Shadow Fire (Shadow Riders 7)

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s much more difficult than I thought it would be.”

He was silent, his fingers curled around the band of her panties. She closed her eyes and tried not to groan when she realized the meaning he might construe from her simple explanation. Why had she spoken at all? She needed to keep her mouth closed, not blurt out anything at all. She already had made a big enough fool of herself.

She didn’t realize tears were leaking out of her eyes until she felt the wetness on her arm where she rested her head. A shudder went through her body. She didn’t know how to feel. Just not like this. Needing him. Wanting him. Terrified he’d discover her secrets and she’d be humiliated and unable to ever live with herself.

“Shh, bébé, everything is going to be all right. I take care of what’s mine. And you’ve always been mine. Always, Brielle. You were meant for me. And I was always meant to be your man.”

Elie leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back of her knee and then reached for the silver knobs on the faucet to turn them off. Instantly, the loss of sound seemed to magnify her labored breathing. Her breath seemed to saw raggedly in and out of her lungs while she couldn’t hear a sound coming from Elie. It was only his touch that allowed her to know he was there.

He would know she was crying. How could he not? She was such a mess while he was in complete control. She wanted to collapse onto the floor right on top of her useless wedding gown—the one she’d chosen with such care to give herself some much-needed confidence. Now what did she have? Nothing. She had nothing at all.

Another sob welled up, nearly choking her. She pushed her knuckles into her mouth. She wanted to go home. To France. But she didn’t have a home to go to. She didn’t have a family. She didn’t have anyone. She only had her pride and she was fast losing that.

“You’re going to be safe with me, Brielle,” Elie assured her, his voice coming out of the silence. Low. Like the stroke of velvet on her skin.

She detested that she reacted to that velvet note in his voice. That was part of the reason she hadn’t wanted to go through with the marriage. She’d heard him giving instructions on more than one occasion, and from the moment she’d heard his voice, soft and compelling, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Her body had refused to react sexually to anyone else.

Very slowly, Elie drew her soaked panties over her hips and down her legs, tapping each foot to silently command her to lift so he could remove the scrap of underwear, leaving her completely naked. He stood up with his casual, fluid grace, as silent as any jungle cat, but when he rose, his body slid along hers, a ripple of sleek, powerful muscles and hot skin. He helped her to straighten.

“Let’s get you into the bathtub. You’re exhausted, Brielle. You’d been traveling for hours and then had to go through a marriage ceremony to a man you want nothing to do with.”

He turned her in his arms, keeping her body close to his, wiping her tears with the pads of his fingers, his touch tender, as if she were an infant—or someone he cared about. She wanted to protest that it wasn’t true she didn’t want anything to do with him—but that would be a lie and he would hear it. He would know. She was confused and ashamed. She knew they wouldn’t work. It didn’t matter if the shadows or the computer matched them—they wouldn’t work. She would have her heart torn out and she’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

Another sob escaped and he pressed her face against his chest, his palm cupping the back of her head. “Ssh, bébé, you just need to sleep. We’ll work everything out. You’re overwhelmed right now.”

She was. She was overwhelmed and her body was so sensitive and aware of him, it was insane. His hands fit around her waist, fingers biting into her as he lifted her carefully into the bathtub as if she were made of porcelain and might shatter into a million pieces at any moment. She sank down into the heat of the steamy water, grateful the tub was so deep, the water went to the very curve of her breasts.

Elie reached over her to get the pillow that lay in a wooden and steel-mesh tray that hooked over the tub. When he did, his entire package slipped free from the opening of the towel wrapped around his hips and was right there in front of her face. In front of her lips. She had only to lean forward a scant two inches and she could touch him with her tongue.

She had seen cocks before. They weren’t the prettiest things in the world as far as she was concerned, but his was different. And his was fully erect. As in fully. He was thick and long, the vein dark, the shaft pulsing with life. The broad head appeared velvet soft and there were small pearly drops on the surface she wanted to taste. Her mouth actually watered. She’d dreamt of him so many times. Had had so many fantasies. She’d never imagined him like this.

When he eased back, the pillow in his hand, his balls swayed, drawing her attention. Her gaze centered on his groin, the way he was so unashamed. Uninhibited. He yanked at the towel and tossed it aside as if it was an annoyance.

“Scoot down here, Brielle, so you can lean back and rest your head against the pillow.”

She heard him, but in all honesty, she really didn’t comprehend what he was saying. She was too busy memorizing the look of him. There was something really wrong with her that she was so fascinated with his physical endowments. Already, her body reacted, legs moving restlessly beneath the water, her sex clenching. Her breasts felt heavy and aching. She detested that she was like that when she didn’t even know him—or like him.

But that was a lie, too. She did know him. She knew almost everything she could about him, and what she didn’t, she’d made up. She’d wanted this man and only this man. She was obsessed with him.

Elie crouched down beside the tub, removing temptation from her sight. Cupping her chin in his palm, he lifted her head, forcing her to look at him. “Brielle.” His thumb whispered across the bottom of her chin in the lightest of touches. She felt that brush like a brand. Her stomach did a slow somersault. “Enough.” His voice was very firm. Commanding. “You’re going to lay your head back against the pillow. I’m turning off the lights and will just have the candles lit. If you fall asleep, no worries. I’ll dry you off and carry you to bed.”

She had the same sexual reaction to his commanding voice that she did his velvet voice. That was how far gone she was. How could she have confessed that to Stefano Ferraro? Even if she had been alone with him, she knew she never would have told him all of her reasons for wanting out of her contract. There were things about her character she had learned early on that had shocked and mystified her. That truly horrified and humiliated her.

In Spain, she’d gone into counseling in order to try to understand why she was the way she was. On some level, she knew her family had programmed her to feel submissive. They also made her feel desperate to be loved. To be wanted. But that had little to do with her reactions to a voice. She had heard the voice before she ever saw the man.

She’d worked in a very high-end restaurant during the evenings and a café during the day. Elie frequented both places with his models and actresses. He often came into the restaurant with a group of his friends, and occupied one of the rooms reserved for their best customers. She didn’t serve in those rooms as a rule; only those with seniority were allowed as the money earned was more than generous.

Obediently she leaned back against the tub wall and allowed her head to fall against the pillow. Once he’d turned off the lights, she felt safe enough to ask questions.

“Is there a guest room I could sleep in tonight?” Deliberately, she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his face, just in case she made him angry.

Elie lit candles. She knew because she heard the scratch of the match and then smelled the apple-cinnamon scent.

“We have two guest bedrooms, neither of which you’ll be sleeping in, Brielle. I expect my wife to sleep with me. I think that was made very clear in the questionnaire sent to you with all my replies. I have a strong sex drive. I intend to give you time to get used to us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you close to me. I sleep nude and expect you to as well.”

She didn’t protest because he had made that abundantly clear. “You said you liked sexy night things.”

“Not to sleep in,” he corrected. “When we play. I’ll let you know when I want you to wear something by laying it on the bed. I have no problem telling you what I want from you.”