Silken Rapture (Princes of the Underground 2)

“He’s just concerned for you.”

“He’s just an interfering idiot. I don’t care if he is a genius. Besides,” he added, altering his tone when he saw her startled expression at his harshness. “I take sustenance from the crystal.” He avoided her stare. He took nourishment from her as well, during their heated, abandoned moments of repeated intercourse. He was overly cautious, but he had taken her blood on his nightly visits. To drink it was nirvana. One swallow could enliven him for days.

He longed to taste her sex juices, to lick the sweat in the valley of her breasts, to taste her tears of joy, as well. But he would not allow himself. He had already lost control, taking her repeatedly under the influence of some kind of rapturous mating spell. To make love to Isabel—to truly make love with her, commune with her—would be the ultimate act of losing himself. It was the hardest thing in the world to join with her, and then make her forget those moments of bliss. If he made love to her, he feared he would never be able to break the connection between them.

It would kill him to have to make her forget these quiet, intimate, seemingly innocent afternoons together. That would somehow be even worse—

“Blaise?”

He blinked and met her stare. Her eyes were like shiny ebony mirrors, the gold flames of the fire reflecting in them, beckoning him.

Her white throat convulsed when she swallowed. “You have not answered me.”

Her persistence made him desperate. “Do you need your ego stroked, Isabel? I had not realized you were such a stereotypical actress. Very well. If it pleases you to know it, yes. I feel the urge,” he bit out between clenched teeth.

She backed away from him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He muttered an ancient curse upon seeing her fear of him.

“You shouldn’t come here anymore,” he said, looking away from her.

“Does it pain you so much, being with me?” she whispered.

The answer stuck in his throat. If he told her the agony he experienced in her presence, the ecstasy, she would leave. His selfishness—his cowardice—knew no bounds, because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing these moments here in his study, talking to her, seeing the play of light on her delicate features, allowing the richness of her voice to caress him with every word, every sigh…absorbing her beauty.

It didn’t strike him until that moment that he had been making love to her during these afternoons. Perhaps it was already too late.

She set down her wineglass. “I didn’t mean to upset you further,” she said in a low voice. “I was only…concerned for you. You seemed so upset by Saint’s news. I wanted to offer—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “Don’t you dare,” he added quietly. He knew full well what she’d been about to offer him. His need for her already cut at him. To hear her offer herself at that moment would have been too much for him to bear.

Her eyes flickered up to the portrait of Elysse. “I know what it is to be lonely. I still fear that I’ll die alone.”

He went still. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just trying to tell you, I know you’re afraid. I know why. Because you lost her,” she nodded at the painting over the mantel, “you’re afraid to get too close to me. I’m trying to tell you—I know what that’s like. I, too, have lived in fear of another’s touch.” She held up her gloved hands. “I, too, know what it’s like to lose someone, and feel like you’ve lost your whole world.”

“Who?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

“My father,” she said in a hushed voice, lowering her head. “He was my whole world. I was only seventeen when he died. I felt like I’d been cast adrift in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I was so afraid.” She inhaled raggedly and met his stare. Tears shone in her soulful eyes. “After the accident, it caused me so much pain to touch other human beings. I became wary of them. I became convinced I would die alone. We’re not all that different, you and me. We’re both afraid to love.”

He looked away from the torment—the promise—in her eyes. “I told you. The soulless cannot love.”

His voice sounded hollow and stupid in the fire-warmed air.

“I’ll go now,” she said after a moment.

He said nothing until she opened the door to his study.

“Isabel?” he called, unable to stop himself.

She turned.

“You will be back tomorrow?” he asked, even though his words rang like a command in his ears.

“Of course,” she replied, her voice as soft as a soothing caress on raised wolf fur.

He waited until the urge to go after her eased. Once he was able to clear his brain from the intoxication Isabel always wrought, he called out with his mind telepathically.

“Come to me in my study, Aubrey. I have news from Saint and need your advice.”