No Prince Charming Page 8

  “So we can be together, Elle. You love me…you have freely admitted it. I love you. I will not be without you.”

  A humorless smile twisted her lips. “You expect me to be your mistress.”

  “I expect you to be exactly what you already are…the woman I fell in love with.”

  “The woman you wish to fuck whenever you choose. I wonder what your betrothed would think of this.” She drove her elbow into his stomach, forcing the air from him.

  Then she jerked away, grabbing her shirt and jerking it out from under his leg. She pulled it over her head and shoved her tangled hair back from her face. Calmly, she stared at him and said, “No.”

  Michael came to his feet, narrowing his eyes. “No?” he echoed quietly.

  “That is what I said. No.”

  Striding towards her, he caught her in his arms and jerked her against him. “I will not lose you, Elle. You are mine.”

  “I belong to no man…especially not you. I will not be your whore—you are to wed my sister. I love her, but you would ask me to hurt her like this? Betray her? No. I will not.”

  “You will not leave me. I will not allow it.” He fisted a hand in her hair and rasped quietly, “You know who I am now, Elle. You will be mine—I care not what it takes to keep you.”

  She stilled, her blue eyes wide as she gaped at him.

  “You would threaten me?” she demanded.

  “I would do what I must to keep what is mine.”

  “I am not yours,” she snarled.

  “You are.” He kissed that snarling mouth and then lifted his head. “If I were to go to your stepmother and tell her how you threw yourself at my feet, what would she think? She may well turn you out on the streets, and unless you find either a husband or a keeper you would be homeless…destitute.”

  She swallowed. “No. You cannot tell her. It would break her heart…it would break her heart and Marguerite’s.”

  “They needn’t know,” he whispered, wiping away a tear as it rolled down her cheek.

  “And how do you think to keep it secret if you set me up as your mistress?” she demanded.

  “I will think of something.” He stared at her averted face, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her stiff back. “You are mine, Elle.”

  Her head bowed, her shoulders slumped. She looked utterly broken.

  “It will be well, Elle. Trust me.”

  “No.” She lifted her head and those soft blue eyes were cold. She jerked against his hold and said, “I will not trust you, and this will not be well.”

  She struggled in his arms, kicking his shins when he wouldn’t release her. When that didn’t work, she went to bite him. Michael banded an arm around her waist and jerked her off her feet. She screeched at him as he impaled her on his cock. “Put me down, you bastard,” she snarled.

  He kissed her and she bit his lip.

  He bit her back and she shuddered. Her legs twined around his waist and she pulled away, staring at him.

  “Ride me,” he rasped. “Ride me, Elle.” He gripped her hips and guided her movements. She was swollen, wet from the past two times he had spent himself inside her.

  “I will not be your whore,” she whispered even as she clenched around him and started to rock. Her strong thighs gripped his hips.

  Cupping her ass, he stroked his fingers down the crevice between her cheeks. He watched as a flush came to her face when he pressed against her back entrance. “You are not my whore…you are my heart. My love. I cannot lose you.”

  “But I was never yours,” she whispered, shaking her head. She shuddered, her teeth catching her lower lip as he eased the tip of his finger inside the tight pucker of her ass. “Nor were you mine. This ends, Michael. It must.”

  “No.” He took her to the ground, pulling out and then guiding her to her hands and knees. He pushed back inside her, sinking his cock into her heat as he pressed his thumb against her ass and entered her that way as well. He would have her in every way. All ways. In time.

  In time, she would see that this was how it must be. They belonged together.

  The minutes bled away as he loved her, and when at last it ended he whispered against her ear, “I will take care of you, Elle. I will take care of this. All will be well.”

  Then, exhausted by the past hours, he drifted off to sleep.

  It was nearly dusk when he awoke, and Elle was gone.

  He returned, wanting to seek her out, but refraining. They must be careful how they handled this. He wouldn’t see her dishonored. Though his heart ached to see her again, he left her alone that night.

  He planned to seek her out the next morning, certain that she would be out riding, just as she had every day since she had come to his family’s summer estate.

  But he couldn’t find her. Not that day.

  And the next morning, he heard the news.

  Elle had disappeared.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was the pain that woke me.

  The pain was so deep, even in sleep I couldn’t hide from it.

  Groggy, I sat up, staring at the unfamiliar room. Although I had never seen the room before, I knew where I was. It was Michael’s room. I recognized the scent of him on the sheets. Although I was alone, I could feel him all around me.

  My dress hadn’t fared well—it was tangled around my waist, and the silk was wrinkled beyond all hope. I caught sight of the closet as I climbed out of bed. I shimmied out of the dress and draped it over the foot of the bed. The closet was full of black, black and more black. I selected one of the shirts and pulled it on. Since he wasn’t there to see, I held the fine material to my face and breathed him in.

  Leaving the bedroom, I squared my shoulders. Mentally, I reinforced my shields. I had a bad feeling I knew what was coming.

  This would be so much easier if I didn’t still care for him. So much easier if I didn’t still love him.

  I found him on the balcony, staring out over the lake. He didn’t turn to face me but I knew he was aware of me.

  I closed the sliding glass door at my back and folded my arms over my middle. It was early, not quite dawn, although I could see where the sky was beginning to lighten in the east. The air was cool and damp. A heavy mist lay over the water.

  “Good morning, Michael.” Shivering, I moved away from the door, stopping halfway across the deck.

  Under the fine silk, the muscles of his shoulders tensed. He turned to me, his eyes dark and turbulent. There was a heavy growth of stubble darkening his features. I’m pretty sure I had never seen him looking so unkempt.

  “It’s only been three hours. Do you need more rest?” he asked, his tone polite, cordial even.

  I shrugged. My body could have used more sleep, but there was no way I was going to get any more rest today. “Have you slept?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  In the thin, predawn light, he looked grim, forbidding.

  And he felt…broken.

  Tears pricked my eyes and I averted my face, hoping he wouldn’t see. Dear God. The pain. The loneliness. The longing. I couldn’t read thoughts, but emotions were so much more devastating. While I had slept, he had been reliving those few days we’d had together.

  Remembering…wondering.

  Hurting.

  I took no pleasure in his pain. How could I? I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “You know what, I think I may go lie back down.” I backed away from him. No, I wouldn’t sleep. But maybe I could delay this a little while longer.

  But this wouldn’t be delayed.

  Before I made it to the door, he caught my arm. “I want to know what happened.”

  “No.” I didn’t bother pretending ignorance. There was no point.

  “Yes. You need to tell me.”

  “No.” I shook my head and tugged gently against his hand.

  He didn’t let me go. “Elle, I need to know.” He brought his other hand up and smoothed my tangled hair back from my face. Then he cu
pped my chin in his hand, angling my face up until I met his gaze.

  I stared into the dark, screaming hell of his eyes and whispered, “No.” Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. “You do not need to know. You do not want to know. And I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Why not?” Something flashed in his eyes and I could feel his temper spike. But his voice remained gentle, as did his hands.

  Sighing, I rested my hands on his chest. Under the black silk, I could feel the warmth of his body, the strength. Curling my fingers in the silk, I gave into the urge and moved close. His arms came around me as I lay my head on his chest. “Because that is knowledge you do not need in your head,” I told him.

  “I have to know.” His arms tightened, almost too tight. Then he caught my arms in his hands and eased me back. “I must know.”

  I shook my head. “What happened to me, Michael, is over and done. It’s another lifetime ago. Those memories are mine and I will keep them that way. I won’t share that burden with you.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Do you truly want me to believe that you keep silent out of some desire to protect me?”

  “Nothing will come from me sharing those memories with you.” Nothing good, at least.

  “Damn it, woman,” he growled. “Tell me.”

  “Why? So you can hate yourself even more than you do now?” I could no longer fight the tears burning my eyes. They broke free, rolling down my cheeks in hot, stinging tracks. “The guilt inside you, it’s choking me. I am not going to add to it.”

  “Why not?” he asked, his voice soft, deceptively so. Fury and grief shone in his eyes. The flood of emotions welling inside him threatened to tear him apart…and me.

  “You hate me for what happened to you, for what I did to you, for what I threatened to do. Here is your chance to make me suffer, even more than I already do. Why do you not take it?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I whispered. I looked away from his face, staring out over the lake.

  Gentle fingertips wiped away my tears and I shivered under his touch.

  “Don’t you? You have every right.”

  “Three hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge, Michael.” Up until recently, I had believed that I did hate him.

  I had been wrong. Very wrong. I didn’t hate him. I loved him. I love him still. And I suspected I’d love him until the end of time…beyond.

  But I didn’t tell him that.

  He caught my chin in his hand, guided my face back to his. He stared into my eyes, his gaze intent, probing. It was as though he could learn my secrets through his stare alone.

  I reached up and traced the line of his mouth. “Just let it go, Michael. It is in the past, very much in the past.”

  “No.” His voice shook as he said it.

  Then to my surprise, he yelled it. “No.”

  Abruptly, he jerked away from me and started to pace. His booted heels rang hollowly on the wooden deck. I could feel all the emotions he tried to contain—rage, grief, fear. Under it all, an obsessive need to know.

  I feared the knowledge would destroy him.

  It was a secret I had shared only with Will.

  If I had it my way, I would go to my grave without telling another soul. Especially Michael.

  “Why, damn it? Make me understand, Elle. It was my fault. I drove you away. If I hadn’t done that, nothing would’ve happened to you. Whatever happened to you, the blame lies at my feet. You know this. So why will you not tell me?”

  I shook my head. I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

  “Give me one damn reason,” he snarled, wheeling around to glare at me.

  “Because I still love you.” I dashed away my tears with my fingertips. Staring at him, I shook my head and backed away. “I still love you—I don’t think I ever stopped. And I can’t hurt you like that.”

  Turning away, I moved towards the sliding glass door. As I reached to open it, his arms came up and penned me in. I froze. Michael dipped his head and kissed my shoulder. His voice a soft whisper, he murmured, “What did you say?”

  “You heard me well enough.” I held still, afraid to move.

  “How?” he asked, bemused. He stroked a hand down my hip. “How can you possibly love me after what I did? After what I said to you?”

  Closing my eyes, I sighed. Such a complicated question. Such a simple question.

  How?

  I swallowed the knot in my throat. “You said awful things, Michael. You threatened me with awful things…but you wouldn’t have gone through with them.”

  The sound of his laughter, so bitter and brittle, damn near broke my heart. “Of all people, Elle, you should know better than to romanticize me.”

  “I’ve never romanticized you a day of my life.” I turned to face him, staring up at his face—such a perfect face. The elegant, masculine beauty of it had haunted my dreams for years, decades…centuries. “Three hundred years ago, you were arrogant, self-centered and entirely too concerned with what pleased you.”

  I reached up, trailed my fingers down his jaw, along his lower lip. “But you are not cruel. You never have been. You wouldn’t intentionally harm one you cared about. You did care about me.”

  A hand hard as iron closed around my wrist. I stared up into eyes that glittered like broken glass. “How can you still be so naïve? How? As long as you have lived, as much of you have seen… You know what ugliness lives in the hearts of men.”

  His voice was cold and cruel, as though he felt the need to convince me how wrong I was. I smiled at him. Laying my free hand on his cheek, I told him, “I know the ugliness. I also know the beauty. For every evil, ugly deed, there is a kind, selfless one.”

  “I’ve never been kind or selfless a day in my life.” He caught my other wrist, drawing my hand from his face. He pinned both my wrists over my head and leaned in close, so close I could feel the kiss of his breath against my mouth. “I was willing to do anything to keep you, willing to ruin your life…had you not run away, I might have even stolen you away.”

  “No.” How was it that I knew the truth but he did not? Did he truly understand himself so poorly? I flexed my wrists against his hold, tugging lightly. There was no give. He didn’t hold me to hurt me, but he wouldn’t release me easily either.

  Sighing, I let my head fall back against the sliding glass door. I studied his face, all hollows, angles and shadows. His eyes glittered in the darkness and his mouth was a hard, unyielding line. “Have you ever wondered why my father, and later my stepmother, were so content to let me flout the rules of society? I was seventeen…I should have already been presented at court. If they had raised me as they should, I would have met you before I could unknowingly throw myself at your feet. They should have been seeking out a prospective husband for me, but instead I wore men’s clothes and spent my days hunting or riding.”

  “What has that to do with anything?” he asked.

  “Everything.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I looked at him. “I would have happily lived out my life without ever leaving my father’s home had I not met you. And my stepmother never would have pressed me…because she knew the truth about me.”

  “The truth.” He lowered my wrists and backed away, staring at me with confusion.

  I stared him in the eyes and said quietly, “Being Changed only strengthened what I could already do, Michael. I was empathic long before I met Will. Long before I met you. My father knew. He knew what a struggle it was for me to be around too many others for any long stretch of time and he feared for me. Later, my stepmother learned my secret, as did my stepsister. It’s why very few people in society knew a damn thing about me. While Marguerite played the part of a noblewoman, I lived in complete and utter freedom…but only because if I had lived as she did it might have driven me mad. It took me years to learn the control I needed to be close to others for more than a few hours at a time. Years before I could handle functioning in society in some small way.”


  Michael shook his head. “I don’t see what in the hell that has to do with anything.”

  I reached up and laid a hand on his heart. Then I reached inside myself for a memory that I had kept locked away for years…the emotion I had caught off of him as he made a threat he couldn’t possibly keep.

  I turned it back on him, revealing to him the knowledge I’d picked up from him—even as he’d made the threat, I knew he’d lied. He might not have realized it, but I did.

  He stumbled back and my hands fell to my sides. “You couldn’t have done it. I knew it even as you said it. I knew it even if you didn’t,” I said quietly. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t furious with you—it was an ugly thing you threatened. But they were just words. It was an empty threat and I knew it then.”

  Turning from him, I slid the glass door open and slipped inside.

  I’d almost made it to the bedroom before he caught up with me, one hand on my arm, whirling me around. “Then why did you run?” he demanded, his voice harsh…broken.

  “Because I couldn’t watch you marry my sister,” I told him simply. “It would have broken Marguerite’s heart if I didn’t go, although she would have believed it was because I couldn’t handle being around so many people. I could have handled it for a short time…if it wasn’t for you. Because I didn’t want to lie to her, and because I didn’t want to live the rest of my life thinking about the two of you together, I ran.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  I looked away from him, closed my eyes. Then I made myself look at him. I owed him that much, at least. He’d spent the past three hundred years thinking he had frightened me into running. He deserved the truth now. He’d deserved it long before now.

  “I ran for my own reasons, Michael. Not because of any empty threat you made.” I sighed and reached up, tracing the line of his lower lip. “What happened to me was my own fault, not yours.”

  Turning from him, I reached for the door. I needed to get out of here. I needed to be away from him…before I did something dreadfully stupid. Like reach for him. Or beg him for the promises I’d wanted from him three hundred years ago.