Page 61 of A Raven's Heart

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“That is so—”

He kissed her, hard, cupping the back of her skull in his hands, his mouth clinging and shaping the contours of her own, coaxing a response.

She punched him.

“You’re utterly depraved,” she panted, when he finally released her.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

He grinned and kissed her again, slower this time. His tongue stroked hers in a maddening swirl and retreat that left her dizzy and aching, and Heloise surrendered with a moan of defeat.Why was she fighting something that felt so good?

This was stupid and reckless and would only lead to disaster, but she threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him back. He dragged her down into a whole new world. Not a place of sunshine and flowers, but somewhere darker, deeper, more complex. Somewhere infinitely more alluring. His hands framed her waist then skimmed over the curve of her buttocks, and a low hum of arousal rumbled from his chest into hers. Her brain shut down. The world narrowed to all the places they touched.

Heloise closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he pressed feverish kisses across her nose, her cheek, the sensitive skin just below her ear. Her legs turned to water. He widened his stance and pulled her between his thighs; his hard maleness pressed against her stomach and she felt a thrill of feminine satisfaction at his unmistakable reaction. She wanted her skirts gone, no barriers at all, only this wonderful hot rush of need.

A loud whistle and a peal of masculine laughter jolted them apart.

Heloise fell back, shaken and panting. A tide of heat rose to her cheeks as she realized she’d just made a public spectacle of herself like some ill-bred harlot. She dropped her gaze, totally unable to look at him.Idiot.She’d meant to kiss him once and step back. She should have known better than to try. She had no control when it came to him.

He flicked one finger carelessly across her cheek. “I’ll have to rescue you again, Hellcat, if this is the thanks I get.”

She took only slight gratification from the fact that his voice wasn’t entirely steady. “I have never met a man as infuriating as you.”

His smile was cocky. “You’ve never met any real men at all, sweeting. All you know is soft boys in silk waistcoats and pasty-faced fops.” He tilted his head. “You know, the gypsies believe that if you save a life it becomes yours.”

She snorted. “So I belong to you now, is that it? That’s ridiculous.”

His intense look made her stomach quake. She turned and stalked away.

“Maybe I’ll keep you,” he called out after her.

“Maybe I’ll stab you in your sleep,” she shouted back.

His laugh was genuine. “You cantry.”

“I might get lucky.”

“Sweetheart, if someone as talentless as you gets anywhere near me with a knife, Ideserveto die.”

Chapter 31

They made camp that evening in a lush valley nestled between the foothills.

Heloise retrieved her journal and sat herself down on a rock near her caravan. She wanted to record as many ideas and impressions as possible for when she was back in dull, rainy England.

A rustle behind her made her turn. A boy, no older than eight or nine, was hiding in the shadows, watching her with huge liquid eyes. He lingered at the very edge of the circle of light, and when she glanced at him he froze like a frightened animal. When she smiled and beckoned he sidled closer but kept his distance, staying well out of arm’s reach.

The child was thin, a cadaverous Anubis puppy with dark hair and golden skin and black, haunted eyes that looked as if they’d seen far too much.

Heloise bent back over her writing and pretended to ignore him. He sneaked closer. She tapped the pen against her lips as if struggling to think of a phrase. He edged forward and slid onto the rock next to her. He peered over her arm at her book, intrigued. She repressed a smile.

“What is your name?” She kept her voice low, soothing, so as not to scare him off.

He didn’t answer.

She glanced over at him and tapped her chest. “Heloise.” She pointed at him and raised her brows. Nothing. Just big eyes as he stared at her, uncomprehending. “No?” she tilted her head. “Can you read?”


Tags: K.C. Bateman Historical