Curse of the Celts by Clara O'Connor (most romantic novels .TXT) 📕

Even as the words left my mouth, I realised I had overreacted; he did not need my assistance to get to his bed. My face warmed as the other interpretations of my words occurred to me. And just like that, the atmosphere in the room changed. He was well enough not to need my assistance to get to his bed, but here we finally were: Devyn, his bed and I all alone in this room in the middle of the night.

My eyes dropped to his lips; it had been so long since I had felt their touch. My fingertips traced their way along the place my own lips longed to be, though I couldn’t recall lifting my hand. I looked up to assess his reaction, but his lashes skimmed his cheeks as he let my fingers have their way. Awareness crackled down the bond between us.

His chest rose and fell shallowly, while the fire crackled on the other side of the room. I cursed it for its loudness. He stood abruptly, towering over me, but his dark gaze met mine. I touched my lips with my tongue, my mouth dry with nerves. His gaze snagged on the movement.

He was alive, and it had been so long since we had touched like this. I reached up and ran my hands along the nape of his neck. I rose onto my tiptoes to gain some much-needed height so I could bring our lips another inch closer. I put a fraction more pressure on the hand at his nape.

“Please,” I breathed.

With a groan, he swooped, and his mouth was on mine, his arms around me. He swept me up until we tumbled together onto the bed, his hands sweeping under the full-length white cotton nightgown that I had been given by someone back at his father’s house. My own hands pulled at the tunic he wore, pushing it up and out of the way to get to the warm, clean satiny skin underneath. I yanked it over his head, clearing the way to the expanse of muscular darkly golden chest beneath.

A flinch alerted me that the movement had jarred his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” My hands froze as he stilled above me. His skin glinted bronze in the firelight as he pulled away from me.

“No.” I caught his left arm in both hands, this time avoiding the still bandaged shoulder. “Please.”

He stared balefully at my hands until I released him. I fell back and stared at the ceiling.

“You should go.”

I sat up, my cloak spread beneath me on the bed, the nightdress hanging off one shoulder. I hoped I was cutting at least half as tempting a figure as he was, standing there all brooding and rumpled. He wouldn’t even look at me.

“I came here to talk.”

“We can talk in the morning.” He strode over to the door and, after checking the hallway, opened it wide, letting the cold come flooding into the room.

“I want to talk now. I need you to explain to me what’s going on with you.” I lifted my gown to cover my shoulder in a show of good faith.

“Tomorrow,” he said, continuing to hold the door wide.

I stomped over to him, or as close to stomping as could be achieved barefoot.

“Now.” I meant it. I was done with him shutting me out. “ You keep saying we can’t be together. I need you to explain it to me. Properly. All of it.”

I folded my arms and planted my feet. I was going nowhere.

He pushed the door closed and brushed past me, but my triumph was barely a breath long as I felt the heavy fall of a cloak about my shoulders.

Then I was being propelled towards the door. I braced myself against it, and it made a satisfyingly loud noise as it slammed shut.

I swirled to face Devyn.

“You idiot. You can’t be caught in here,” he said in exasperation.

“Can’t I? What will happen? Will my marriage to Marcus be called off? Will they think we are sleeping together if they find me here in your bedroom in the middle of the night? So what if they do? Bronwyn and Gideon suspect anyway.”

It seemed a stunningly simple realisation. I was done playing by Devyn’s rules. Why shouldn’t everyone know we were together? What could they do about it?

The clack-clack of steel-toed boots could be heard coming down the hall.

Devyn frowned at whatever he read in my eyes and pushed me against the door, covering my mouth with his hand as the footsteps came closer. As if that could stop me, I pulled my foot back and then kicked the door with as much force as I could muster. It hit the door with an annoyingly quiet thud, but it was enough that the footsteps went silent.

Devyn’s exasperation doubled and he glared down at me before his hand was gone, replaced by meltingly warm lips as he kissed me again… wholly and thoroughly. My arms wound up around his neck again, holding him to me as he began to pull away. He deepened the kiss again and I fell into him. He lifted his head and smiled crookedly down at me. The footsteps receded into the night.

I raised my foot again, and this time brought it crashing down on Devyn’s. The boots the Celts wore were thankfully a soft enough leather that it yielded a small grunt.

“If I remain the Griffin, I will be your sworn protector.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I don’t need a protector. I can stop entire troops of men in their tracks. I beat the hounds. Twice,” I reminded him.

“Technically, you beat them once, and city weapons beat them off the time before that.”

“What’s with you and the technicalities tonight?” I glared at him. “Is that what your kisses were? A trick ? Oh, I know, technically, you told me we could never be together. But you needed to lure the stupid city girl out of her tower and you gave me just enough so