Page 74 of Secrets of Avalon

With a tug of Melinda's hand, I lead her to a side door, slipping through and out into the torch-lit corridor beyond. The sudden quiet is a shock after the noise of the hall, and for a moment, all I can hear is the rasp of our mingled breathing and the thundering of my own heart.

A moment later, Kellan appears in the corridor through a door several paces away. His eyes narrow and a muscle in his jaw twitches. "Go to her suite in the Drakonii tower." The words come out an almost-growl.

Irritation flares within me. I had planned to take Melinda to my rooms, to finally have a moment alone with her. But even as annoyance prickles under my skin, I know Kellan is right. The Drakonii tower would be safer, more secure.

With a curt nod, I turn and head the other way in the corridor, swallowing my frustration. As we make our way through the bustling keep, I'm acutely aware of Melinda's presence at my side, of the whisper of her gown against the flagstones and the subtle, intoxicating scent of her skin. Every nerve ending is alive, every sense heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

Servants scurry past us, their arms laden with trays and linens, but they may as well be ghosts for all the notice I take of them. My entire world has narrowed down to the woman beside me, to the heat of her skin and the promise in her eyes. I almost forget about the large Drakonii following at a respectful distance behind us. Almost.

At last, we reach her chamber door. I turn to her and meet her fevered gaze, “You want this?”

“More than anything, Hawke. Please.” Her breathy whine makes me instantly hard.

I usher her inside, my gaze drinking in every detail. The way the candlelight gilds her skin. The way small bits of her hair have come loose and tumble down her back in flirty wisps of auburn silk.

She is a vision, a dream made flesh, and I am lost in the wonder of her.

CHAPTER 29

Almost There

Melinda Mayweather

My heart is a wild thing in my chest, beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stand in the center of the room, my hands loose at my sides, skimming the silky fabric of my dress.

I'm sure Hawke can hear it, this drumbeat of anticipation and nervousness that screams through my veins like a living current. It's a heady mixture of excitement and anxiety.

This moment will change everything.

And also, I've never done this before. Never been with a man. Never bared my body and soul. But when I look at Hawke, at the tenderness and reverence shining in his eyes, I know there's no one else I would rather take this leap with.

My nerves flutter and dance in my stomach. Hawke's gaze sweeps over me, drinking me in like he hasn’t had water in days. His icy blue gaze burns everywhere he looks. The hunger in his eyes steals my breath and sends a tremor of anticipation racing down my spine.

But there's more than just desire in his gaze. There's adoration, pure and unfiltered, a love so deep and vast that it its like a physical force. It wraps around me like a warm embrace, soothing my fears and igniting an unfamiliar ache in my belly.

"Melinda," he breathes. "You are so beautiful, my sweet girl. So perfect. I can’t decide what I want to touch first."

He takes a step toward me, his hand outstretched, and I sway into his orbit, drawn to him like a moon to its planet. My skin tingles with anticipation, every nerve ending alight and awaiting his touch.

"I'm nervous," I confess. "I've never... I mean, you’re my first..."

Hawke's expression softens. He closes the distance between us, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking gently over my skin.

"Nothing happens that you don’t want," he murmurs, his forehead coming to rest against mine. "I'll cherish you, worship you, make you feel so good."

I nod, leaning into his touch. My eyes flutter closed and the scent of pine and leather envelops me, mingling with the essence that is uniquely Hawke. It's a fragrance that seeps into my lungs, permeating every fiber of my being, and I find myself craving more. I imagine waking up to this scent each morning, our limbs tangled together, his warmth surrounding me like a cocoon. The thought of a future with him, a life filled with love and passion, sends a thrill through me.

"I want this," I whisper against his lips, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life." The words are true, a confession that springs from the depths of my soul. But a twinge of guilt nags at the back of my mind. The curse looms over us, a dark shadow that threatens to shatter all hope. “But I’m cursed. How can I be so selfish?”

“Because I’m telling you I need you. I love you. Curse be damned. We’ll fix it. I promise.” And then he's kissing me, his lips soft and warm and achingly gentle against my own. It starts as a whisper, a tender brush of mouth on mouth that sends sparks dancing along my nerve endings. I melt into it, into him, my hands coming up to tangle in his hair, to pull him closer.

The gentle exploration soon transforms into something deeper, more urgent. Hawke's lips become more insistent. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance. I grant it to him with a soft gasp, my own tongue darting out to meet his in a sensual dance that feeds the fire already alight in my veins.

The kiss turns hungry, possessive, a claiming all of its own. Hawke's hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard plane and angle of his body against my softness. It's a delicious friction that sends heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly and making me ache with a need I've never known before. Never allowed myself to even dream of.

I pour everything I am into that kiss, every ounce of longing, trust, and surrender. I want to drown in him, to lose myself in the taste and feel of him, to forget where I end and he begins.

Hawke groans into my mouth, the sound a rumble of desire that vibrates through me like a plucked string. His fingers flex on my hips, communicating his need to claim and possess.

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