The Heat (15 page)

From this distance, Lily could see that strange markings were etching themselves into his flesh. They were red and angry and intricate. In a few seconds, they were drawn and Lily could tell that Cole was no longer in pain. He still gazed down at the marks, one on each wrist, and his expression was one of bewilderment.

“Bloody hell,” he uttered, this time in that British accent that Lily recognized so well. She frowned. What in God’s name was she seeing? What was going on?

And then Cole lowered his hands with a shaky breath and leaned forward, placing his fingers to the woman’s neck once more. His head dropped, his green eyes closing as he straightened. “
Christ,”
he whispered, to no one and to nothing. And to Lily, who then began to recede as the image faded into warmth.

Light flooded the dreamscape, ripping it to shreds. A gentle heat touched her cheek. Softness embraced her limbs. Lily slowly opened her eyes. As she did, memories came rushing back to her.

The blurred rush through the Everglades, the private jet flight, the drive to this cabin…. She’d fallen asleep somewhere along the way, too overcome with exhaustion to deal with consciousness any longer.

She was some place in New Mexico, bordering the Gila Wilderness. But she couldn’t remember where, exactly. Lily sat up in the large bed and rubbed her eyes as she took in her surroundings. The bed looked to be a queen-sized bed, draped in the finest white and beige sheets and quilts. The ceiling was crossed in white wooden beams and across from her rested a large hearth, empty at the moment. Not far from the hearth was a graceful polished wood stand with fine crystal atop it, the bottles filled with what was most assuredly liquor. Goblets rested beside the decanters, ready to be filled.

The room was very well appointed, but most striking was the room-length window to Lily’s right. It stretched from wall-to-wall and beneath it rested a bookcase of the same length. Book titles in several different languages graced the spines of leather bound tomes. Lily barely gave them a glance. The view past the window was breathtaking.

She shoved her covers aside to rise and found that she was not wearing a single strip of clothing. Her eyes widened. She yanked the sheet out from beneath the quilt and hurriedly wrapped it around herself. Then she glanced nervously toward the bedroom door. It was shut. She heard no sounds on the other side.

Cautiously, she made her way to the massive window.

Once there, she stood in frank admiration at the picture it presented. She estimated that she was either on the second floor of a house built on a mountain, or she was gazing out from a window on a third floor. Beyond, a wilderness of dawning green and gold stretched to the horizon. Not another rooftop could be seen anywhere and she wondered whether this was Cole’s private property or whether she was looking at the national forest.

Either way, it was beautiful. It had been a while since she’d been in the southwest. Though it was still technically “south,” it was worlds away from the swamps.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Lily whirled around to face him, still clutching the sheet tightly to herself. She hadn’t heard him come in, and yet he stood casually leaning against the bed post, his thick-muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. Beside him, on the divan at the foot of the bed, rested a silver tray with food and drink. He watched her with those flashing green eyes, his lips curled up into the faintest of smiles.

Lily’s gaze skirted from his eyes to the wide leather bands around his wrists. She thought of her dream. With a loud swallow and a stubborn roll of her shoulders, she fixed him with a hard stare. “How old are you, Cole?”

To that, his smile kicked up a notch and one of his brows rose in admiration. He pushed away from the bed and strode to the stand against the wall where the liquor waited.

“I see the submissive effects of Kane’s mark are wearing off.” He unstopped one of the fine bottles and poured a bit of very red wine into one of the waiting goblets. Then he turned and slowly lifted the goblet to his lips.

Above the rim of the glass, his emerald eyes glittered, watching her carefully.

She stared back. For a few seconds. And then she had to look away. But she had to admit that he was probably right. She felt much braver, much more in control of her faculties at the moment than she had the day before. So, as she stared steadfastly at the white plush rug, she repeated her question in the form of a statement. “I would like to know how old you are.” Then, after biting her lip in hesitation, she looked back up and added, “Please.”

At that, Cole’s smile became a grin, perfect white teeth flashing over the glass as he lowered it and placed it back on the small table. “You are stunning, did you know that?” Cole asked her as he moved away from the wall and strode slowly toward her. Lily watched him move; it was the way a predator moved – measured and deliberate and graceful. Her heartbeat sped up. She knew he could hear it and that pissed her off a little. It was like being with someone who could read her mind.

She forced herself not to retreat. It was a brave act coming from someone in nothing but a sheet.

“To answer your question, I am ninety-four years old as of last October.” His accented voice soothed her nerves and woke them up at the same time.

“Did you serve in World War Two?” she asked then.

At this, he drew to a stop and cocked his head to one side, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Why do you ask, luv?”

She cleared her throat. The air was getting thick, it seemed. She glanced down at the bands on his wrists. She remembered the markings.

“Why do you wear those wrist bands?” she asked next.

Cole studied her for a long, silent moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. Then he slowly crossed his arms over his chest once more. “You’re full of questions this morning, Lily.” He scrutinized her for a few more long, tense moments, and she knew his green gaze was taking in every one of her breaths, every twitch of her lips, every flick of her eyes.

Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. He uncrossed his arms and moved to the window at the opposite end of the room, keeping precious distance between them. He placed his hands above his head on the window frame and leaned on them casually, his gaze lost in the distance.

“Yes, I served in World War Two. And as to your other question,” he glanced at her over his broad shoulder. “I’m filled to the brim with curiosity as to what would make you wonder about such a thing, luv.” He smiled. “They’re only decoration.”

“Not for you,” Lily insisted. She was impressed with her strength this morning. Daniel’s mark had really taken the best out of her the day before. “They’re something more for you, aren’t they?” She trusted her dreams. As far as Daniel and Malcolm Cole were concerned, they hadn’t lied to her yet.

Something distinctly dangerous flashed in Cole’s eyes. His gaze darkened. He straightened and strode toward her once more, this time with purpose. He didn’t stop until he stood directly before her, a hand’s-breadth away.

Lily thought her heart would leap right out of her chest at that moment. Or maybe climb up out of her throat and fly away. Either way, it hammered so hard that it hurt.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Lily? Because if there is, I suggest you spit it out.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it still wrapped around her like black magic.

She tried to breathe, tried to steady her nerves. She was getting dizzy. Yet she fought for the will to ask one more question. “Do you speak German, Cole?”

There was no change in his expression. His pupils had expanded slightly with his nearness. “Since you seem to have forgotten,” he said, “my
name
is
Malcolm
.” Though he still spoke softly, there was more force in his words. It was blatant and tangible. She could feel it embrace her, like a velvet cloak.

She had no reply. She could no longer speak. Submissive effects or not, his nearness was simply overwhelming. She cursed herself when warmth raced across her belly and pooled between her legs. Her mind did not want to respond to this man.

“Lose it,” he commanded again. “Or I will help you lose it.” His pupils expanded completely, until his eyes were deep pools of endless black. It was the hungriest look Lily had ever seen. Weakness coursed through her muscles, sedating her blood. And yet, she held the sheet in her tightly trembling fingers. Stubborn to the end.

Cole’s movements were slow and calculated. He raised his right hand until it hovered over her collar bone, his eyes never releasing hers. Gently, his fingers grazed the smooth skin as he brushed a long lock of golden hair from her shoulder and it dropped behind her to cascade down her back.

Lily gasped at the contact. The mark on her arm began to heat up. She remembered the pain that it could cause and she found her voice. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

Cole gazed deep into her soul, a demon cornering an angel. “Drop the sheet.”

She shuddered as he then softly trailed the backs of his fingers across her chest to the swell of her breast, just above where she was clutching the sheet so tightly around her. She moaned against the fire that now throbbed in her arm – and the need that throbbed much lower. Ashamed, she pulled her gaze from his and nodded her compliance.

He stepped back.

Lily released another shaky breath and then dropped the sheet, exposing herself to his black gaze. A chill instantly rushed through her and she hugged herself.

And then he was upon her and she was being slammed back against the wall, his hand around her throat, his lips to her ear.

She cried out on impact, but was silenced as his grip tightened, cutting off her cry. His body was pressed hard against hers and she could feel the rock-hard bulge in his jeans that forced itself so promisingly against her wetness.

Wave after wave of painful need and, from her arm, just plain pain washed over her. Tears gathered in her brown-gold eyes.

“When Kane’s mark no longer stains your arm, I am going to sink my teeth into your throat and drink you in,” he told her, his tone harsh and animalistic. She moaned as he spoke. The pain was becoming unbearable, as was her desire. She found herself arching against him, wanting to have sex – to fight – to do
anything
but stand there, a prisoner beneath him, and be filled to the point of madness with hurt and desire.

He growled into her ear and squeezed harder, cutting off a little more air. The lack of oxygen only heightened her sexual craving. Her nails pressed into his chest, digging deep, twisting the fabric of his shirt beneath them.

“I am going to mark you and change you and then fuck you for days – for
weeks
,” he promised. “Until you beg me to stop,” he continued, “until you’re
bleeding.
” He growled again, long and low. He moved so that his lips hovered just above hers and his words licked at her sensitive skin, hot and promising.
“And then I’ll drink that blood too.”

In all of this madness, in all of this suffering, the most painful thing for Lily St.Claire, social worker and all-around good-girl was – she liked it. She wanted this. Her mind rebelled at the truth, but there it was. She
wanted
him to hurt her. She wanted the anger, the violence.

She realized, in that strangely lucid moment, that there was a great big, chasm-like difference between the violence of an overweight, pot-bellied man who beat his wife – and the violence that came when a man wanted a woman, and a woman wanted a man and that need filled them both with a harsh, relentless fire.

Malcolm Cole’s fire was roaring at that moment. She could feel it in his sizzling touch. She could feel it riding his waves of wolfen power. She could hear it in his voice – and see it in his eyes.

She was trapped in that gaze. And there really
was
fire there. Small red flames of it, coming to life in the centers of his ebony pupils. She was mesmerized by it.

Malcolm stared back at her, his breathing harsh, his body trembling with a need that she somehow knew was worlds worse than her own. And then, in a protracted and painful act that resembled peeling duct tape off of an open wound, he began to move away from her. An inch. Then two.

His grip on her throat lessened. Air flooded her lungs, making her dizzy. She closed her eyes. He stepped back slowly, removing his body from hers. Eventually she felt his hand leave her neck and she opened her eyes. He stood a foot away from her, gazing down at her through eyes that remained ominously black.

With the safety of this small distance came a regained strength for Lily. She fought to repossess some semblance of her sanity. Her body felt as if it were on fire, her right arm, literally. She glanced down at it to see the blue mark glowing angrily. She had to get Cole out of her head.

I have to get him out of my head!

She looked back up at him and forced the most repulsive, unattractive thought through her mind that she could muster.
He was a Nazi
, she told herself.
A Nazi!

She wasn’t actually certain, deep down, if that was true. He was British. And the dream had been a thoroughly confusing one. He’d seemed to be two men at once. He’d cared enough about the woman’s life to feel for her pulse. She wasn’t certain about Cole at all.

But, the thought of Nazis, in general, was sobering enough that it managed to do the trick. Her hunger and need receded like a waning tide, leaving her feeling cold and empty. She shivered beneath his black gaze and once more hugged herself.

Then she watched as Cole’s pupils gradually dilated to normal, revealing the stark green of his irises once more. He knelt and lifted the sheet from the floor.