Questions sped through her eyes. “My secrets are my concern.”
Now was the time to tell her, but while Ivo hesitated, she moved yet closer, and lifting one hand, rested it lightly upon his shoulder. Now what? When he simply stared down at her, she lifted her other hand and slid it behind his head, tugging. He bent lower, to accommodate her.
“Briar,” he tried again, but now it was a groan.
She pressed her mouth to his, her lips soft and warm. Ivo drew her into his arms, lifting her so that her feet came off the floor and her entire body was pressed against his. His tongue slid between her Ups, his mouth almost rough in his passion. She clung to him, kissing him back, clearly enjoying being in his arms as much as he liked having her there.
Then she drew back, and pressed her hot face against his neck. “Do you want me?” she murmured into his skin.
He half laughed, half groaned, as he lowered her back to her feet. “What do you think?”
“Is that why you came, de Vessey, because you couldn’t stay away from me?”
Ivo wondered what the questions were for. Wasn’t it clear enough to her that he was burning up with desire for her? That he would do almost anything for a brush of her fingers on his fevered brow, a smile from her lush mouth? But mayhap not. She had seemed innocent in many ways, mayhap she was innocent in this, too. Or was she just cautious? Needing him to tell her that he really did care for her. She had been hurt—he had felt it last night, and felt their kinship because of it.
Ivo wondered, grimly, just what lessons she had learned since her father had died. And how they had been taught to her.
“I cannot keep away from you, Briar,” he said, looking with quiet intensity into her face. “You are right in that. I desire you. I do not think that will change until I have had you many, many times, and even then... But I get ahead of myself. There is another reason why I have come here to speak with you.”
Instantly she was watchful, the heat fading from her eyes.
That was good, he told himself. She was no fool, his songstress, and in her tenuous position she needed all her wits about her. He wanted her to listen to him, and listen well.
“I go north with Lord Radulf, to fight the Scots and their friends.”
She surprised him with an, “Oh?” before she looked away, shrugging her shoulders as if she did not care. As if she was wondering to herself why he would feel the need to tell her such a thing. Even after their passionate embrace, Ivo could not help but experience a moment of doubt. Had he been mistaken? Was he as much of a fool as Sweyn had thought? Had he allowed feeling back into his poor, wounded heart, only to be struck a fatal blow?
And then she glanced up at him through her dark lashes. A quick look, secretive, but full of doubt and uncertainty. And loss.
Ivo knew then that he had not been mistaken. He grinned, and watched the temper flare in her. Color climbed into her cheeks, anger flashed in those slanting eyes, until it seemed that at any moment she would claw him like an angry little cat.
“Why do you tell me this?” she asked him, and tossed her untidy hair like the pampered and spoiled child she had probably once been. “Men come and go; I forget them in a week.”
Ivo’s smile broadened. “But you will not forget me, demoiselle.”
“How can you be so sure?” The look dared him, and yet she was wary. She did not believe herself untouchable then. Whatever lesson she had learned had been well taught.
Ivo reached out and captured her chin in strong but gentle fingers. She glared up at him, daring him to do more. He did, brushing his thumb back and forth against her lips. They were reddened and swollen from their kisses of moments before, and suddenly his thumb wasn’t nearly enough. Ivo bent his head and claimed her mouth once more with his.
The spark caught, and began quickly to burn. She clung to him, her fingers tugging painfully in his hair. Their mouths fused and melded, wanting more and yet knowing that this was not the time nor the place. Ivo enjoyed the feel of her, the knowledge that she was no longer holding back. He had pushed beyond her wariness, beyond whatever plans were seething in that hot little head of hers, to the place where nothing existed but him and her, together.
“I will come back.”
She blinked, and for a moment stared up at him blindly. And then, gradually, the knowledge returned. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she stepped back. The silence between them was painful, but he did not break it.
“Is that a vow?” she asked, her voice low and husky.
“Do you want it to be?”
She shrugged with pretended indifference, suddenly cooling. “I did not expect you to plight your troth to me, not because of a single night. I gave you my body, and you gave me yours. Was it so special? Surely it happens all the time between men and women?”
Impatience gripped him, but Ivo held it down. This was no time to lose his temper with her. She was playing games, but he did not have to join in.
“I will come back, Briar, because I am so hot for you that I burn. Just as you burn for me. Why pretend it is not so? In time the flames may well turn cold, but for now we can warm ourselves with their heat.”
She looked up at him, paler than ever, and he felt her trembling. “Good. As long as you do not think it is forever. Love is for fools, de Vessey.”
“Aye, demoiselle,” he said in agreement.
