TV and a bar. The bedrooms and bathroom were upstairs. It wasn't much, but it was comfortable.
'After you, my lady,' he said, turning around. Only to discover she'd stripped. For one brief second, he allowed himself the pleasure of simply looking at her, letting his gaze travel down the long length of her neck, taking in her small but perfectly formed breasts, watching their peaks harden with desire. Her breathing was quick and sharp, every intake seeming to shudder through her entire body. Her desire stung the air, a rich scent that called to the wildness in him and made him harder than he'd ever thought possible.
But the full moon was too close, and if he started loving her, he might not want to stop. And she was injured, and he had villains to catch.
'Neva--'
'No.' She stepped into his arms, her words hot and breathy against his lips. 'Just dance with me. Right here, right now.'
He took a deep breath and puffed it out. 'It's better that we don't--'
'Don't what?' she murmured saucily, her fingers cool against his chest as she slipped her hands under his sweater.
He pulled her hands firmly away. 'You need to rest.'
'I need to dance.' Her gaze searched his, eyes gleaming in the darkness. 'Are you going to take me up on the offer, or shall I go find someone who will?'
Even a saint would not be able to resist such an invitation--and he was a long way from sainthood. He crushed her close, his mouth finding hers almost savagely. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, matching his urgency. Desire shimmered between them, but even a heat so fierce was not enough to stop her shivering. He picked her up and carried her inside, kicking the door shut before making his way across to the sofa nearest the fire. Once he'd placed her on her feet again he stepped back and quickly stripped. The musky scent of her desire grew stronger, fueling the need already raging through his veins. But rather than pulling her close and claiming her as he ached to do, he reached out, running his hand down her neck. She trembled, her pulse galloping beneath his fingertips.
'I don't want to dance,' he said softly. Her gaze swept down his body, and a smile teased her kiss-
swollen lips. 'Well, certain parts of your body are belying that statement.'
'That's not what I mean. I want to make love to you.' Confusion flickered through her bright eyes.
'They're the same thing.'
'No. Dancing is for pleasure. Making love is something more.' And he ached to show her what he dared not say. She ran her tongue across her lips. He had to resist the sudden urge to follow that moist trail with his mouth. 'In what way?'
Though her voice was calm, panic gleamed in her eyes.
She understood all too well what he meant. He let his hand drift past her throat. Her already puckered nipples seemed to become harder, as if straining for his touch. 'If you wish to discover the answer, you have to play the game.'
He brushed his fingers across the top of her breasts, circling but not touching the dark centers. She took a deep, shuddery breath. 'What game?'
'Pretense.'
'Which is?'
'Let's pretend we are lovers. Let's pretend it's the night before the full moon, and we are about to promise our souls to each other.'
She studied him for several heartbeats, her expression a mix of confusion and alarm. ' Why?'
'Because I've never had a true lover, just dancers.' She hesitated. 'I'm not sure this a game I can play.'
'Why not?' He gently plucked one nipple. Goose bumps fled across her skin, and her pupils dilated, almost swallowing the new-leaf green of her irises. 'Because I don't see the point of it.'
He shifted his touch to her other breast, this time rolling the firm nub between his fingertips. 'It's not the night of promising, Neva. No harm can come from pretending.'
'Can you be sure? The magic might lie in the ritual itself rather than the night.'
'Have you ever heard of the ritual being performed on any other night but the one before the full moon?'
'No, but--'
'No buts. Just yes or no.'
Neva took another deep breath. His gentle touch shuddered through every fiber of her being, and though she wanted him with a fierceness that was almost painful, she feared to pretend what lay between them was anything more than just a dance. Because such pretense might lead to the examination of feelings she'd managed to avoid up until now. 'What if I say no?'
'Then you go to bed and rest as the doctor ordered.'
'That's sexual blackmail.'
'No, that's honesty. This one time, I want more than just a dance.'
She closed her eyes. It was a risk. She knew in her heart it was a risk because no one truly knew any more if the magic of promising was confined to the one night. And because, deep down, she knew her heart was already on the line, and this might tip it over the edge and down the hill toward heartbreak.
But could she let him walk away tomorrow or the day after without knowing what it might be like to be truly loved by this man?
He raised a hand, cupping her cheek. It felt like he was branding her skin for eternity. 'Your answer?'
No. 'Yes.'
He smiled, his dark eyes filled with a heat that caused a meltdown deep inside her. He caught her hand and tugged her onto the rug near the hearth. The thick fur pressed against her toes, and the warmth of the flames caressed her skin but seemed oddly cool compared to the fire burning inside and out.
He pressed her fingers against his chest. The heat of his body and his warm, woody scent washed across her senses, stirring her in ways she'd never thought possible. And the wild beat of his heart under her fingertips only fueled her desire to greater heights.
'Does my lady know what night it is?'
His voice was little more than a stroke of sound, yet it seemed to sing through every part of her. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. His question was the start of the ritual. If she replied, if the magic could be raised on nights other than the one before the full moon, she could bind herself for eternity to a man who did not love her. Because once begun, there was no retreat. Not unless the participants were familiar with the paths of magic. But if she didn't reply, if the magic couldn't be raised on any other night, she'd miss the chance to know what it might be like to be the woman he loved enough to commit to.
Pretense, he'd said, nothing more. She could pretend she loved him. Pretend that he loved her. Even if it broke her heart.
'It is the night before the full moon. The night of promises.' She briefly closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. Deep down, part of her wished that this was real. That the words were real. That he truly did love her.
He stepped closer. Her breasts were pressed against his warm bare chest, and the heat of his erection scorched her stomach. 'Or the night of destiny.'
The air seemed to stir around them. Or was it merely his breath stroking her mouth with warmth? 'You are my heart, my soul.' And knew even as she said the words that she shouldn't have started this.
Couldn't pretend, because she did care, as much as she'd tried not to admit it.
'I can't do this,' she added. 'Let's just dance.' He didn't hear her. Or maybe he chose not to hear her.
'Kneel with me.'
'We can't do this.' Because she didn't want to pretend when part of her ached so fiercely for it to be real.
His eyes were black fires of determination that burned through her soul. 'Kneel with me,' he repeated and tugged her down in front of him.
'Duncan--'
He stopped her with a kiss that was both ferocious and passionate. One that left her mind reeling and her body aching.
