Page 65 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
He flipped her onto her back again, leaned down over her and put his hands on both sides of her face. His eyes were wide and dark, staring into hers, searching, burning, his look almost anguished.
Everything honed to a bright, crystalline clarity. Just before she broke apart in his arms, Christian whispered, “Ember—Ember—God—”
His eyes slid shut, he arched back and his entire body shuddered.
She felt him throb and pulse deep inside her, and it pushed her right over the edge with him. Violent, gorgeous, emanating from her core and spreading outward in surging waves, the contractions stole her breath along with the final shred of resistance. Everything in the room, all the furnishings, the fire, and the very air itself, ceased to exist. There was only the two of them fused together, their need and greed and the raw, exquisite pleasure that spun on and on, encompassing.
He dropped his head and moaned into her neck, low and hoarse. Like a struck bell, it reverberated all the way through her.
Still panting and entangled, they collapsed against the rug. Christian hugged her to him, hard, and they lay there in front of the fire for what felt like forever, not speaking, their heartbeats and respiration gradually slowing, sweat cooling over their skin.
Finally he exhaled—a slow, deep breath—and adjusted them both, tucking her into his side with his arm under her neck and one of his legs over both of hers. She felt sated and loose-jointed, utterly relaxed, completely peaceful. He began slowly to caress her arms, stomach, and breasts, her neck and face, his touch soft and reverent. She closed her eyes, nuzzled her face into the space beneath his chin and found it the most comfortable spot in the world.
Just as she was about to drift off, Christian whispered, “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night…”
Shakespeare. He was quoting Romeo and Juliet.
She opened her eyes, listening with her ears and every other organ. Just above her eye level, his throat worked. He was staring into the fire, watching the flames with an expression of amazement. His arms tightened possessively around her. He pressed a soft kiss to her hair.
“I’ve waited so long for you. I’ve been waiting my entire life. I can’t believe I finally found you. I can’t believe something so perfect can actually be real.”
His voice was so soft, so awed, so grateful, it broke something inside her wide open.
Ember understood with perfect lucidity at that moment why people call it “falling” in love. The feeling was the same as jumping off a cliff, or cresting the high curve on a rollercoaster, and beginning the downward plunge. Fierce and magnificent and immediate, it was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Every cell in her body was flushed with a heady sort of mad euphoria, the kind she imagined only lovers, skydivers, and the insane could ever understand.
Love. So this is what all the songs were about, all the art and plays and movies.
Jesus. It was amazing.
She didn’t have words for what she was feeling—not the right words, anyway. So she simply kissed him and put everything she felt into it, hoping he would understand.
Ember awoke sometime later in the semi-dark with her head on Christian’s chest, her arms wrapped around him. The two of them were still lying together on the rug in front of the hearth, but now there was a pillow under her head and something thick and soft covering them both; a cashmere blanket. She must have been asleep when he’d draped it over them.
The fire had burned down to a burnished orange glow of hot coals and ashes. Outside, the gloomy, wet day had turned to even gloomier twilight. The wind had picked up and was groaning through the trees.
“You’re awake,” he whispered. She tipped her head up and looked at him. He smiled down at her—gorgeous, black hair in disarray, green eyes shining—and brushed an errant strand of hair gently from her face.
“How long have I been asleep?” she whispered back, not wanting to break the spell.
His smile grew larger. “A few hours.”
“That long?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.” His lips quirked. “Though I was a little worried all the noise would frighten Corbin.”
Yawning, she frowned at him. “Noise? What noise?”
He said innocently, “Your snoring. Loud as a buzzsaw, little firecracker—”
Ember gave him a horrified shove in the chest. “I do not snore!”
“That’s what you think. It sounded like I had a houseful of lumberjacks—”
“Christian!”
His laugh shook them both. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed her forehead. “Found a sore spot, did I? That was much too easy.”
Suddenly she was stricken with a pang of regret. Much too easy—had she been?
