State of Grace (Resurrection) (20 page)

‘Is this place yours?’ I gestured around me, the room cosy and warm from the heat of the flames. The shutters were bolted into place and scraps of material had been hung over the windows and door to keep out the draught. So that’s why curtains had been invente
d, I thought irrelevantly: not to stop people from looking in, but to keep the dark out, and the warmth in.

‘One of many,’ he confirmed. ‘This one is mine, along with other small dwellings throughout the country. Viktor has his own. It is difficult to hold lands when the possession of them is at the whim of a lord or a king.’

‘So you and Viktor don’t live together, then?’ I asked casually.

One eyebrow lifted. Roman gave me a quizzical look. ‘We travel together sometimes, but more often than not we go our separate ways.’

In spite of his answer I still couldn’t work out the relationship between the two men. In some ways they were similar in looks: both had longish, dark hair, black eyes and extremely pale skin, but I didn’t think they were related. Certainly not brothers, although they could be cousins. The bonds between them were undeniably strong, whatever their connection, with Viktor willing to sort out the problem of Godfrey’s body. I didn’t think any of my friends would be happy to do the same for me. Ianto might, but I dreaded to think what payment he would require in return.

I shuddered, hearing again the snap of Godfrey’s neck, and I remembered the way his head had rested on his shoulder, lolling obscenely. I swallowed, feeling sick once more. Roman settled himself beside me, wrapping my blanket closer.

‘You are safe here,’ he assured me. ‘None will harm you here, with me to protect you.’

I couldn’t look at him, I didn’t want him to read in my face that it was he who frightened me, more than any one, or any thing. I couldn’t understand,
though, my reactions to him. One minute desperate fear course through me, every nerve in my body demanding I run from him; and the next, we were having a (almost) normal conversation; then the next, I felt undeniable lust for him. I must remember to Google that Stockholm Syndrome when – if – I got back to my own time.

I didn’t want to move awa
y from the fire, but I was bone-deep weary and parts of me hurt, especially my stomach, throat and the back of my head. Everywhere else was a dull ache. Somehow Roman knew how I was feeling and he shuffled around until he was behind me, then he gently pulled me back into him, so my spine rested against his chest.

‘Mmmm,’ he rumbled, ‘you smell good. Apples?’

The snow that had melted in my hair had released the scent of my shampoo. I had washed my hair… was it only two nights ago?

‘I need a shower,’ I murmured, feeling a strange mix of drowsy as my eyelids wanted to close, and alert at Roman’s closeness.

‘What is this word ‘shower’? You mean rainfall?’

‘
No not rain, it’s uh, it’s when you stand under a sort of tap that’s above your head, and it drips water down on you so you can wash,’ I answered sleepily.

‘Like a tap in a barrel?’ he asked.

‘Only the barrel would contain hot water and the tap would have lots of little holes in it so the water sprinkles out.’

I felt him nod his understanding. ‘It would be difficult to heat the water,’ he mused.

‘We use a boiler or electricity,’ I said, forgetting that he would not have a clue what I meant.

‘Boiler?’

‘Sort of like a big stove or oven, and the water is pumped from it to the shower head, er, tap,’ I amended.

He hadn’t finished. ‘And elec-tristy?’

Oh goodness – how on earth was I going to explain this one? In my world we have… it’s um, er…’ Crap. ‘We have a power that… no, that’s not right. I know! We can harness lightning. We can use lightning to make fire.’ That’ll have to do. There’s no way I was going to explain this one.

He was silent for a moment. ‘You talk of things that are not possible, yet to you they are real.’

‘They
are
real,’ I maintained, trying to sit forward.

‘Shhh, be still.’ His arms came
round me, gently holding me firm. I sank back on to his solid chest, conscious of his legs stretched out either side of me. He had nice legs, to go with the nice feet and the nice… oh, heck. I was doing it again.

‘I believe you,’ he insisted. ‘Your world is so different. I look forward to seeing it with my own eyes.’

I jerked my head round to look over my shoulder at him. ‘It is nearly one thousand years in the future, so unless you can time travel…’ I stopped, the alien theory raising its head again. I was reminded of the conversation between him and Viktor last night. It appeared Roman, at least, had already lived well beyond the biblical span of three score years and ten – and he didn’t look a day over thirty. I felt him shift, uneasily I thought, but I didn’t follow it up because my stomach picked that moment to give a loud rumble.

‘I will bring you food on the morrow,’ he promised. ‘You are hungry.’

‘You haven’t eaten, either,’ I pointed out.

His reply was short. ‘No,’ he said, then, ‘try to rest. Your body needs sleep.’

I relaxed back into him once more and heard his slow intake of breath as he inhaled my shampoo scent. His chest stilled and I waited for it to rise and fall again. And I waited. He made absolutely no movement whatsoever. It was unnatural.

With that thought I knew
however tired I was, I wasn’t going to go to sleep, and Roman sensed it too. He stirred, his thigh moving closer to my hip, and for one second I thought I felt a movement against the small of my back. It was my turn to make a statue impression when I realised what that movement signified. No wonder Roman had kept still: he hadn’t wanted me to know he was getting a teeny bit aroused. He probably thought I would run a mile, considering I had almost been raped and killed by Godfrey, nearly died of hypothermia, and was now weary to the bone, aching all over and, to top it all off, was starving. It was to his credit he didn’t want me to know. I was flattered and a little turned on myself – probably a reaction to the events earlier in the night.

I was more aware than ever of my unclothed
state beneath the blankets which covered me. Heat coloured my cheeks and blood thrummed in my veins. My heart thudded so hard I was certain Roman must be able to hear it, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep my breathing regular. Goddam it – I really was turned on. It was definitely a reaction to Godfrey’s attack: I was a sure as God made little green apples that Godfrey would not have hesitated to strangle me. He had been halfway there already, but that didn’t mitigate the fact I wanted Roman to touch me. And, to my chagrin, Roman knew it. I don’t know how he could tell, but he could.

His nose was in my hair
, and that long-awaited breath finally came. It stirred the air next to my ear and the offending article tingled in response hoping it would be nibbled. I stiffened as a soft feather touch traced my ear’s outline, the tip of his tongue sending ripples of excitement through me as he licked. His arms tightened further, pulling me even closer, and the evidence of his arousal was unmistakable, digging into my back.

I hesitated, eager for his touch, wanting – no,
needing
–  him, but fearful also. There was so much about him I didn’t know, didn’t understand. He was unlike anyone I had ever met, as cliché as that sounded, yet I was prepared to make love with him. Then I remembered Gavin. I had been prepared to do exactly the same thing with him, on even shorter acquaintance. I winced in shame. Gavin had been relatively harmless, and Roman was anything but. The thought of how dangerous he was spiked my desire for him; after all, I was a bit of an adrenalin junkie, and the man had saved my life. I didn’t think he would hurt me now. I had a delicious suspicion that it would be the exact opposite of hurt. And it had been such a long time since I had been with a man. I might not have the opportunity again.

A kiss on the side of my neck undid me. I tilted my head giving him greater access and that was all the encouragement he needed. Still kissing and nibbling gently, he drew the folds of the blanket from my shoulders and breasts, and I leant forward slightly to allow him to slip the material down to my waist
. My new position exposed my back and he gave a sharp intake of breath as he danced two fingers down the length of my spine towards my buttocks.

He hardly touched me, yet I was on fire for the second time that night, a heady, exciting fire, all heat and no pain. He must have been aware of my intense excitement, but he held himself in check and continued with his fingertip exploration as his hand crept around the curve of my hip and up my stomach. I began to breathe faster, my chest rising and falling, my breasts moving with the rhythm. My nipples tingled and burned, eager for his touch, yet his fingers only brushed across their hardened tips.

I uttered a small moan of frustration, and felt rather than heard a deep chuckle rumble through his chest. Roman was enjoying his teasing. So was I, but if he didn’t manhandle me soon, I just might explode.

He kissed me again, soft, cool lips playing with my shoulder as he slipped gracefully around in front of me. For
the first time since things started to get serious I could see his face. His skin glowed star-pale in the light of the fire, and its flickering shadows highlighted the muscles of his chest and the dips and hollows of his neck and shoulders. His eyes were deep black, reflecting the flames burning in their depths.

We sat facing each other for long seconds, enjoying the anticipation, gazing into each other’s eyes, until I couldn’t resist and I had to peek. I bit my lip at the size of the bulge in his undergarments. Impressive.

I flashed back to his face in time to see one eyebrow raised questioningly.

‘Do I meet with your approval?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I breathed, heat flushing my skin before centring on that most delicate part of a woman’s anatomy. I was more than ready for him, slick and wet as I was. He, it appeared, thought he had more work to do.

His head dipped towards mine and I lifted my lips to meet his, but after a quick, light, fleeting touch he kissed my nose, the
n my forehead, trailing kisses down my cheek, past my parted lips to the soft hollow underneath my jaw. Then his fingers took over where his lips left off, leaving his lips free to find my mouth again. His breath smelt of summer meadows, of cinnamon and other exotic spices, of the sea in winter, of all that was good and clean. And when I finally joined my lips with his, he tasted sweet, and cool and oh so tender.

Trembling violently fro
m the force of my lust, I slipped the tip of my tongue into his mouth and he groaned in delight at my response. Out tongues met and swirled together, driving my need to fever pitch. My tongue glided across his teeth, feeling the exceptionally sharp points of his canines. They seemed longer, somehow, and a part of me, a deep primal part, shrieked in alarm. I ignored it and nipped his lower lip. He groaned once more, the audible indication of his arousal fuelling my own. His free arm circled my back and lowered me gently to the floor.

Once settled, I threw myself into the kiss with enthusiasm and he also lay down, the length of his body pressing against mine. I could feel every hard plane of him, especially one rigid part that nudged urgently against my thigh. It was my turn to groan.

He pulled his lips from mine and I almost shrieked in frustration. His mouth sought out the skin of my neck and I tilted my head to make it easier for him to kiss me there. The blanket had fallen away from me and I was totally exposed to him. Wantonly, I tugged at the linen covering his gorgeous butt and he obligingly lifted his hips as my unsteady, urgent fingers struggled with the cords holding the material together. Frantically I tugged at the cloth, desperate to free him, and I moaned in annoyance when they didn’t undo quickly enough.

‘Patience, Eryres,’ he murmured into my shoul
der, and I steadied my fumbling until I worked the ties loose.