With the blood roaring in her ears, Annalise leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, hoping to catch him off guard. She felt his sharp intake of breath the moment she pulled back to read his gaze.
His eyes gleamed down at her and she knew she had succeeded in surprising him. “What was—”
She moved in again, letting her lips linger longer over his, cutting off his question.
With her mouth on his, it was a difficult task to focus on the rest of his body, to assess whether he was relaxing, loosening his hold on her as they kissed. Well, as she kissed him. He stilled. She supposed she had shocked him motionless.
Eager to illicit a response, she brought both hands up between them to cup his face, reveling in the bristly scrape of his cheeks against her palms. She kissed him deeper, hoping she was doing it properly. She was hardly experienced in this area.
She broke the kiss with several quick, desperate pecks to his top lip, bottom lip. Then again with a longer kiss, drinking from his mouth.
Suddenly he moved. His grip on her loosened. He enveloped her. His arms came around her, lifting her more fully against him.
She had not thought it possible to be any closer, but all at once they were. Almost as though they were one body instead of two. Her heart pounded against her rib cage in direct rhythm with his own galloping heart, which she felt through the layers of their clothing.
It was a far cry from what she hoped might happen—his arms and body relaxing enough for her to escape. On the contrary. Everything about him hardened, became more alert, more fierce. He held her like he would never let her go. And good heavens his lips . . . They did wicked things to her, kissing deeply, thoroughly.
When she moaned, he tasted her mouth, his tongue stroking the wetness inside. Her fingers tightened on his face, clinging to him. He swallowed her moan and continued his sensual assault.
Dully, the realization pushed through her sensations that she had not stopped to consider the distraction this would prove to her.
She had wanted him to drop his guard so she might slip free. She valiantly tried to remind herself of this as his hand moved over her back. His fingers splayed wide, each finger leaving a burning imprint.
“Anna . . .” He sighed her name against her mouth.
She slid her fingers through his hair, reveling in the freedom to do so, to feel and savor the strands, thick and soft and filling her palms.
Likewise, one of his hands slid up her back and dove into her hair. A few pins hit the floor, clattering against the wood. She felt the coiled mass of her hair loosen, but it didn’t fall, even as his fingertips slid against her scalp. She shivered at the delicious friction.
More pins fell and the rest of her hair tumbled down. She cried out softly, and he stepped back hastily with a sharp breath and muttered, “Sorry.”
His gaze locked on her face and she felt brazen, wanton, with her hair spilling loose all around her. Pressed up against the drawing room wall. Her lips tender from kissing.
He made a sound, a warm huff of breath against her cheek that bordered on a groan. “What am I saying? I’m not sorry at all.” He reached out with one hand, touching her thick mass of hair almost reverently, gathering it in a fistful.
He curled it around his hand, wrapping it ever so gently until it covered his knuckles. He brought his hand to his nose, the movement tugging her closer. Gaze still locked on her, Owen inhaled. “You have beautiful hair. You smell like bergamot and . . .” He angled his head to the side. “ . . . lemons?”
She didn’t know what to say. She felt hopelessly out of her depth, as though she were adrift at sea with nothing to grab hold of to stay afloat. Not entirely unlike being tossed in churning waters. Except without the terror.
Had she thought to seduce him at one point? Absurd. He was the seducer.
She was transfixed, marveling at his words, at him.
She moistened her lips. “Th-Thank you.”
He brought her hair back to his face, his eyes drifting shut as he very deliberately brushed her hair to his lips. Her breath caught. This was quite possibly as enticing as his kiss had been, and she couldn’t help imagining the myriad other things he could do with that mouth. To her.
It dawned on her then that his eyes were closed. He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t even holding her anymore—at least not like before. No longer as a captive. The gentle hold on her hair hardly qualified as a firm grip. She could get away.
As soon as that realization sank in, she tensed. And then she knew she had to act before he realized she recognized that her opportunity had arrived. Without a sound, she launched herself past him and dove through the other door. Not until she reached the foyer did she risk glancing behind her.
He emerged from the dining room at a slow pace, blinking and looking as though he had just woken from a deep and languorous sleep. She silently applauded herself for escaping while still holding herself rigid, wary that he might pounce on her again. She wasn’t ready to be his prisoner. Not yet. Not so soon after his kiss.
He stepped in her direction and she stepped back.
“Anna?”
She took pride in the befuddled look on his face. “I believe I successfully escaped you, my lord. Thank you for the advice.”
“Advice?”
She tapped the side of her head for emphasis and echoed his earlier words. “Use my mind.”
He stared, his befuddled look disappearing. A cool, impassive expression slid into place, and with its arrival she felt her own satisfied smile start to slip.
“I did not give you nearly enough credit, Anna. You are far cleverer than even I knew.”
She swallowed, feeling somehow guilty. Which was ridiculous. He had challenged her to get away. That is what she had done. So she had used her wiles to achieve that. Wasn’t that resourcefulness?
He nodded. “You are a true survivor. Now I know you shall use whatever tactics available to you.”
Instead of complimented, she felt somehow insulted. Small and meager.
He appraised her in a thoroughly scathing manner, and that only made her angry. She had escaped him. She outmaneuvered him—as he had asked her to do—and now he was trying to make her feel bad about it.
“I’m sure I’ve done nothing worse than you in the name of survival.”
His nostrils flared and long moments passed before he answered her. “Indeed. You hold not a candle to me. You cannot imagine my actions. Were I you, I would not aspire to such lowly depths.”
He advanced on her then, and she quickly glanced around, unsure whether they were still practicing and he meant to attack her, pin her to the wall again. She did not relish being held captive. Especially not with him looking at her with his eyes relentless and deep as a midnight sea.
Should she flee? Or grab the nearby vase to wield as a weapon? She held her ground, her heart pounding savagely in her too-tight chest as he came closer.
Before reaching her, he turned and ascended the stairs. “I shall join you in the gardens momentarily.”
He still intended to instruct her in the gardens? Her cheeks burned at the notion. Especially considering what had just occurred not five minutes ago.
His voice stroked over her, velvet-deep, leaving a trail of gooseflesh as he called down to her, “We shall continue with our instruction then.”
The thud of his steps faded on the stairs, drifting away on the floor above. She slowly made her way to the parlor, passing the furniture that seemed too dainty and feminine to belong to Owen. The man who had pressed her against the dining room wall did not seem like a man capable of softness of any kind.
She pushed open the French door and emerged into a gray morning, enjoying the evenness of her stride, the smooth roll of her gait. It was still strange and new, this walking without a limp. It seemed as though the ache deep in the bone of her thigh had always been there. As natural to her as breathing. And now it was gone.
She strolled the circuitous garden path, cutting swiftly through the moist press of air, determined to continue to build her strength. For all she knew, Owen would disappoint and not show up again.
A popping twig snapped her to attention. She glanced around but saw nothing in the garden’s hedges and trees. She continued, not decreasing her pace. She walked for several minutes more before Owen suddenly appeared, stepping out into her path from behind a tall hedge of heather.
She yelped and jumped back a step, her hand flying to her throat. “You gave me a fright!”
“I thought I might.”
“Then why on earth did you jump out at me like that?”
“To verify how observant you are.”
She crossed her arms. “Not very, I suppose.”
“I’ve been here watching you, moving about the trees and shrubs for the last five minutes.”
“I thought I heard something,” she muttered.
He stepped closer and started circling her. “I saw that you did. So why did you not do something? Call out? Get away? Go back inside?” His breath fanned the many loose hairs at her ear. “Nothing will get you hurt, killed faster, than ignoring your instincts. That tiny little voice in the back of your head? Listen to it.” His voice washed through her. The hairs near her ear fluttered and she swatted them in aggravation.
Owen ceased to circle her. Standing in front of her, he looked her squarely in the face. “You have to be aware at all times.”
She dragged her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, and couldn’t help marveling that she had never been more aware of another person, a man, as she was of him. How could she have not known he was within five feet? The way her body hummed and her skin tingled, she should be able to detect him from across the city.
He pointed at his eyes. “Watch. Keep your eyes sharp. Head up.”
She nodded, her lips compressing as she focused on what he was saying, absorbing his advice. In the back of her mind Bloodsworth rose up like a childhood specter.
He continued. “Listen.” He motioned to his chest. “With everything, all of you, your very skin. Do you hear any sounds?” He lifted his hand to her chest, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, the warmth, the solidness of his hand, the imprint of each strong finger burning into her. “Is there something that doesn’t belong? Do you hear nothing at all? Sometimes absolute silence tells you when danger is afoot, too.”
She inhaled another deep breath and struggled to focus on his words. On the air. In her surroundings. Beyond difficult when there was him. Everywhere. Swirling around her. Consuming her, filling her senses to the exclusion of all else.
She blinked, struggling to focus as he continued, “If you’re watchful, aware, the odds are much less that someone will target you. They will move on and look for easier prey.”
She wondered how he would respond if the villain they were discussing happened to be someone you were close to. Like a husband. Her stomach curled sickly at the thought and she shoved it away, refusing to give Bloodsworth such power over her.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded.
“What?”
He angled his head, repeating slowly, “Close. Your. Eyes.”
Nodding as though that were the most natural request, she closed her eyes, jamming them tightly shut.
He chuckled lightly. “At ease.”
She nodded again and let some of the tension ease away.
“Better.”
With her eyes closed, the sound of his voice was like a physical touch, and the hand that he pressed flat to her chest was a torment. She could feel his pulse, the very beat of his heart in rhythm with her own. Her breasts tightened against her bodice, tingling. Mortified, she prayed he did not notice.
A ragged breath left her when he dropped his hand. “I’m going to move away now. I want you to listen with your eyes shut. Raise your hand and point to the direction where you think I am. If you mark me, I’ll tell you.”
She nodded. Darkness swirled behind her eyelids. She strained to hear him. A whisper of fabric. The fall of a footstep. Nothing.
She lifted her arm uncertainly and pointed to her right. Nothing. Frowning, she lowered her arm. Another moment passed and she stretched out her arm straight in front of her. Again, silence. Apparently the instinct he wanted her to cultivate did not exist within her.
“Your instincts are better than that.” His disembodied voice whispered directly to her left, so close she was she certain she could touch him. She reached for him only to grope air. He had already moved. The man was like wind, moving without a sound.
Suddenly a fingertip stroked the bridge of her nose.
She made a growl of frustration, swiping at the hand, but it was already gone. She opened her eyes to find him directly in front of her. So close she could mark the darker ring of blue around his irises. The air trapped in her lungs to find him so close, his mouth once again there, hers for the taking.
She bit her bottom lip. His gaze dipped to her mouth, and heat swept up her neck to swallow her entire face. She held herself erect, stopping herself from leaning the half inch forward and pressing her mouth to his. The taste of him was still there from earlier, and she yearned for another sampling.
Moments passed, and he angled his face, convincing her that he intended to kiss her. That he was just seconds away from closing that scrap of space and claiming her lips with his.
Suddenly he pulled back. “Close your eyes,” he chastised.
Nodding hastily, she shut her eyes with an indignant huff, but the heat still swarmed her face. She could not get the image of him hovering before her—his lips so close, ready to kiss hers—out of her mind. Her entire body strained, listening for a sound. Nothing. But that did not mean he wasn’t before her, ready to kiss her again. Her pulse quickened with excitement.
Disappointed that he had been near enough to touch her and she had not sensed him—and convinced she would not fail in that regard again—she whirled around, wildly swinging her arm, hoping to make contact.
“Now you’re letting frustration guide you. The moment you lose control, some villain has control over you. Stop. Concentrate.”
It was hard to think of villains with his deep voice curling around her. She knew he was still there. She felt him, sensed him. She took one sliding step forward, convinced she was moving toward him.
Her lips tingled, throbbed, recalling the pressure of his lips there, still feeling the intensity of his earlier gaze. Perhaps he was on the verge of finishing where they left off. The way he had been looking at her mouth, she suspected he’d wanted to.
“Owen,” she whispered, turning her face upward in offering.
She stood like that for several moments, face tilted, body leaning, straining forward until a stillness came over the air. Suddenly she felt chilled. As though all the warmth had suddenly been sucked out of the garden.
“Owen?”
Silence answered her. A bird chirped from a nearby tree. In the distance a horse whinnied. Gradually, she opened her eyes, as though emerging from a sweet dream that she didn’t want to leave. Because her gut warned her of what she already feared. What she already knew.
She scanned the empty garden, moving around a hedge, surveying everything all at once.
He was gone.
Owen’s initial impulse was to storm from the house, but he’d run away enough times since meeting Anna. He wouldn’t flee her anymore. He’d agree to help her and he would see this through. At any rate, running only prolonged her stay in his life, her invasion into his world.
He ran his tongue over his lip. He could still taste her there. Pressing his mouth into a hard line, he walked rigidly into his bedchamber. Safe inside, door shut, he dragged both hands through his hair and allowed some of his composure to slip.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the cheval mirror. His reflection gave him pause. He looked wrecked. What was she doing to him? She had kissed him as boldly as the most experienced female, only she wasn’t. Nor had the kiss been. In the beginning.
At first her lips were tentative on his. Firm but unsure. Moving slightly. But not for long. He had seen to that.
With a groan, he dragged his hands through his hair yet again. He had almost kissed her in the garden. Working so closely with her would be a torment, but he would do it. He had to. Then he could be free.
His brother’s voice echoed through his mind. I want you to find what I have found with Paget.
It simply was not possible. And certainly not with Anna. She was running from her own demons. That much was clear to him. Something haunted her. He could see it in her eyes. She was as broken as he was.