He held up a hand. "I understand why you haven't. We did not commence this agreement on very good terms. Hell, I practically threatened to destroy you." With a sigh, he stepped closer. Every inch of his expression hardened with intensity. "I need to know the truth, Ianthe. I need you to trust me. I promise I won't betray that trust."
Heart in her throat, she stared at him. What was he saying?
"And perhaps, the best way to go about that is to give you my trust." Their palms met by his design. Lucien's gaze dropped as his fingers splayed against hers, holding them spread, and then he shifted, those long, elegant fingers slipping between hers.
Ianthe could not look away from him, from the beautiful golden halo of his eyes. So haunted. So hungry. Not for sex, but for intimacy. He opened to her in that moment, the bond itching beneath her skin, daring her to open up to him in response.
"You were right." Every line of his body spoke its reluctance. "My aura was savaged by either the demon or Lord Rathbourne when I attempted to break free of the bond he'd forced on me. I don't know if I can access my sorcery properly. It... hurts. It's like a knife straight to the brain, and my first instinct is to shy away from such pain."
"Oh, Lucien—" But he was not done, not yet.
"It scares the hell out of me. Will I ever wield my sorcery again? I don't know. But that's not the only thing that terrifies me. I have nothing, Ianthe. No friends, no family, not even my own house... I've never belonged to anybody. Except for you." His gaze dropped to their clenched hands. "I kept telling myself that this wasn't happening."
Us. That we weren't happening. Her heart broke a little as his loneliness scorched her.
Lucien lifted his other hand and paused with it but an inch from her mouth. Dark lashes framed his beautiful eyes as his gaze dropped to her lips. "But there's a limit to how much I can lie to myself. You scare me. Because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life." He leaned closer, eyelashes growing heavier.
Ianthe's heart erupted in a flurry.
Is he going to...? Does he want to...?
But it was not his mouth that brushed against her trembling lips, but something even softer. She felt the soft, languid stroke of it all across her skin, drawing a shiver from somewhere deep within her.
Ianthe drew back. "What is—?" A flower. A lilac, somewhat bedraggled, but still soft with scent.
"I need to know," Lucien whispered hoarsely, "whether I am alone in this situation. Do you care for me? Do you want me too?"
A blatant understatement. Ianthe swayed toward him, her heart aching. "Of course I do. More than breath itself." She brushed the flower aside, looking up into his eyes. "I thought myself a fool for daring to, but—"
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes." Her hand curled in the collar of his coat. She wanted the kiss that he was promising, but he wouldn't stop talking.
"I've been patient, Ianthe. Please tell me what the devil is going—"
To hell with it.
Leaning forward, Ianthe reached up and grabbed the back of his nape, dragging his face down to hers, which was something she'd been wanting to do for days. The second she kissed him, Lucien's breath broke on a harsh exhale, and then he was clutching at her, dragging her against his chest, his arms forceful and his mouth aggressive.
It was everything she'd ever hoped for. Hungry, passionate, and fierce. It was full of longing, as though they'd each dreamed of his moment, burned for it. Breathless and aching, she let his demanding mouth sweep her away. On and on, showing each other what they felt with their bodies, their mouths. Their tongues clashed, and Lucien muscled Ianthe backward until her back met the wall. Pinned there, Ianthe looked up. As he forced her wrists against the wallpaper, dark shadows haunted his eyes. He was breathing hard.
"Why?" Lucien searched her expression.
She had broken their rules. Lost their bet.
And she didn't give a damn.
"Because I don't care about our bet," Ianthe whispered. "All I want is you."
And then she kissed him again.
That first kiss hadn't felt like surrender.
No, it had felt like a demand, like a fervent plea. Like two halves of a soul finally coming together with an almost audible clash. His mouth was imprinted with the feel of hers, and Lucien liked it.
Had he ever thought it would be like this? To find someone who both fascinated and matched him on almost every level? It eased the ache within him. For Ianthe was more to him than kisses and sex; she was the future. His future. Here, in her, he saw more than the cold, empty halls of Rathbourne Manor. He saw laughter and an endless battle of wits. He could picture children running through the house, wearing his eyes and her smile. Warm bodies curled around each other in bed with endless rainy mornings, just listening to the patter of rain on the roof and losing themselves in kisses.
If only they could sort out this bloody mess with Morgana.
