Timeless (26 page)

Hauk could not move, felt as if his limbs were held fast by iron bonds. It was the first time he had heard her admit even the
possibility
of defeat.

But he did not feel relief that she was facing the facts at last. The sight of her in despair, lying there alone and hurt and fighting so hard to keep it all inside, tore at him. Made him hate himself—almost as much as she must hate him for taking her away from her little girl.

And suddenly the tears overwhelmed her, wrenching sobs that she could not hold back, though she buried her face in both hands.

Hauk did not know what to do, did not know how he could comfort her.

But he could not lie there in silence while she suffered alone. He reached out, touched her shoulder.

And instead of flinching away or cursing him as he had expected, she allowed him to pull her close, just as she had in the water earlier tonight.

He gathered her to him with the blankets, offering her his strength and his silence, stunned that she would accept solace from the very man responsible for her pain.

She cried her tears against his chest, her body shaking with the force of her sorrow, and he shut his eyes, burned by each salty droplet.

He could not allow her to continue suffering this way. Damn him to Hel, he had taken vows to protect and care for her and see to her happiness—and he had failed at every one. In trying to spare himself misery and torment, he had inflicted both on her.

For her sake, and her safety, he had to persuade her to accept what could not be changed. Had to do what all the other grooms on Asgard had been doing the past several days.

Begin wooing his wife. With care and gentleness and affection.

Not only because of the vows he had taken—but because he had been lying to himself, mayhap from the very beginning. From that moment on the streetcorner in Antwerp when she had knocked him off balance and left him breathless.

She had been making him feel that same way every moment since.

And it was useless to keep trying to convince himself that he could keep his distance from her, that he had no feelings for her. That he could somehow have this fierce, enchanting lady in his home and in his life and even in his bed and yet... keep her out of his heart.

Because she was already there.

Odin help him, she was already there.

~ ~ ~

The pain was gone. That was the first thing Avril became aware of as she slowly awakened. Her last memory was of feeling shattered and hurt, but now she felt rested, whole.

Safe.

Mayhap because she was still lying in Hauk’s arms.

That made her open her eyes with a start. The first glimmer of dawn had crept in through cracks in the shutters, forcing its way into the dark
vaningshus
and lightening the room’s shadows. She did not move, realizing he was still asleep. He lay with one arm beneath her pillow, the other a slack, heavy weight over her waist. She could feel his chest rising and falling evenly beneath her cheek, his breath soft in her hair.

His heavily muscled body felt solid and warm against hers, even with the blankets wrapped around her.

For a moment, she let herself remain there. Just for a moment. Let herself feel enveloped by his strength and warmth. It had been such a long time since she had allowed herself to be held like this. Allowed a man to soothe and protect her.

And care for her.

She blinked hard as the faint morning light blurred in her vision, remembering how he had nearly lost his life saving her last night. Her heartbeat unsteady, she lifted her head, looking at his bronzed, chiseled features, so peaceful in sleep.

A tingling ache filled her as she remembered all that had happened, how the terror of almost drowning had left her so disoriented, she had mistakenly thought he was dead. How she had felt such sorrow in that moment, she had cried for him.

Then later turned to him for comfort when she felt so full of despair.

And he had offered the solace she sought. Gently, silently. Was he even aware of how tender he could be?

Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his chest, reluctant to leave his arms, to resume their endless battle of wills.

Saints’ breath, if only he
were
a barbarian, a brutal Viking raider with no honor and a heart of ice. It would have been so easy to hate him.

Instead he was a man of courage and intelligence, devoted to protecting his homeland and his people. So honorable and maddening and... tender.

And hatred did not number among the feelings she had for him.

She opened her eyes, her heart beating too fast.
God in Heaven, what was wrong with her?
She was acting like a woman who had lost her wits, like a woman...

She stiffened, remembering Josette’s comment about the early days of her marriage to Gerard, how she had fallen in love with him slowly, almost without noticing.

Trembling, she pulled away from Hauk, trying to quickly unwrap herself from his hold and the twisted blankets. He made a sound in his sleep and his arm flexed around her, pulling her closer again. She uttered a whimper of distress and he opened his eyes.

She held her breath, mortifyingly aware that her efforts to get free had only bared her to the waist. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, softness against steely muscle, pale ivory against bronzed darkness.

He blinked, waking rapidly, his eyes uncommonly blue in the scant, gray illumination of morning.

“Are you all right?” His voice was soft, low. Husky with sleep.

“Aye. The pain is gone.”

She almost clarified that she meant her physical pain but did not want to remind him of the other, deeper pain that had made her sob in his arms last night.

Instead, she tried to sound calm. Unaffected by his embrace. “You can let me go now.”

He did not speak, that azure gaze tracing over her face, her hair, her mouth.

Her pulse started thrumming. She had seen that look before. “Hauk—”

“Nay,” he said slowly. “I cannot.” His lips brushed over her temple, his voice deep and quiet. “I do not want to let you go.”

Something in his tone stole her breath away. “Hauk... please...” Instead of sounding calm and cool, as she intended, the words came out wavering. Hot.

“Nay, sweet wife.” His hand moved up her back in a slow caress. “Not until I have shown you how a proper Asgard husband bids his bride good morning.”

“But you are not—”

His lips stole her protest, covering hers in a gentle kiss that quickly deepened. His fingers threaded into her hair, urging her head back until her lips parted beneath his, allowing for slow thrusts of his tongue that sent her senses spinning. She breathed him in, tasted him—spicy and potent and male. Even as she flattened her hands against his chest, she knew that the trembling in her body had naught to do with protest.

And he seemed to know it too. A sound of passionate approval rumbled beneath her palms. And when he finally lifted his head, she could feel his body rigid with strain against hers.

“You—” She could not utter more than that one word before he kissed her again, a light, teasing kiss this time. “—are not—” A rain of teasing kisses left her dizzy. “—my h-h—”

“Husband.”

Avril could not voice a denial—because what she saw in his eyes robbed her of her ability to speak. Or breathe.

She saw yearning that matched her own, saw the same caring and need she felt for him. And such tenderness.

And passion that darkened his pale-blue eyes to a color like the sky lit by the sun’s hottest rays.

It was the look she had seen in her dreams.

She could not utter a sound.

“Avril...” Still lying on his side, holding her close with one arm, he moved his other hand to caress her cheek. “There is no shame in needing what you need... what I need. There is no point in being alone when we could be...” He slowly drew her mouth toward his.

Still he did not kiss her, pausing, his lips so close to hers that she felt his breath as he completed the sentence.

“Together.”

He awaited her reply. She shuddered and closed her eyes, hearing a far different note in his voice than she had ever heard before. Request. Entreaty. As if he were not demanding that she accept him, but asking.

“
Together
,” she whispered, all the longing in her heart spilling into that one word.

She heard a low moan that might have been hers or his or both. He kissed her, his broad hands cupping her face, holding her still while he sampled and explored her mouth in the most leisurely, arousing way, as if he meant to spend the entire morning learning her taste.

She shivered at the feel of his stubbled, unshaven jaw abrading her skin. The heat of his bare chest against her breasts. God’s mercy, she should feel afraid of what was happening between them—of  what was about to happen. Instead she felt herself melting against him, afire with sensations that each movement of his lips sent coursing through her. With emotions that made her heart race.

The covers had bunched around her hips. The blankets and the leggings he wore created only the most fragile barrier between them. But she knew no fear, no hesitation. She molded her body to his, welcomed the velvety, languid probing of his tongue, did not pull away when his hand moved slowly down the naked curve of her back. She knew it was wrong of her. Wrong for so many reasons.

But she felt alive, fully alive in a way she had not felt in years. This maddening, gruff, tender Norseman stirred her soul. He breathed
life
into her, made her feel...

She uttered a soft sound against his mouth, not daring to name this feeling in her heart, knowing only that she did not want it to end.

Threading her fingers through the golden strands of hair at the nape of his neck, she held him closer, losing herself in the ravishing heat of his kiss. She glided her tongue against his, tentatively at first, then more boldly, seeking and claiming just as he did to her. He made a low sound of surprise and approval and his touch became stronger. His hands shaped her body with slow, erotic purpose. The first tendrils of fire darted through her, gathering low in her belly.

She brushed her fingertips over the whiskers that darkened his strong jaw, slid her hands downward to explore the rapid pulse at his throat, the expanse of his chest, the hard shape of his arms, the muscled ridges of his abdomen.

God in Heaven, how she wanted this.
Wanted to touch and be touched. But it was so much more than that. She wanted
him
. Hauk, strong and passionate, gentle and protective. She
needed
him, in ways that had naught to do with reason and everything to do with the unsteady beat of her heart.

The air around them seemed to shimmer with warmth, with that uncommon heat that always burned between them when they were close to one another. The feeling was almost familiar now, dazzling as it unfurled within her.

Her hands continued moving down his body, coming to rest just above the waist of his leggings. He flinched, lifted his mouth from hers. Their eyes met and held, their harsh breathing the only sound in the fragile light of dawn. His hand rested on her hip.

She did not move when he slid the covers down past her legs, one inch at a time, baring her completely. The touch of the cool morning air against her nakedness made her breath catch. She could feel his flat belly rising and falling rapidly beneath her palms, his muscles taut.

If she wanted to stop this, she knew, now was the time.
Now
.

But she did not want to stop.

Whispering his name, she kissed him. He groaned, tugging his leggings off, tossing them aside—and then he drew her close again and there were no more barriers between them. No more distance. Naught but bare skin and sultry kisses and the sound of their voices blending in groans and sighs.

She could feel the rigid length of his arousal, hard as steel against her thigh, and gasped at the size of him.

When she reached to touch him there, he caught her wrist.

“
Slowly
, my bold lady,” he choked out, pressing his cheek against hers. “There is something I want first.”

He released her wrist, allowing her to explore and caress wherever else she might wish. She ran her fingertips over his dark nipples, testing how sensitive they might be, and earned a whispered oath from him—then another when she nibbled at his earlobe.

With a growl, he lifted her knee, bending her leg so that it rested along his hip, opening her to him. Her pulse racing, she pressed her face against his muscled neck, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. She felt intimately aware of every inch of her naked skin while his hand stroked from her knee to her hip, so slowly. He followed the curve inward. Traced a tantalizing path to the dark triangle that concealed her most feminine secrets.

And then he paused, his strong, blunt fingers resting just...
there
.

He remained still, not moving a muscle, until Avril felt herself strung tight with anticipation, trembling. “
Hauk.
”

He slid his fingers into her damp folds.

Her lips parted on an aching sound of pleasure, echoed by his deep voice. Her head tilted up and their gazes met and held while he explored her intimately, his fingertips parting her. A muscle flexed in his jaw and he muttered something under his breath in Norse, mayhap shocked at the obvious evidence of how aroused she was. She ducked her head, shutting her eyes, her cheeks aflame.

“Nay, look at me.” He underscored the husky command with a stroke of his thumb across the sensitive bud concealed within her dark curls.

Startled by the bolt of pleasure that shot through her, she raised her chin, lifted her lashes.

“Sweet wife.” A slow, sensual smile revealed the dimples in his stubbled cheeks. “I am pleased that I make you so... very... wet.” His eyes had darkened to midnight blue. “And I want to watch you burn.”

She did not look away again, returning his searing gaze as he touched her—pleasuring her with the gentlest pressure, light flicks, slow circles that made her shudder and bite her lip to hold back a wanton cry.