Forever His(128)

“But you—”

“I will not wed her. I do not understand these feelings in my heart, but I cannot deny them any longer—”

“Gaston, don’t do this! Not now. Not when we have no time left. Don’t make me wish for what can never be. You’ve got to stay here and marry Rosalind, and I’ve got to go home.”

The last word came out as a sob. She realized in that moment that the twentieth century was no longer her home. And never would be again.

Her home was here, with him, the man she loved.

And any other place in the world or in time, without him, would never be anything more than a bleak, cold shell.

His face was lined with strain. “I care for you Celine.” His voice became rough. “Deeply.”

She tucked in her chin as her tears began to fall, and rested her forehead on his bare chest. She had thought she would never hear those words from him, the ones she had waited for, wished for. “But we were never meant to happen,” she whispered. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life thinking of you, remembering you, every hour of every day. And I don’t want to think of you here alone, Gaston, waiting for me. That would kill me just as easily as the bullet in my back. I want you to live. Exactly the same fierce, reckless, passionate way you’ve always—”

“Naught will be the same for me.” His hold on her shifted, his arms sliding around her back. “Naught will ever be the same without you. There will be no passion left. No life.”

“But there has to be,” she said just as fiercely, raising her head. “You have to find it. Fight for it. I want you to find happiness, with your son, with your ... family. I ...” She could hardly speak through her tears. “I want you to have love.”

“I want no love but yours.” His own eyes were glistening. “And I will love no other but you.”

“Gaston—”

He crushed her close as his mouth captured hers, his kiss branding her, claiming her, the penetration of his tongue sudden, possessive, deep. A low, sobbing breath echoed in her throat, her hands sliding through the mat of hair on his chest, her lips opening to him as his words shimmered through her, magnificent and unbearable. I will love no other but you.

He loved her. This warrior knight who had fought the idea with all the strength he possessed, who had deflected every bit of feeling as if it were a lethal sword stroke, loved her. He had once scoffed at the word, but now he used it.

With tears in his eyes.

And it ran wild through her, like a fever, engulfing her heart and body and soul. She twined her fingers through his damp hair and returned his kiss, taking his mouth as he took hers, her tongue thrusting, tasting, curving around his. But even as they came together in scorching need, a single thought tormented her.

Five days from now, she would never be able to touch him again.

Shattering images of countless years alone sliced into her thoughts, all the cold days and colder nights alone stretching out before her, her heart as empty as her body. She would be robbed of these kisses, torn from this heat of love and longing, from the soul-satisfying wholeness of being his.

This might be the last memory they could share, their last moment of stolen glory.

As if he read her mind, he moved suddenly, backing her toward the table, lifting her onto it. She cried out into his mouth, twisting in his arms, wanting him even as she resisted. They couldn’t. It was too dangerous. There was nothing between them and the men outside but the flimsy silk walls of the pavilion. Someone could walk in on them at any moment. And if they were caught, there would be no annulment, not now, not in a few months, not ever.

But there was no stopping him. He tore the linen he wore from around his hips and gathered her in, holding her as if he meant to make her his until day and night and all time spun out and they were still one. One body, one breath, one love, united against any force that would tear them apart. Defiant in the face of time, fate, death, destiny.

She could feel his heart pumping, his hunger and forcefulness and love all mingled in his touch, his kiss. She could feel the hardness and heat of him, the sweat on his body—and the blood from his wounds. She knew he had to be in pain, and made a sound of protest. How could he think of making love when he was hurt?

But he never even flinched. His hand left her just long enough to knock the candle out of the way, sending it tumbling to the dirt floor. It sputtered out, cloaking them in darkness as his fingers pulled at her bodice and his mouth covered her bare breast, suckling hard.

Celine’s bruised lips parted and she gasped for air, the center of her body tightening as his rough kisses lashed her with wild sensations. In his embrace, questions and worries went spinning into the distance; she was alone with him in the dark, her body arching into his, and she wanted this, wanted him. All of him. Every dream, every breath. She wanted to be his. Now, tomorrow, forever. Forever his.