Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [35]
Stefan couldn’t help himself, his hand slipped to the small of her back in a gesture that would be natural to anyone but him. His left hand. The one with the itching palm. The moment he touched her, the itch subsided. But the fact remained he had no business tying up one of his weapons. He didn’t touch people and they didn’t touch him. The irrational compulsion irritated him. He didn’t do things that could get him killed.
He clenched his teeth but didn’t deny himself the contact with her. This was a nightmare. She’d sounded so forlorn. Lost. In need. What the hell was he thinking? If anyone was in need, it would be him. He’d lost his soul a long time ago, shed everything human and yet here he was, thinking he was going to be that man. The one to take that note out of her voice and remove the sorrow from her eyes. The man who would provide a shield for her so that she was never afraid to express any emotion she felt.
He wanted to be the man who gave her freedom—the man she turned to in the middle of the night. The one who had the right to touch her, to hold her, to keep her safe. He would kiss that look off her face and make love to her until she couldn’t move, only look at him with her glorious eyes and be genuinely happy, not pretending, or finding moments, just little pockets of happiness. He would be that man for her.
He swore under his breath as they continued down the street. She hadn’t moved away from him, nor had she given him a look of censure. Just where the hell was her sense of self-preservation?
“You’re not doing a very good job of saving us,” he accused.
Those dark eyes drifted over him and then her long lashes swept down. “I know,” she admitted in a low tone. “I’m pretending. Just this once.”
His heart leapt. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. He was pretending too. He swept his hand down that waterfall of silk. It was a long way down, all the way to the curve of her buttocks. Blood pounded and roared in his ears. Heat rushed through his veins. He had an almost overpowering urge to bunch that hair in his fist and drag her head around so he could taste the passion in her mouth. He felt the fire in her rising to meet the firestorm blazing through his body.
Never in his life, until Judith, had he had a natural physical reaction to a woman. He had thought it impossible. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to be so out of control. For once in his life, he felt like a man instead of a machine. Judith had given him that. He would always have these moments with her if he could allow himself to embrace the feeling.
They were only a few steps away from the crowd. Already a couple of people were turning toward them, noticing Judith and waving a cheery hello. He had seconds to savor the fact that he’d found the answers to questions he’d always thrust into the back of his mind. He’d traveled around the world hunting and often stood outside the homes of people, looking at the lights, listening to the low murmur of voices, watching a woman bend her head toward a child and wondered what it would be like to feel that depth of emotion, if only for a moment, for another human being. With all the silky hair burning like fire through the center of his palm, he’d found what he was looking for.
As they came up to the edge of the crowd, he dropped his hand, giving himself enough room to use any of the many weapons concealed on his person. He was Thomas Vincent and these were the people who would be his neighbors if he bought the gallery—if he settled in Sea Haven and found a woman to spend the rest of his life with.
“Judith! We missed you, honey.” A tall blonde greeted Judith with a kiss. Her gaze rested on Thomas, but more with polite interest than anything else.
“Thomas, this is my sister, Blythe Daniels,” Judith introduced him. Her fingers brushed his arm, as if bringing him closer.
Blythe noticed that very small intimacy, even there in the dark, and that told Stefan she was someone to take great care around. He flashed a smile and took her hand when she held it out.