Chapter 6

SIX

It was like being offered the keys to the gates of Heaven. And it would take a far stronger and more moral man than he would ever be to refuse them.

Stepping closer to her, Desmond placed his hand on her cheek, cupping it as he traced the curve of her lower lip with this thumb. He marveled at the silken texture of her skin. Moving his thumb from the softness her lip, he placed it under chin, angling her face upward ever so slightly. Just enough that when he leaned down, his lips could brush lightly against hers.

He had no intention of rushing. While he didn't know with certainty that it was her first kiss, but he strongly suspected it. To that end, it ought not be only memorable. The goal he was aiming for was extraordinary. Whatever happened between them, he wanted that first kiss to live forever in her memory, and should she ever have cause in her life to kiss another, he wanted it to be nothing more than a pale imitation of what would pass between them.

When she sighed against his lips, only then did he settle his more firmly on hers. He wanted it to build slowly—layer by layer, caress by caress. And every time he moved the bar it was because of her response. When her lips softened beneath his, parting and offering him entrance, he closed his arms around her and pulled her close even as he teased the softness of her lips with his tongue. All the while, he tried to rein in his own desires, to focus only on what she needed. He'd always taken a certain measure of pride in insuring that his partner's pleasure came first, but this… this was something different. Because it wasn't for a moment. It wasn't a fleeting tryst or even an ongoing arrangement. What he wanted with Belladonna Goodwynne was something that would last forever— for both of them.

The kiss deepened further. Not because he willed it to. Not because he made a conscious choice to do so. It deepened of its own accord because neither of them were any longer in charge of the situation. That kiss was like a living thing, growing, changing, shifting, becoming something entirely its own and without any master.

His breathing grew ragged, his blood heating in his veins as need warred with reason. This was neither the place nor the time. And yet, as she clung to him, the softness of her curves pressed so firmly against him that not even air existed between, the ability to hold firm to such ideals was wavering.

And then the spell, for surely it could be nothing less than a spell that consumed them both, was simply broken. The snap of twigs in the woods pierced the shroud of desire and infatuation that had surrounded them. It wasn't merely the noise. It was the immediate sense of danger that accompanied it. Like a deer scenting a hunter, he looked up. His eyes scanned the line of trees around them, but he could see nothing. That didn't mean there wasn't a very real threat, however. If someone was concealing themselves in the trees, then their motives had to be suspect.

"We cannot be here this way," he told her, as he stepped back. Putting enough distance between them to allow himself to once more at least think, he explained, "I cannot trust myself alone with you. You must go. Now. Immediately."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You asked only for a kiss. And I will not take more than that."

"I don't understand," she whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"

He didn't take time to answer her question. Not because he didn't wish to, but because he was focusing all his attentions on the tree line, watching for any threat as he began maneuvering her along the path to where his horse was tethered."Can you ride astride?"

"It is the only way I have ever ridden," she said. "Side saddles are idiotically stupid and dangerous."

At any other time, her pragmatic and entirely accurate answer would have amused him. But at that moment, his only concern was to get her somewhere safe. Somewhere well away from whatever danger lurked in those woods.

Leading her to the small stand of trees where his horse was tethered, he simply lifted her into the saddle, tugging her skirts free as she swung her leg over.

"We can both ride. You should not stay here," she admonished him softly. "I just—I have a terrible feeling that something awful is about to happen!"

So did he. But he wouldn't slow her down by riding with her. Instead of giving her an answer, he smacked the horse's rump just firmly enough to send it bolting forward. She had no choice but to hang on, all her focus directed on maintaining her seat. Then he turned back to the small clearing where she'd been gathering herbs. Her basket lay on the ground, overturned, the contents spilling out.

Something about them seemed quite curious to him, so he stepped closer to investigate. On the ground was a small pouch. Opening it, he saw a mixture of herbs, some crystals and a stone carved with a strange symbol he did not know. Some sort of charm, he recognized. "Perhaps she is a witch," he mused. Not that it mattered to him. She was his witch.

Lifting the pouch, he tucked it into his pocket and headed for the road. Exposure was dangerous for him, but also for whomever watched them. Any action taken in the open would risk witnesses. And if the skulking showed him anything, it was that the villain wished to hide in the shadows behind a cloak of secrecy.

It would have been a pleasant walk, for the first mile at least, had it not been for the need to look over his shoulder constantly. Still, he relished the feeling of his blood pumping in his veins and his heart rate picking up a bit as he climbed the hills. It allowed him to burn off some of the coiled energy inside him—half of it prompted by his sense of danger and the other part accounted for solely by the woman who incited him to levels of desire he had not even known himself capable of.

But the sky darkened, the brightness of day giving way to twilight and the gathering storm clouds. The temperature dropped as well. A soft drizzle came… at first. Then the misting particles grew into fat rain drops. And with each passing second, the frequency and intensity with which those rain drops fell increased exponentially until it was simply a deluge.

It was impossible to say what obscured his vision. The shadows were lengthening as evening began to fall, the heavy mist that was settling as the rain poured or the fact that said rain was hitting him directly in the face, forcing him to blink so rapidly his eyes could barely adjust. Whatever the root cause, he didn't see the man crouched along the roadside. Not until that man burst forth from the dense hedgerow with lightning speed and raw fury.

There was no time to react, no time to defend himself. The heavy stone concealed in the hand of the other man felled him like an oak. He sank, barely conscious, to the muddy lane as blood seeped from the wound on his forehead. The falling rain washed it away almost instantly, but more welled to replace it. Had he been able to see the extent of his injury, that amount of blood would have concerned him. Of course, having been knocked quite senseless, his responses to everything were slowed dramatically.

Desmond, looking up through bleary eyes, instantly recognized his attacker. One word escaped him, accusatory and sharp, "You!" Then the creeping blackness closed in entirely. He lay motionless, the rain pouring down on him as the man who had attacked him once more faded into the shadows by the roadside.