this whole seduction—moonlight and picnic and all. I’m in charge. If it were up to you—”
“Stop talking,” he said, and captured her mouth with his. She was ready, and by God, so was he. There was no need to discuss it any further. He was raging hard, and she was hot and full and wet, and he was going mad just thinking about sliding inside.
She opened her legs eagerly as he settled over her, angling between two sleek thighs, still kissing the hell out of that wide, luscious mouth. And when he finally did fit into her, easing in deep, Savina gave such a delicious, delightful moan that he nearly came right then.
He paused again to catch his breath, bringing himself back to the moment instead of galloping off into the sunset of pleasure, and simply exhaled. But then she wriggled against him, impatient and hungry as always, and that was the end of that.
Savina grabbed him by the hips when he began to move, urging him on, shifting up to meet him as her fingers dug urgently into his skin. She was panting, biting her lip, her skin soft with a damp sheen, and when she came again, it was with a loud, triumphant exclamation that immediately sent him over the edge as well.
Max barely remembered to pull out in time, and he collapsed on the blanket next to her, chest heaving, fingers and toes tingling, eyes closed.
“Well,” she said, her voice ever so low and husky as one hand settled over his hard, trembling belly, “that went well. As seductions go.”
He opened one eye and looked up at her, where she was bent over him, that inky fall of hair skating over his skin. “I hope you’re not thinking of making a habit of it,” he said, an odd feeling seizing him. His lungs constricted, and he opened his other eye. What was going on here?
“Of what? Seducing you?” She splayed her hands over his flat pectorals, sliding them over the planes of muscle and shoulder as if she’d never seen a man’s naked body before.
“Of seducing
anyone
, except for me.”
She sat back a little, her hands settling in her lap and no longer doing sweet, sensual things to his skin. “Really.”
He realized belatedly something was wrong and pulled himself upright. But before he could try to repair whatever damage he’d done, she continued. “That would imply there will be more opportunities for…this.”
“Well, I bloody well hope so,” he exclaimed. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“I assumed now that we were done with our task here, you’d go back to whatever it was you’ve been doing for ten years, and I’d do the same.” She shrugged, but he noticed she didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Savina.” Now he was worried, and he took her hands. “Is that what you want? Is there—Christ, is there someone else?” The horror flooded him, turning him cold and empty in an instant. “You said you weren’t married, but—”
“No, no, of course not,” she said. “No. There’s no one, now.”
He expelled a relieved breath. “Except for me. I hope.” He moved his thumb over her knuckles, a little nervous about the fact that she was still looking away.
“Except for you.” Now she met his eyes. “I was sweet on you a long time ago, when we were younger. I don’t think that’s ever changed, Max. And I don’t know that it ever will. I hope…I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“Bother me? Why would it…” His voice trailed off. Of course she would ask that—the woman who knew all about his wife and daughter, and his terror of relationships and commitment. The woman who knew a lot more about him, it seemed, than he knew about himself. “No. It’s the most important thing, the most wonderful thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Thank you,” he said, and reached over to give her a soft, loving kiss. “For more than you can ever know.”
She pulled away, their lips separating with a soft little pop. “I’m really glad to hear you say that, Max. Because I don’t think I’m anywhere near finished with this seduction. I do hope you don’t have any complaints about that.”
He laughed softly, burying his face in her hair as he combed his fingers through one long tress. “As long as there aren’t any vampires involved, I’m game for anything.”
“Remember you said that,” she warned, pushing him back onto the blanket and, to his surprise and delight, straddling him. She rose up over him, silver and golden and shadowy in the light, her breasts high and lovely and her mouth in a wicked grin.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”
~ Aftermath ~
A little while later, as they lay bathed in moon and lamplight, Savina sat up and began to rummage through her discarded clothing.
“I’d almost forgotten. I found these in Alexander’s room.” She offered Max a small stack of envelopes. “They don’t look like official Tutela business, but I thought you should take a look anyway.”
Her eyes were dark and beautiful, and the moonlight cast her delicate shoulders and throat in a chiaroscuro of silver and shadow. Her lips were wide and full, her hair a wild cloud that framed her elegant face. She was incredibly beautiful—and, now he knew she was also courageous and quick thinking as well. And that she understood him—as well as any woman could.
For a moment, all he wanted to do was pull her close again, to bury his face in her hair and taste her lips and know that he was no longer alone. To simply
be
.
But instead, being the practical and efficient Max Denton, he took the packet and began to flip quickly through the papers. With the full moon and the help of the lantern’s golden glow, he was able to read a few lines of each item at a glance. Most of them were simple correspondence between Alexander and his secretary about business matters. Something that might have been related to the Tutela—that would bear closer examination.
Max stopped when he came to an envelope. Unopened, smooth and crisp and
pink
of all things. Postmarked three weeks ago. Some sweet, cloying perfume clung to it like frosting on a cake. Max’s heart surged into his throat, for it was the names of the sender and the recipient that paralyzed him.
Winifred Farnham
and
Petronilla Jellington
.
The code names for correspondence about Macey.
“Max? Is it something important?” Savina was there, bringing with her a wave of her delicious scent and the warmth of her presence. She looked over his shoulder, her hand resting on his bare skin. “That’s some very fancy penmanship. Lots of curlicues and swirls. Who uses pink stationery anyway?”
“It’s a great way to…” Damn. His voice was rough, as if it had been unused…or if it was clogged with emotion. “To make it seem frivolous or unimportant.”
She stilled, her fingers flexing briefly over his shoulder in a gentle squeeze. “When it’s the most important thing of all…oh, Max, could this be the letter?”
He didn’t trust his voice, so nodded instead. He was unable to take his eyes away from the pink packet. It was thicker than a mere letter, stiffer and heavier. It was open. Dammit, it was open. As Max stared down at it, his heart began to pound and his mouth went dry.
Inside was everything he wanted to know…but everything he dared not learn. His fingers trembled and he was aware of his eyes beginning to burn. The words on the letter turned blurry.
I can’t. Do. This
.
He knew better. He’d give the letter to Savina, and she could make sure it got to Bell.
But he was already opening it, tearing the flap carefully from its mooring. Savina settled back, away from him, giving him space and privacy.
He pulled out the contents of the envelope, and the first thing he saw was a photograph. Of his daughter.
His daughter
.
***
Two weeks later, in the wee hours before dawn, Max slid from bed.
Savina murmured something in her sleep and shifted, then curled herself around an extra pillow and settled back into whatever dreams she’d been pursuing.
He resisted the urge to touch her, for fear she’d awaken and he would lose the courage to do what he had to do. There would be time to touch her, make love to her, laugh and learn to love again in the days to come.
But first…
He left the bedroom, and padded silently through the warren of halls in the Consilium. His home.
Moments later, he settled himself at the desk in Wayren’s study. It seemed a fitting location in which to do this.
The sheet of paper blazed at him, taunting him with its white blankness. The pencil seemed foreign in his hand. He stared down at it for a very long time before he began to write. It began slowly, but soon the scrawl came more easily, the words flowed, and he felt liberated. When he was finished, he looked down at what he’d written and nodded.