Over the fireplace mantel, an antique clock said the time had gone past four o’clock. She could believe it. The events of the last several hours seemed to have taken days.
A note lay on the table nearest the door. She could read it easily from where she stood. I put Tess’s things in the room nearest the bathroom and left a snack for her on the bedside table. Wake me if you have need of anything, D.
Xavier glanced at the note. Still without looking directly at her, he said, “It’s very late, and you’ve had a long day. You must be tired.”
His face revealed nothing of what he was thinking. She remembered the first time she had met him, how his expression had been virtually unreadable and how much that had frightened her. She had come such a long way from that night.
Lifting one shoulder, she studied him sidelong. “I suppose.”
A muscle in his lean jaw ticked. “There are two bedrooms for attendants down the hallway, along with the apartment’s only bathroom.” He jerked his chin toward the other doorway. “My bedroom is there. I’m afraid we all have to share a bathroom. Modernizing Evenfall is a nightmare of logistics, and renovations have only gone so far.”
“Are you mad at me?” She searched his face again for some kind of clue as to what he was thinking or feeling.
The question was like touching a lit match to dry tinder.
He rounded on her and exploded with such quiet intensity she jumped. “God, yes, I’m angry. The chances you took—you bluffed with both Djinn.” He slid into rapid, forceful Spanish again.
Ducking her head, she studied the tips of her shoes and waited out the incomprehensible tirade, nodding every once in a while to show that she was still listening.
Was it a machismo thing? At his roots, he was, after all, a medieval Spaniard. In fact, despite having what seemed to be an inherently gentle nature, he had been an entitled medieval Spaniard, and he was very, very male.
She said experimentally, “I know. I should have let you handle everything, like you wanted. Right?”
When he paused, she looked up to find him glaring at her. He looked baffled and infuriated, and the tension in his posture was palpable.
“You know none of it would have happened without you. I would never have been able to talk to Julian or Soren, if you hadn’t paved the way.”
Renewed rage darkened his face. “If you think I’m angry because I wanted credit for anything, you don’t know me in the slightest.”
Instantly contrite, she whispered, “I apologize. That’s not what I meant.” She studied him anxiously. “Are you sorry you kissed me?”
His expression changed. It was the only warning she got as he lunged at her.
He was so fast. He had her pinned against the wall before she fully knew what had happened. Moving with precise intent, he cupped her jaw, tilted up her head and took her mouth with his.
This wasn’t a sensual, tender exploration like the first kiss had been. His lips were hardened and demanding, and he thrust deep with his tongue.
A flash fire washed across her nerve endings, lighting up her whole body.
He really was inside her mouth.
He really was pushing against her, thrusting a knee between her legs, the length of his body tight like steel.
She bucked against the wall then latched on to him. Hardly knowing what she did, she clawed at the simple leather tie that held back his hair and yanked it off.
His dark, chestnut hair spilled about his shoulders, drastically changing his appearance. Gone was the courteous, reserved man, and in his place stood a shockingly sensual stranger, with a hardened face and glittering eyes that flashed with green fire.
She fisted both hands greedily in the dark mass of his hair and kissed him back with everything she had.
He gripped her by the back of the neck, while a hard length grew to press against one of her hips. When she realized what it was, arousal pierced through her lower body and moistened the growing ache between her legs.
When he pulled back to stare down at her, he was breathing hard.
Their gazes locked. Deliberately, he slid a hand between their bodies and cupped her pelvis. The steady, knowledgeable pressure he exerted broke a moan out of her.
“No, Tess,” he said, very low, this sensual, glittering stranger. “I don’t regret kissing you in the slightest, and I have every intention of doing it again. A lot.”
“I see,” she whispered, shaken and delighted, and completely beside herself. She pushed against his hand, willing him to move, but he held rock steady. “Tell me you’re not going to stop now.”
“That depends.” Still holding her between her legs, he cupped her cheek and stroked her lips with his thumb. They were still moist from his kiss.
“On what?” She tried again to push against him. All she wanted to do was rub herself all over him like an alley cat, but not only did he have her pinned too effectively, his strength was immense.