Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [49]
Swearing, he put his foot down firmly on the gas pedal. He should turn around, but he wasn’t going to. He was going to see her again and if there was a God, he’d better be helping both of them, because Stefan Prakenskii was about to fuck up his life very, very badly.
JUDITH’S house was much larger than he expected. Gardens surrounded the two-story structure, brilliantly colored plants that appealed to the hidden artist him. He’d locked that part of himself away a long time ago, using it only as a tool of his trade, but for some reason, Judith had brought it crashing to the front, demanding release. His world needed to be a dull, emotionless place, yet all around him, colors were vivid and he couldn’t possibly deny the rush of heat infusing his veins as he parked and stepped out of the car.
His gaze swept her home, taking it all in, the fire equipment everywhere, hoses and sprinklers, as if she was obsessed with fire prevention. Was that part of her need to hide the intensity of the passion in her? There was a security system, and, although he wasn’t close enough, it appeared to be state-of-the-art. Was that because she feared a visit from Jean-Claude?
She was on the front porch, just standing there looking at him, her dark eyes serious and a little afraid, but shining with the same anticipation he couldn’t stop in himself. Her long hair was down, straight as a ruler, falling below her waist. She wore slim jeans and a thin pink tee. He could tell she was in her comfortable clothes, the ones she wore around her family. This was similar to the outfit she wore in the picture he carried of her.
That same expanse of smooth, inviting skin peaked out at him. A thin gold chain glittered against her flat belly, the links gleaming and polished, drawing his attention to the skin that looked softer than any rose petals. His mouth went dry. She was completely motionless, just waiting, like some pagan goddess, an offering. Her small, tucked in waist served to emphasize the fullness of her high, curving breasts, molded by the tee. But it was her exotic eyes that drew him in completely. She watched him from under long, feathery lashes, her dark eyes tempting him with a mixture of innocence and sensuality.
In spite of his determination, his heart rate accelerated and his body tightened. The impact of her watchful stare sank deep into his bones. A brand. Her brand. She left it on him so easily. He felt—home, whatever the hell that meant. Judith. Her name moved through his mind. The tenderness he felt shocked him. He hadn’t known there was such a thing in his makeup. He was in trouble—such trouble—and judging by that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on her face, so was she.
She took a breath before starting down the stairs. He noted she was just as shaken as he was by the strange, compelling pull between them. He was damned glad he wasn’t the only one mired in quicksand. Her gaze never left his as she moved so gracefully down the steps, reminding him of a princess descending a throne.
“You came.”
Her voice wrapped him up in silk and satin. He studied her face. The need grew in her just as sharply as it did in him. She fought it, but she didn’t try to hide it from him.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
The stark raw truth stood between them. He felt the wind on his face like the promise of a kiss, like the touch of her fingers, the caress of her hair.
Judith stepped closer to him, her dark gaze drifting over his face, touching on the fresh scratch. Her fingertip brushed over that small wound so gently he felt his heart move.
“What happened?”
He didn’t want to lie to her. “Better if you don’t ask.”
He couldn’t help himself, he caught her wrist and tugged her a little closer, until he could feel the beckoning warmth of her body, unwilling—or unable—to let go of her. “I brought lunch.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth, lit the dark sobriety of her eyes. “Did you make it yourself?”
He almost denied the truth to give her a Thomas Vincent answer,