Aeromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 3)

Cupping her nape, he pulled her close and gripped her chin in his free hand. He kept his eyes open as he kissed her gently. When she didn’t resist, he parted her lips, claiming her mouth with a groan. Then he let go to remove his glasses. Lann removing his glasses always led to one thing.

She pulled away. “You taste like coffee.”

“I had a cup with Eve.”

Suddenly, she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry because he’d said he loved her, and because it had never been his plan to stay with her, and because he’d just asked her to marry him, and because she couldn’t drink coffee. It was crazy. Damn pregnancy hormones.

She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “I can’t do it.”

“Can’t kiss me?” he asked, looking confused.

“Can’t marry you.”

“Why?”

How could she marry him and then die? It would make everything worse. She’d sign any legal papers that claimed him as the father of her child to make the adoption process go smoothly, but she wasn’t going to cause him more suffering. She wasn’t going to make Lann a widower when he never wanted to be a husband.

“God, I love coffee,” she said with longing, but her mind wasn’t on the coffee at all. She tried to diffuse the seriousness of the situation with humor. “If you love me like you say, you wouldn’t stand there and tempt me.”

His voice was tinged with disbelief. “You don’t believe I love you because I had coffee?” Then his eyes softened. “I’m sorry.” He put his arms around her. “I’ve been a selfish bastard. I’ll give it up. I promise I won’t have coffee again.”

She stepped away to escape his touch. “It doesn’t change anything.” An unwelcome sob escaped her throat. “You giving it up isn’t going to change one damn thing in my life. I still won’t be allowed to have it.”

“But I’ll suffer with you.”

“Like hell you will. You don’t even like coffee. You like tea.”

He caught her, embracing her again. “Fine. I’ll give up tea too.”

She wiggled in his arms. “Let me go.”

“No. I know you’re angry, and I know why. It’s not the coffee, or the tea, or that I love you.” When she started crying, he kissed the top of her head. “It’s all right, krasavitsa, I’m not going to let go.”

All she wanted was to be alone, to have a good cry, and then she’d be fine, but Lann held her tenderly, tightly, and it didn’t help to regain her composure. The gentler he was, the more she came undone.

“I love you, Katherine,” he said. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He stroked her back and her arms, holding her to him, letting her cry. He whispered sweet Russian words she didn’t understand, words that were meant to soothe, until the worst of her tears abated. He allowed the storm to play itself out, and when she felt weak in its aftermath, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

He undressed himself first before peeling her clothes off, item by item, and stretched out over her. His hair fell over her face when he kissed her. He took her hands, intertwining their fingers, and placed them at the side of her face. His tongue dipped into her mouth, soft and warm, undemanding. His lovemaking was like his kissing. This time, he gave without taking. She begged him for more, but he kept his control and shattered hers as he loved her gently.

For a long time afterward, they stayed under the warmth of the covers. When he finally pulled away, it was with reluctance.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he said, “but I have to work.”

She had a suspicion. “On what?” He opened his mouth, but she added before he could speak, “Please, don’t lie to me anymore, Lann. I’m trying hard to trust you.”

“All right,” he said with a somber expression. “I’m trying to track David.”

“I won’t let you endanger your life.”

His features contorted with rage. “Not finding him and that bastard Godfrey is endangering yours.”

“You said we’re safe here.”

He got to his feet, naked, and already aroused again. “And I’m working at keeping you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered with a sudden attack of guilt. “I don’t want to be responsible for you risking your life.”

He picked up his pants and pulled them over his hips. “It’s all my own doing. The blame is all mine, sweetheart.”

Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her breasts. “Can we stop talking about blame, please?”

“What do you want to talk about?” He grabbed his shirt from the chair and yanked it over his head. “Your refusal to marry me?”

“You’re upset. We’ll talk about that when you’re calm.”

“Upset is a light way of putting it.” He sat down on the chair to pull on his socks and shoes. “It doesn’t come close to describing how I feel knowing my woman and unborn child’s lives are in danger.”