“We know who runs the slavers. We have the names of five people. We study them, then we go after them,” he said.
Go after them? After the bluebloods with money, after the peers of the realm with power, after the cousin to the king . . . “You make it sound so simple.”
“Charlotte?” he asked quietly. “Are you giving up?”
“No. I have to see this through to the end. I just . . . I feel spent. I thought it would be over.”
“But it isn’t.”
“No.” She faced him. “The truth is that I’m weak, Richard. Despite all my determination, the moment I saw a way out, I leaped at it. When we found the ledgers, I felt this overwhelming relief. I felt hope. I haven’t gone over the edge yet. I could stop and never use that side of my magic again. I glimpsed a new chance at life, but now it’s gone.”
“It’s a strength, not a weakness. Despite everything you’ve seen and done, you retained your humanity. I admire that.”
She shook her head. “There is nothing worthy of admiration here. I’m simply a very selfish woman. We’ve been robbed of our victory, and even though I barely began the fight, I’m already in despair at the first setback. How can you keep going? I thought you would be more dejected.”
“I am. I’m used to setbacks by now, but this one is crushing.” His damp hair, almost black with moisture, fell over his face. The light of the fire played on his skin. “I struggled with it, but I’m also a very selfish man.”
“What does that mean?”
He glanced at her. “I realized that if this were over, you would leave.”
The slavers, Brennan, and the insurmountable obstacles to bringing them to justice faded from her mind. He was right there. All she had to do was get up and take two steps forward or invite him in. He could be hers.
Charlotte raised her chin. “I’m here now. In your house.”
Richard stopped moving. She had his complete attention.
She leaned forward and ran her hand through her long blond hair, letting it fall over her shoulders to frame her face. He focused on her completely. She read admiration, desire, and a touch of hard male possessiveness in his gaze. It made her giddy.
“The question is, are you going to do something about it, Richard?”
Richard cleared the distance between them in one rapid step, then his arms were around her. She saw him leaning down and closed her eyes. The first touch of his lips made her shudder, not in fear or excitement, but in desperate, all-consuming want. His lips told her everything she needed to know without making a single sound: that he wanted her just as desperately, that he hoped, that he wouldn’t force her. That he thought she was beautiful.
His tongue brushed her lips, and she tilted her head and opened her mouth, letting him know that she wanted him, too. He tasted her, kissing deeper, seducing with a promise of more but holding back. Her body tightened. Her breasts pressed against his chest. A deep-seated desire sparked inside her. Suddenly, she felt empty, and she wanted to be full of him. He sensed it, as if they were perfectly attuned, and pulled her tighter, possessive.
His hands stroked her back, under her tunic, and the roughness of the calluses on his fingers scraping lightly against her skin sent aftershocks through the sensitive muscles of her back. Wrapped in his heated strength, she let go of words and self-awareness, and just kissed him, delighting in the simple pleasure of having him. He tasted of sandalwood and smoke and the promise of bliss.
“So beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, and kissed her lips, her cheeks, then her neck, coaxing her to melt. It was too slow. A sudden fear that he would change his mind gripped her.
“Bed,” she whispered to him.
He picked her up like she weighed nothing and carried her up the stairs to the loft, depositing her on the covers.
The bed was huge.
The full reality of what she was about to do dropped onto Charlotte’s shoulders, like a crippling burden.
She swallowed. The blood spatter on her clothes flashed before her. She wanted to forget it. The clothes she wore now were clean, but she still wanted them gone because she knew her skin was free of blood.
She started to pull the tunic off herself, then his hands touched the bare skin of her stomach and slid up, along her back, stroking places she never thought erotic but which now sent small pulses of desire through her. He kissed her neck, slipped her tunic off, and kissed her chest, moving down in a slow, confident seduction. Her husband used to do this.
She swallowed and pulled away.
Richard stopped.
Her confidence evaporated. She felt so vulnerable sitting there with her shirt off, painfully self-conscious.
Richard swallowed. She sensed he was about to step back and grasped his hand. “No.”
He stopped.
“I want you,” she told him. “I . . .” She tried to make sense of the tangled ball of feelings.
Richard crouched by the bed. “A woman once told me to use words.”
“I’m barren,” she said with brutal honestly. “Sex was about making children. I want to be loved.” She sounded so needy and desperate. “I’m afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of intimacy.” She swallowed. “I need it to be different than it was with him.”
She killed it. She ruined it, she brought the shadow of her ex-husband into the bedroom, and now Richard would have the burden of being different from him without knowing what it was like. It was unfair and selfish. He would walk away from her.
“Do you want me?” Richard asked.
“Yes.” He had no idea how much.
Richard pulled off his tunic. Underneath, his body rippled with strong, carved muscle, his bronzed skin lightened with old scars. She watched mute as he took off his shoes. His pants followed. He was aroused.
Oh gods, he was so aroused.
Richard sat on the bed, leaned against the carved wooden headboard, and rested his muscular arms on its top edge. His spare, hard body looked almost decadent against the sheets.
“Come,” he invited.
She stared at him, her eyes wide.
“You want it different. Come, make it different.”
“Me?”