Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,6

to her throat and drank. The flash of fire through his veins as though someone had injected him with pure acid, an rush of heat tightening in his groin until he felt like he was going to explode… And Esme… Helpless little gasping noises coming from her throat as she curled her hands into his shirt and begged, pleaded, for more. “Yes… yes… Oh God, John!”

If they’d been alone, if Blade hadn’t been there… he’d have taken her. Shoved her down into his sheets and buried his heavy cock inside her, his teeth in her throat. The thought frightened him, because he didn’t know where he would have stopped.

Or if he would have stopped before it was too late.

Even now a clammy hand trailed down his spine. Safer to keep his distance, to satisfy his dark urges with a whore. All he wanted from them was blood. From Esme… he wanted everything. And to take her like that would destroy their friendship.

“It’s just blood,” he said. “Don’t mean nothin’.”

“I saw you,” she said, the cleaver hovering in the air. “I know exactly what it was. Do you think I don’t know what happens between a blue blood and his thrall?”

That scored a blow. “Blade?” His voice roughened, though he knew he had no damned right to feel this way. Like he wanted to go after his master with a knife.

“Blade?” She laughed breathlessly, turning back to the board. “It wasn’t like that. Not between us. Of course I felt desire, but it wasn’t—it was just my body’s response to the chemical in his saliva. On some distant level I always knew that. And he never... never made demands.”

Rip frowned, his hand easing over her wrist from behind. Curling around her grip on the cleaver. “Who then? You been with someone else?” he asked gruffly.

“Stupid,” she whispered. “You are so stupid, Rip.”

His thumb stroked hers, slipping the cleaver from her grasp. “What’s this ‘Rip’ you keep callin’ me?” She’d never called him that. Not in years. A little edge of panic curled through him. “You always called me John.”

He liked the sound of his name on her lips. Too much so.

“So I did,” she said in a toneless little voice that made the panic surge.

He put the cleaver down, his hard body curled around hers with but an inch between them. So small in his arms… His gaze dropped to the curl that had come loose from her chignon and trailed against the smooth skin of her nape. Daring him to put his lips there. But why the hell would a woman as beautiful as she ever want his ugly hands on her? Rip steeled himself. “Esme, come now. We’re friends. You always could tell me everythin’.”

“I used to think the same.” Breaking free of his grip, she pushed past in a swirl of dark green skirts. “Before I realized you weren’t telling me everything.” As he reached for her, she pulled away, hands held out of his grasp. “I’ve got to get this soup on.”

Rip pressed a hand flat on the kitchen bench and stared at her. “Ain’t stoppin’ you. And what the ‘ell you talkin’ about? I don’t know what’s goin’ on. You keep talkin’ like this is over – like you ain’t wantin’ to be friends anymore.” He stepped toward her but she backed away, a wary look on her face. Rip held up his hands incredulously. “I ain’t goin’ to ‘urt you. You know that, aye?”

Wouldn’t be the first time a woman backed away, and it fucking hurt that she did. He’d never once lifted a hand, never once raised his voice… Growing up the way he did, out in the streets where he’d learned to be brutal, learned to use his size and speed to cultivate a reputation amongst the dangerous gangs… It had protected him of course, when his mother couldn’t. But it had also cost him.

Fear was just another weapon against the dark side of the ‘Chapel, but he hated the other flip of the coin. The isolation. The way women avoided him for fear of his reputation and children shied away from his great size. He’d survived what others wouldn’t have as a child, but he’d done it alone. Even here at the Warren he had friends, but no woman of his own. And he ached so much for it that he hurt.

“Of course I know that,” she said. The coldness had leeched out of her expression, just for a moment, and she