A Daring Passion

“Everything.” His head lowered to scatter tiny kisses over her upturned face. “Your body…your heart…your soul.”

A cold chill inched down Raine’s spine. This man had already taken far too much from her. Any more and he would surely destroy her.

“No,” she breathed in denial.

“Yes.” His tone was fierce as he abruptly cradled her face in his hands and glared into her wide eyes. “Every silken, beautiful, irritating inch of you will be mine.”

“Until you decide to toss me aside.”

“Is that what troubles you? Do you wish me to promise I will keep you always?”

Her heart gave a sharp, uncomfortable jerk before she was steeling herself against his potent appeal.

“You must have been wounded more grievously than I feared if you believe such nonsense,” she accused. “For God’s sake, the only reason I am here at all is because you threatened to harm my father. Or have you managed to forget your disgraceful part in this charade?”

“I have forgotten nothing.” A smile slowly curved his lips. “Certainly not the manner in which you moan with pleasure in my arms, or how you whisper my name in your sleep.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I do not whisper your name in my sleep.”

Philippe chuckled softly, his entire body aching with the need to finish what he had started. Unfortunately he had already wasted too much time. He could not risk Seurat slipping away before he could capture him.

“Do not worry, meu amor,” he whispered in her ear, “so long as it is my name you are whispering you have nothing to fear.”

She opened her lips to offer a cutting reply and he effectively silenced her with a deep, possessive kiss. His hands tightened on her face before he forced himself to reluctantly step away.

Once he had ended the threat to his brother, he could devote his entire attention to Raine. Until then he could not allow himself to become distracted from his duty.

Unable to resist one last light kiss on her lips, Philippe turned to gather his coat and gloves before leaving the room and making his way from the cottage. His arm ached and he suspected that it would not be long before his strength gave out. He could only hope that Seurat would be considerate enough to remain waiting in the alley to be captured.

Gathering his horse from the stables, Philippe headed for Paris, shivering as he was forced to slow his mount to a careful trot. The drizzling rain from the night before had frozen to leave the streets slick with ice. His arm was painful enough. He didn’t need a broken neck.

The trip was cold and tedious and more than once he damned himself for not having remained tucked in his bed with Raine in his arms. Seurat was going to pay for every frustrating moment Philippe spent looking for him rather than enjoying the pleasures of his mistress.

Despite the inhospitable weather the streets of Paris were clogged with traffic. There was the usual clutter of public cabriolets, gentlemen heading toward the gambling houses, ladies intent on reaching the Arcades, and the King’s Guard, which made a show of protecting the local citizens.

Philippe was cursing beneath his breath before he at last managed to locate the filthy alley where they had last seen Seurat. Perhaps unfairly, his foul mood was not noticeably improved when Carlos appeared from the shadows.

The younger man was attired in his usual rough woolen clothing with a cap pulled low on his head. He was also looking annoyingly hale and hearty, Philippe noted as he dismounted and struggled to keep his knees from buckling.

“I should have known you would not have the sense to remain in bed,” Carlos said.

Philippe deliberately met his dark gaze. He may have been disoriented and less than lucid last eve, but he had not forgotten Carlos’s overly familiar manner toward Raine.

“Actually, the notion did cross my mind,” he drawled, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. “My bed seemed uncommonly comfortable this morning.”

“I would imagine any bed would be uncommonly comfortable with Raine in it,” Carlos retorted, his arms folded over his chest.

Philippe clenched his hands at his sides. For a moment their gazes silently battled.

“You tread dangerous ground, amigo,” he warned softly.

Carlos shrugged. “I am not blind. She is a beautiful woman.”

“She is mine.”

“For the moment.”

Philippe had never been a jealous or possessive man, but there was no mistaking the searing fury that raced through his blood. Carlos might be a brother to him, but he would beat the hell out of him if he did not retreat.