The Devil's Flower, page 23
part #1 of The Eternal Beings Series
"You know what you are? You're a danger junkie."
"Aren't you?" she asked playfully.
To Steele, this was a serious discussion. He hoped, to some degree, the things he'd just told her were sinking in, or would sink in later, but right now, he couldn't resist her a moment longer.
He grabbed both sides of her face with his damp hands.
"Listen, we'll talk about your wants and needs later." He knew he would never bring it up again unless she did. "Right now, I have the most powerful urge to kiss you. Do you object?"
The sheer anticipation of her answer drove him insane.
Her lips parted, providing the invitation he desperately wanted. In the same instant, his mouth covered hers, crushing her soft lips beneath his. His eyes closed.
When he felt the tip of her tongue brush against his bottom lip, tickling it, he almost lost control. He wanted to pull her to the cave floor and give her what she wanted—what he wanted—yet he held back, fighting not to lose control and give in to his desires.
* * * * *
Rosalie tangled her fingers through Steele's wet hair, pulling it, bringing him closer until their lips melted together. He gave her the kiss she'd been waiting for, dreamed of, and now she lived it.
Too quickly, Steele pulled away.
Rosalie's eyes opened lazily. "Why did you stop?"
"I had to breathe."
She detected the lie in his voice.
"Well, take a deep breath." She closed her eyes again and tried to pull him back.
"Wait," he said.
She pursed her lips.
"I need to figure out what our next move is."
She pouted but took a step back, remembering why they were there. For the first time, she really noticed her surroundings. The floor of the cave was as smooth as its walls, and about ten feet wide and twenty feet long, ending at an elevation in the back.
Rosalie noticed a dark heap in the shadows.
"Hey, what's that?" she asked, sloshing her way toward the mysterious lump. When she reached the back of the cave, she saw a stuffed garbage bag. "How'd you ever get that in here?"
She looked back at Steele, who skimmed his hands over his pant legs, squeezing out excess water.
"I brought it in here shortly after I came to the lodge. There's a sleeping bag inside. It took a while to dry out, but it stayed dry."
"Cool."
Steele walked to the garbage bag and opened it. He pulled out another plastic bag filled with a lantern, a can of oil, and a box of waterproof matches, along with a few lighters.
From inside the main bag, he pulled out the puffy sleeping bag, a T-shirt and a hoodie, both of which looked too small for him, and a pair of workout pants and sneakers.
"So you sleep here?" Rosalie asked, surprised.
"Not anymore. I found this place when I first came to the lodge, when I was sixteen. I used to spend a lot of alone-time here." As he talked, he lit the lantern. "It was a refuge. Nothing could touch me here. After I joined the club, I stayed away for a few years, until after Viper's death. Then I came back a couple times."
When the lantern was aglow, he set it on the floor and stood up.
A chill settled under Rosalie's skin.
"How long are we staying here?" she asked.
"As long as we have to."
"But how will you know it’s safe to leave?"
"Lith'll start wondering where I am and call."
"But . . . ."
"My cell is waterproof."
"Oh."
"Are you cold?" he asked.
She nodded. Although her clothes no longer dripped, they were soggy and clung to her skin.
He rolled out the sleeping bag. "Why don't you wrap this around you?"
"That won't help much with these wet clothes on."
She had other ideas. She picked up the dry clothes from the floor and passed Steele the hoodie and workout pants.
"Let's put these on. We might be here all night, and we can't sit in these wet clothes that long."
Steele hesitated. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before he said, "You change. I'll turn around."
Once Steele turned, Rosalie peeled off her socks and sneakers, then skinned her jeans down over her legs. She left them in a heap at her feet as she shrugged out of what was left of her top. She discarded her bra, then pulled Steele's T-shirt over her head. Although she figured it would be too small for Steele, it was plenty big enough for her. At the last moment, she decided to rid herself of her wet underwear, also.
"Okay," she said when she finished changing.
* * * * *
Steele emptied his pockets of weapons and various other items and set them out to dry. At her words, he turned to see Rosalie standing in the glow of the lantern, wearing his T-shirt. The worn, white cotton clung to her damp skin; she was completely naked underneath. He faced his biggest challenge yet, and he thought he just might lose.
Rosalie got into the sleeping bag, and sat down. Steele busied himself with dumping water from his guns.
"Hey, aren't you getting in?" she asked after a few minutes.
"Maybe later." He didn't turn to look at her.
"Well, you can't stay in those wet clothes forever. You'll get sick, and it's warm in here."
He knew all too well just how warm it was, and he was cold. He wanted nothing more than to curl up beside her warm body—just to snuggle.
"C'mon, I'll be good. I promise," she said.
He really needed to get his wet things off. He stood with his back to her and pulled off his T-shirt.
* * * * *
Rosalie pressed her lips together to keep from gasping out loud. It was the first time she'd seen his bare back, and it was beautiful.
A tattoo of the Fallen Paladins' emblem, depicting every detail perfectly, covered his skin. The lettering arched across the top, reached from shoulder to shoulder, stretched over muscle. The word Colorado, arching upward across the bottom, sat at his waist. The wavy-edged dagger down the middle of his back had such a gleam to the metal, it looked as though Rosalie could walk over and pluck it from his flesh, that it would cut her if she touched its edges. A blackened wing grew from each side of the dagger's hilt, covering both sides of his back.
The sound of the zipper as he opened his jeans brought her to her senses, and she quickly turned away. She stared at the flickers of golden light cast on the stone wall from the lantern. The space had darkened. She assumed it was nighttime. She heard movement and turned to see Steele, wearing only the workout pants, squatting beside the sleeping bag, a half-empty bottle of rum in his hand.
"Well, are you gonna move over or what?" he said.
Surprisingly enough, the interior of the sleeping bag provided ample room for both of them. Rosalie lay on her back with her arms folded over her chest. No matter what happened on the outside, she'd never felt safer or happier than she did inside Steele's Grotto.
Steele took a swig of rum from the bottle, then passed it to Rosalie.
She sat back up. "Where'd you get the rum?"
She took the bottle and put it to her lips.
"It's been here a while."
She drank, letting the liquid spill down her throat like water. The moment the booze hit her stomach, however, she knew she'd made a mistake. The dark liquid wasn't as mellow and smooth as Steele had always made it look. Instead, it was hot and fiery. She thrust the bottle back at him, gagging. She sucked in deep breaths of cool air to quench her searing throat.
"Bleh!" She shook her head and shivered.
"Oh, come on." Steele laughed. "It’s not that bad."
Steele pulled her close, giving her a half hug with one arm, and Rosalie tipped her head back, intending to scold him for not warning her about the rum’s fiery flavor. At that same moment, Steele looked down, bringing his face within inches of hers, and suddenly, the atmosphere changed. No longer laughing, Steele pinned his gaze on her mouth. Intense hunger sprang to life in his eyes, making them shimmer. Rosalie’s heartbeat quickened.
Steele smiled.
"You have rum on your lips," he said softly. "No need to waste that."
His mouth closed over hers, and he kissed her until her head spun.
The bottle clanked to the floor behind them and rolled away. Steele wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer. He flattened his palm on the small of her back, under the T-shirt, sending pleasurable tingles to every part of her body. Together, they fell back on the sleeping bag-padded ground.
His skin was hot and hard moving against hers as they tangled their bodies around each other. The sounds of their passion hung in the air like a symphony.
Was she seducing him, or was he seducing her? She couldn’t tell. She only knew her mind wasn't working right. He dominated her thoughts, and she wanted him more than she wanted her own soul; she needed him even more.
With their tongues, they explored each other's mouths. With their hands, they explored each other's bodies. He caressed her, skimming each curve and hollow, leaving no spot untouched, while she glided her palms eagerly over his hard body, returning the pleasures.
* * * * *
Rosalie spent that night in a blur of euphoria, next to Steele. Her uncontrollable passion for him, matched by his for her, lasted hours, neither tiring of the other, neither fully aware of the act they engaged in.
Chapter Thirty-One
Angelic voices, as clear as tinkling glass, filled Steele's head as he slept away the turmoil of the outside world. The sound of muted splashing carried him to a semi-conscious state. The voice, only one now, lingered in his ears, fully awakening his mind.
He blinked his eyes a few times and tried to orient himself to his surroundings. He lay on his back and, judging by the dusting of daylight filtering through the ceiling shaft, he knew it was morning.
The angel's voice still filled the cave. He turned to his side, toward the sound that warmed his heart. A naked Rosalie floated in the center of the pool, humming softly to herself. Steele pushed himself up on his elbow.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Rosalie's arms flailed, and she went under. A second later, she came back up, spitting water.
"Sorry. Did I wake you?" she asked between coughs.
"Sort of. But what are you doing in the water?"
"Bathing."
He shook his head and relaxed back into the warmth of the sleeping bag.
"I woke up feeling a little achy—must have been the hard floor—and the cool water feels good."
Steele's body ached too, more than just a little. He thought back on the previous night. He couldn't remember falling asleep; in fact, he couldn't remember anything past the rum-flavored kiss he and Rosalie shared. Had he been that tired? He didn't think so. And he hadn't been drunk, so he hadn't passed out.
Although he had no memory of the night before, he could feel the softness of Rosalie's body against him, all over him. She was inside him. He sensed her in his veins, like a breath of sweet air rushing through him. He felt warm, not cold, as he usually did when he woke up. What the hell happened? His body told him things he didn't want to believe, but he couldn't ignore the signs . . . or the fact that his pants were in a heap at the bottom of the sleeping bag.
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair.
"What the hell time is it, anyway?" He groped around the cave floor behind the sleeping bag until he found his cell phone. "Christ! It's almost ten in the morning."
He heard a splash and whipped his head around to look in that direction. Rosalie sat on the ledge with her back to Steele. His fingers froze on the buttons of his cell phone. As hard as he tried, he couldn't pull his gaze away from her. Her wet hair came together in a point halfway down her back. Water ran off her bare skin, pooling around her on the rock. He wanted to jump into the water, lift her back in, and make love to her there. For some reason, he didn't think doing so would matter anymore. Instead, he took a deep breath, then swallowed his desires in one big gulp.
She picked something up off the cave floor beside her: her bra. He watched her slip her arms into the straps and fasten the hook in the front, and then pull on his old T-shirt. The overly large cotton shirt swallowed up her nakedness. He sighed and turned his attention back to the cell phone.
Steele started cursing again. "How could I have gotten a dozen messages and not heard any of them?"
"I didn't hear anything, either, and I'm a light sleeper."
Her voice sounded close by, and he turned his head to find her standing beside him. Her bare thighs, level with his eyes, glistened with moisture. He swallowed back his desires and looked up at her.
"Can I wear the T-shirt outside? My top's kinda ripped in two, and we don't really know who we'll run into on the other side of the river."
"Sure."
"So, are you ready then?" he asked. "Or do you need to do your hair or something?"
She burst out laughing, and then, to his surprise, she sat on the edge of the sleeping bag beside him.
"Tough biker guy is funny this morning."
She had her legs folded and pressed against his. He could feel the warmth from her thighs through the sleeping bag, and the sensation drove him crazy.
Rosalie stared at the Viper tribute over his heart.
"So, do you always wake up cranky?"
Steele tightened his jaw. "Only when I can't remember the last fourteen hours of my life."
"Hmm." Rosalie’s expression grew serious. "I don't remember anything, either. Well, I remember drinking the rum, but that's it. I feel like I was sort of cheated out of something, you know?"
Steele definitely remembered the rum kiss, but like Rosalie, he drew a blank when he tried remembering what came after the kiss. "Do you suppose by some miracle we just fell asleep? Maybe you talked my ear off and put us both in some trance or something,"
"Are you saying I talk too much?"
"Sometimes," he replied.
Rosalie's eyebrows shot up.
"Well, only when you're being stubborn and argumentative and defensive and . . . ."
"Okay, I get the point."
"And that's pretty much all the time, except when you're telling me that you love me."
He put his hand on her leg. She responded by lying down, still on the outside of the sleeping bag, and pulling him down with her. She curled up against him, her cheek pressed to the spot over his heart.
He smoothed out the wet tangles in her hair. He wished he had the guts to drag her inside the sleeping bag with him and give her what they both wanted, but he couldn't find it in himself.
"Something's been bothering me," Rosalie said, her voice low and serious.
"What's that?"
"You and Blaze."
Steele closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
"Was she lying? Or did you two really . . . you know?"
"She wasn't lying. It was when I turned seventeen, six months after I came to the lodge. She was sort of a birthday present."
Rosalie lay very still. He couldn't feel her breathing against him anymore.
"It was only the one time, and it wasn't just her." He scrunched up his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and groaned inwardly at having added that last bit. Why in the hell couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? He waited for the backlash, but when she didn't say anything, he continued. "Jade was with her. It was Viper and Lithium's way of welcoming me into the club, with a happy birthday on the side."
"Did they want to, or were they forced?"
"They wanted to. No one is ever forced."
She prodded him further. "And was it a happy birthday?"
"Probably the best birthday I ever had." He grinned at the memory.
She lifted her head and looked at him. "What did you get for your eighteenth birthday, triplets?"
His grin widened. "No. There were no triplets. Although, that would have been nice."
"Hmm." She pursed her lips, laid her head back down, and mumbled something that sounded like, "How can I top that?"
After a period of silence, she said, "I never had real sex before."
Steele's breath caught in his throat. Totally taken off guard, he had no quick response. Why is she telling me this?
"I just wanted you to know that."
He felt her grow rigid again, barely breathing, as if waiting for his reply. He searched his mind for something to say, for something to put her back at ease, but came up blank.
"You know what I mean, right?"
In answer, he tightened his arms around her and made himself breathe.
"Steele?"
"Yes."
"It's not that I haven't had boyfriends. I have; it's just that I couldn't bring myself to let them touch me that way."
"What exactly happened that made you run away?" He didn't like asking, but he figured he needed an answer, although he didn’t really want the details.
Rosalie stopped toying with the ends of his hair and curled her hand against the side of his neck.
* * * * *
Rosalie brought the vision from her past to the forefront of her mind. "I was home alone. Mom was on a girl's night out. I was getting ready to go to Sean's when my step-loser came home early and drunk. He came into my room. It was the first time since I was fifteen. All I could think about was that I wasn't going to let it happen again. He threw me on the bed and fell on top of me. I would have killed him if I'd had a weapon, but the only thing I could reach was my cell phone. I grabbed it off the bed and smashed it against his drunken head until he rolled off me.
"I thought he was dead, but he was only passed out. I ran from the house and went straight to Sean's, where I found him making out with my best friend, Haley. Of course, I wanted to die. I went home and slept in my car. In the morning, while everyone was still asleep, I went into the house and packed, and then I left."
"And now you're here."
She angled her face to look at him. "You don't think I'm damaged goods, do you?"
"I could never think that about you. In my book, rape doesn't count. To me, you'll always be innocent. And I love you."
Judging by the way her body felt, Rosalie had her doubts about still being innocent. She again wondered what happened through the night, while they were supposedly sleeping.
