Arms folded over his chest, Raven leaned against the door frame and watched Lady Ophelia rattle the glass doors that led to the terrace. Ornate metalwork crossed each door, acting as bars. They covered all the windows and doors in the house, making an effective prison.
“Worked your way through the rest of the house, did you?” he asked.
A sharp gasp escaped her. She whirled around. Moonlight poured in, touching her pale oval face with a silver-white light. “How long have you been standing there, watching me?”
She amazed him. Most women would be swooning and weeping at being held prisoner. But fury radiated from Lady Ophelia.
“Not long,” he said.
Even when she was angry, her voice was husky and beautiful.
“I take it you’ve kept many prisoners here,” she said. Again, when she should show fear, she snapped at him. Her large indigo-blue eyes burned with condemnation.
“No, my dear. You are the first.”
“Then why is your house like a prison?”
“Look at it from the outside, Lady Ophelia.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“From the outside it’s not a prison. It’s a fortress. I am tempted to let you leave this house, just so you can learn what awaits you out there. You will come scurrying back.”
“I would not.”
Ravenhunt grasped her chin, forcing her blazing gaze to meet his frustrated one. “There are men out there waiting for the chance to drag you into a laboratory, strap you down, and cut you open to examine you. You wouldn’t survive it, and your death would be slow, lingering, painful.”
Smoke rose from his fingers, from the contact of his skin with hers.
“Don’t touch me,” she cried, shoving his hand away.
Her chest rose on fast breaths. Her face was white. So many emotions were written on her face he could not read them all. But one stood out—pain. He saw deep pain in her eyes. He knew what raw pain looked like. He’d seen it in his own eyes after the first time he’d killed. He’d seen it in the eyes of men on the battlefield. He’d seen it in Frederica’s eyes, after she’d been told of his “death.”
“You never touch anyone, do you?” he asked softly.
“Of course not.
“No kisses?”
“N—no.” She hesitated. She winced. So there was a tale there. She had kissed, so what had happened? The mortal must have died.
“No embraces. No holding hands. No dances?”
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I cannot touch anyone at all. Even gloves don’t help if the touch is prolonged, like a dance.”
“Do you like to dance?”
Wistfulness replaced pain. “Yes.”
Raven stroked his chin. “There is something I want to do. It will hurt eventually, but not for a while.”
Before Ophelia could move away, he came to her, pulled her into his embrace. His head bent to hers, and as she reeled back, realizing what he meant to do, his mouth touched hers. Softly. Then he pressed more. His mouth opened, coaxing hers to open, too.
His tongue touched hers.
He was kissing her. An intimate, passionate kiss.
Her lips sizzled. A burning sensation washed over them. Smoke rose between her and Ravenhunt.
She fought to push him away. Her lips did not hurt, yet there was no question her kiss was burning him. Hurting him.
But he was not going to let the kiss end.
4
Rescued
Ravenhunt drew back from her sizzling lips. “Stop worrying and enjoy the kiss,” he urged. “I’m not going to die.”
“I wish you w—” Ophelia began, but his mouth covered hers again, capturing her words, as he drew her tight to his hard body and kissed her deeply.
She couldn’t say she wished he would die. It wasn’t true. But she wished he would just . . . leave. So that she could get away.
This kiss was . . .
Oh, she was terrified of kissing.
Her first kiss had ended in horror. She had watched the man she loved fall to his knees, clutching his throat. David’s face had turned purple, his tongue had protruded, and his eyes had bulged out.
The horrible attack had stopped and he had lived. But she had never let herself see him again.
Ravenhunt kept kissing her. She held her lips so hard and tight they began to ache. She was going to kill him, and even though this was his fault, she was sick with guilt.
His hand cupped her jaw and slowly stroked. His fingertips massaged her skin beside her ear, making it tingle. His gentle touch soothed her. She found her spine was no longer ramrod straight with fear. Her legs began to melt.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips softened against his. The pressure of his mouth on hers made shivers of pleasure race down her spine. His lips were so firm but velvety. She ached inside—a strange, empty, throbbing feeling.
She pressed close to him, hard against his body—
What was she doing? He was her
This was awful. The wonderful kiss she finally had was from a man she despised. It was
Ophelia shoved hard against his chest.
This time Ravenhunt let her go.
Raven’s mouth was hot with pain—pain that shot from his sensitive lips through his entire body. Jade had told him Lady Ophelia’s power would kill him slowly. She hadn’t mentioned it would hurt like hell.
That kiss had felt like his lips had been sliced by razors.
He touched his stinging lips tenderly. The pain was easing.
It had been hell while he’d been kissing Ophelia, but at least it hadn’t hurt her. Just him.
He could bear it for his sister’s sake.
Lady Ophelia grasped up her hems and scurried away like a frightened animal. She had pulled her gown on, and it hung around her, for she hadn’t bothered with her undergarments.
Many times he’d seen his sister run away from him in such a pose—biting her lip to fight tears, her heart filled with black fury toward him. When he’d become head of the family at twenty, he had seemed to spend most of his time leveling his sister’s dreams, breaking her heart, and, as she would describe it, ruining her life.
How was he going to coax Lady Ophelia into his bed? She could not see him as anything other than her captor. Raven had hoped her simmering anger might ignite into passion. Perhaps it would, in time. But he needed a way to cut to the chase.
He had to give Ophelia orgasms. How was he supposed to do that with a woman who ran away from him?
Ophelia would be searching for escape. There was no way out of his house. It gave him time to think.
How badly was it going to hurt him to seduce her? Hell, he couldn’t begin to guess. And it didn’t matter—he had to do it.
