A wry grin twitched his lips as he took the chair that faced the couch. “Always singing the same old song. How was your day? Did you meet everyone?”
“I think so.”
“If you are not happy with any of the servants, let me know.”
Would he dismiss them on her say-so? “What is this place? I mean, is it yours?” It was much newer than the Stone House, with many modern conveniences, like a bathing room with a sink and a cast iron tub. The furniture was more plush, the paintings exquisite.
“It belonged to someone I knew long ago.” He glanced around the room. “I have made many changes to it over the years. Do you like it?”
“It’s lovely.”
“Your bedchamber is to your liking?”
“Yes.” She wondered where he slept. She hadn’t seen any sign of a master bedchamber other than the one she was using.
“Promise me something,” he said, his hands braced on his knees. “Promise me you will never again put your life in danger as you did last night.”
“I promise,” she said fervently. A quick glance at his eyes showed no trace of red. “Those men could have killed you.”
“And you, as well,” he reminded her. “Or worse.”
She nodded. “Thank you for saving me.”
Stefan’s gaze moved over her. How lovely she was. The deep blue of her dress emphasized the blue of her eyes. The glow of the fire cast red-gold highlights in her hair. His perusal made her uncomfortable and she licked her lips nervously. His desire quickly made itself known and he shifted in the chair, sorely tempted to take her in his arms, carry her down to his lair, and make slow, sweet love to her until sunrise.
As if sensing his thoughts, she leaned back and folded her arms over her breasts.
“Bryony.” Just her name, but it held a wealth of longing.
She stared at him, frozen in place like a doe facing a mountain lion. And, like the doe, she was helpless.
The monster within him urged him to take her, to satisfy his desire for her body and ease his hellish thirst for her blood. It would be so easy to bend her will to his, to bury himself deep within the warmth of her womanhood, taste the sweet nectar of her life’s blood on his tongue.
Refusing to succumb to the darkness within him, he rose and stood in front of the hearth, his back toward her, his hands jammed into his trousers’ pockets as he took several slow, deep breaths.
Bryony stared at him, afraid to move. She had seen the desire in his eyes and it frightened her. He was so big, so strong. She had no defense against him. Fear slashed through her when, in one fluid motion, he turned and moved toward her. “Bryony.” Her name was a groan, a plea on his lips, as he gathered her into his arms.
She stared up at him, lost in the midnight depths of his eyes. Eyes that seemed to probe the very depths of her heart, revealing her innermost secrets, her darkest fears.
Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across hers, the touch feather-light, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being, felt the aching loneliness of his soul, his need for someone to love. Someone to love him.
Stefan lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. She had seen inside his mind, felt the emptiness in his soul, his need for her. How was that possible? There was no blood link between them. He had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that if he asked for what he wanted, she would give it to him. But he dared not take the risk. She wasn’t frightened by the thought of his being a warlock. She would not be so accepting if she knew the rest.
His gaze moved over her face. He knew it as well as he knew his own. How many nights had he stood by her bed, just looking at her? How many times had he forced himself to turn away before he crawled into bed beside her and satisfied the awful ache that burned through him? How long before he gave in to the almost overpowering temptation to possess her? To drink more than a few drops of her life’s blood? To steal her will and replace it with his own?
Closing his eyes, he pulled her body closer, inhaling the warm, womanly fragrance of her hair and skin, the intoxicating scent of her blood. He smelled her desire, as well. Would she hate him if he swept her up into his arms and carried her down to his lair and made love to her until the sun came up? Would she say yes if he asked her?
He cursed himself for being a fool. Angels did not consort with demons, he thought bitterly. He had to remember that. He could compel her to love him, to do anything he wished, but he wanted her to come to him, warm and willing.
He cupped her cheeks in his palms and kissed her again, gently, tenderly.
And then he vanished from her sight.
Bryony gasped as Stefan disappeared. Then smiled faintly as she reminded herself that he was a witch. What other magical tricks was he capable of doing? Would he show her if she asked?
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel the heat of his kisses, taste the longing he couldn’t hide. He was a handsome man, well-formed, well-muscled. What would it be like to lie beside him, to feel his hands caressing her, to caress him in return?
She shook her head, stunned by the wicked turn of her thoughts. Thoughts she had never entertained before. But, like Pandora’s box, once the lid had been lifted, the damage was done.
