the hall and a moment later, Ian appeared in the doorway. His bruises looked better. He had a concerned frown between his brows as he met her gaze. “Thought we should talk.”
She nodded. “We should.” She rose from the sofa and crossed to him.
To Vojalie, Ian said, “Your husband is pouring out two glasses of a very fine cognac for you both. He said he refuses to return to Merhaine until you’ve had a drink with him. Shall I send him in?”
Vojalie rolled her eyes. “That man. He takes every opportunity to flirt.”
“You are so right, my dearest love.” Carrying a brandy snifter in each hand, Davido pushed past Ian. “You will love this, my most darling sweetheart. The very finest brandy. Ian said he’s been keeping it just for us.”
Regan watched the couple for a moment. They’d been together a long time, but Davido still treated his woman as though they were dating. She’d always admired them as a couple.
When Davido handed the snifter to his wife, she leaned forward and tilted her face to him. Davido caught her chin with his now free hand and Regan could sense a brief telepathic exchange. He then kissed Vojalie and sat down in the companion wing-back chair. He was only five-three and his feet didn’t hit the floor, not in a chair designed for Guard-sized bodies.
But was anyone as comfortable in his skin as Davido, or Vojalie for that matter?
“Regan?” Ian drew her attention away from the couple now clinking glasses and smiling tenderly at each other.
As she turned and moved into the hall, he closed the door to the library. In a low voice, he murmured, “Thought we should give them some alone time.”
“Right.” She glanced up at him, nervous suddenly. “Ian, Vojalie thinks I should stay here, with you.”
He looked down at her, scowling. “Not sure we have much of a choice given the situation. Stone left. I sent him to Ben at the Communication Center.”
“But you don’t want me here.”
“I don’t want a lot of things. I don’t want that Margetta abducted you from your home or held you for a month, or that you’re a blood rose. And I definitely wish I hadn’t battled Stone because I’m beat up as all hell. But Stone did make a suggestion and I think we should do it.”
He led her into the living room but didn’t gesture for her to sit. Instead, he stood facing her, his ringed fingers gathered into fists and planted on his hips. He’d taken off his Guard coat but now wore a black tank, exposing a large part of the broad tattoo that covered his chest and parts of his arms and shoulders. The figure of a hawk in flight hadn’t existed when they’d dated.
But it did now.
Her breathing hitched. She’d always felt this way around Ian, like she could stumble and fall so easily and in more ways than one.
She dragged her attention away from his chest and back to his eyes. This was unfortunate because his nostrils flared after which his eyes dropped to half-mast. “See something you want?” His deep forest-fern scent flowed over her in heavy waves.
She drew close and grabbed his tank t-shirt with one hand and pulled it into a knot. “Always. And that’s a big part of this problem. You shouldn’t be built like every woman’s darkest fantasy.”
He slid his hands over her hips then down her bottom, squeezing. “Is that what I am to you? A dark fantasy?”
“Yeah, except this isn’t a fantasy, is it? This is you, in the flesh, in front of me.”
Though she could feel his resistance, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.
Heat, then fire.
Pressure, then a demanding tongue.
She released his shirt to slide her arm around his neck. He used his hands on her bottom to press her against him, no doubt so she could feel the hard length of him, feel what she’d missed all this time.
Ian, she pathed.
Regan, came back to her, a low resonance through her mind. I’ve missed you, missed this.
I know. Me, too.
He drew back and settled his forehead against hers. He
She nodded. “We should.” She rose from the sofa and crossed to him.
To Vojalie, Ian said, “Your husband is pouring out two glasses of a very fine cognac for you both. He said he refuses to return to Merhaine until you’ve had a drink with him. Shall I send him in?”
Vojalie rolled her eyes. “That man. He takes every opportunity to flirt.”
“You are so right, my dearest love.” Carrying a brandy snifter in each hand, Davido pushed past Ian. “You will love this, my most darling sweetheart. The very finest brandy. Ian said he’s been keeping it just for us.”
Regan watched the couple for a moment. They’d been together a long time, but Davido still treated his woman as though they were dating. She’d always admired them as a couple.
When Davido handed the snifter to his wife, she leaned forward and tilted her face to him. Davido caught her chin with his now free hand and Regan could sense a brief telepathic exchange. He then kissed Vojalie and sat down in the companion wing-back chair. He was only five-three and his feet didn’t hit the floor, not in a chair designed for Guard-sized bodies.
But was anyone as comfortable in his skin as Davido, or Vojalie for that matter?
“Regan?” Ian drew her attention away from the couple now clinking glasses and smiling tenderly at each other.
As she turned and moved into the hall, he closed the door to the library. In a low voice, he murmured, “Thought we should give them some alone time.”
“Right.” She glanced up at him, nervous suddenly. “Ian, Vojalie thinks I should stay here, with you.”
He looked down at her, scowling. “Not sure we have much of a choice given the situation. Stone left. I sent him to Ben at the Communication Center.”
“But you don’t want me here.”
“I don’t want a lot of things. I don’t want that Margetta abducted you from your home or held you for a month, or that you’re a blood rose. And I definitely wish I hadn’t battled Stone because I’m beat up as all hell. But Stone did make a suggestion and I think we should do it.”
He led her into the living room but didn’t gesture for her to sit. Instead, he stood facing her, his ringed fingers gathered into fists and planted on his hips. He’d taken off his Guard coat but now wore a black tank, exposing a large part of the broad tattoo that covered his chest and parts of his arms and shoulders. The figure of a hawk in flight hadn’t existed when they’d dated.
But it did now.
Her breathing hitched. She’d always felt this way around Ian, like she could stumble and fall so easily and in more ways than one.
She dragged her attention away from his chest and back to his eyes. This was unfortunate because his nostrils flared after which his eyes dropped to half-mast. “See something you want?” His deep forest-fern scent flowed over her in heavy waves.
She drew close and grabbed his tank t-shirt with one hand and pulled it into a knot. “Always. And that’s a big part of this problem. You shouldn’t be built like every woman’s darkest fantasy.”
He slid his hands over her hips then down her bottom, squeezing. “Is that what I am to you? A dark fantasy?”
“Yeah, except this isn’t a fantasy, is it? This is you, in the flesh, in front of me.”
Though she could feel his resistance, he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.
Heat, then fire.
Pressure, then a demanding tongue.
She released his shirt to slide her arm around his neck. He used his hands on her bottom to press her against him, no doubt so she could feel the hard length of him, feel what she’d missed all this time.
Ian, she pathed.
Regan, came back to her, a low resonance through her mind. I’ve missed you, missed this.
I know. Me, too.
He drew back and settled his forehead against hers. He
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