“Are you in, Davenport?” Gabriel said.
The other inclined his head. “Anything to prevent the ghosts of the past from rising.”
“The Spectre’s already risen. Tomorrow night,” Gabriel said with grim determination, “we put him down for good.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
That night, Thea made her way stealthily down the dark hallway of the guest wing. A sense of urgency fueled her flight, the hem of her wrapper whispering over the carpet, her lamp casting a moving shadow until she found the door she sought. Casting a furtive glance this way and that, she drew a breath and rapped softly.
Heartbeats passed. She leaned in, pressing her ear to the door, listening for any sounds from within. She couldn’t hear anything above the thudding in her ears. Her hopes fell. Perhaps he was already asleep—
The door opened so suddenly that she toppled forward.
Strong arms caught her, dragged her inside. Her lamp was summarily deposited on a table. Breathless, she found herself with her back against the closed door, Gabriel towering over her, his hands planted on either side of her shoulders. He’d clearly just risen from bed. A tempting expanse of hair-dusted muscle rippled in the vee of his hastily donned robe. His hair was tousled, his eyes glinting silver in the semi-darkness.
He looked dangerous, deliciously predatory. Her desire for him saturated her being like a watermark through fibers of parchment.
“What are you doing here?” he said in low tones.
“I missed you,” she whispered back. “I wanted to see you.”
He ran a finger along her jaw, his touch rasping over her nerve endings. “As much as I appreciate and return the sentiment,” he said huskily, “you can’t be here. You’ll be ruined if we’re caught.”
“I don’t care. Everyone knows we’re getting married anyway.” Earlier, he’d told her that he’d broken the news to Strathaven. Which meant Emma already knew and the rest of the family wasn’t far off. “You’re going to capture the Spectre tomorrow, and life is too precious to waste. I don’t want to lose a single moment with you.”
“There’s nothing to fear, princess.” He took her hands, kissed them one by one. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
How could she convey the desperation she felt? Knowing that he would be out there tomorrow night, chasing after evil—she wanted to give him a part of her, a talisman for safekeeping. If he didn’t want words of love from her, then she would show him how much she cared. Whenever they made love, she felt the bond between them strengthen.
“We could just lie in bed together,” she coaxed, “and not do anything but hold each other.”
“Yes, and hell could bloom with roses.” He sounded wryly amused.
“Ineedto be with you tonight.” Impassioned, she reached for him—only to have him grip both wrists, this time pinning them above her head.
“No, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m going to see you back to your room.”
Whereas once she would have been hurt by his refusal, attributing it to some failing in herself, now she saw his protectiveness for what it was, and it only made her love him more. With her wrists still anchored by him, she couldn’t use her hands, so she leaned upward on her toes, feathering her lips over his in soft persuasion. She felt like the mouse of Aesop’s tale, seeking clemency from a lion—the moral of the tale being that even smaller, frailer creatures have their power.
And Gabriel had helped her discover hers.
When his mouth remained stubbornly closed, she licked the hard seam. She felt his coiling tension, and sensing her advantage, delicately nipped his firm bottom lip. He shuddered—and then all hell sprung loose.
One moment Thea was standing against the door, the next she was swung up into Gabriel’s arms. His mouth ravaged hers, and she thrilled in the rough possession. When his tongue plunged with voluptuous force, she opened further, holding nothing back. He tasted of desire, dark and primal, and she couldn’t hold back a whimper of excitement.
He set her on her feet by the edge of the bed, his gaze glittering in the lamplight. “Do you know what happens to naughty minxes who disobey orders?”
She didn’t… but she had hopes.
He sat on the mattress. The hem of his robe stopped beneath his knees, revealing his sleekly bulging calves. With his thighs slightly splayed and his eyes heavy-lidded, he radiated male power. “Take off your clothes,” he said. “Be quick about it.”
His clipped commands filled her with heady, feminine triumph. She loved this demanding, intense side of him—loved even more that she had the power to bring it out. Following his instruction, she shed her wrapper, letting it pool at her feet. She kicked off her slippers and pulled her nightgown over her head. Her hair fell in a silken curtain to her waist, but she was otherwise laid bare.
Naked and blushing, she held his gaze.
He crooked a finger at her. “Come closer.”
She took the two steps forward into the lee of his thighs. She could smell his clean scent, nothing but soap and male, and her nipples hardened, straining for his touch. Her toes curled in the soft fibers of the bedside rug.
