As he watched, she cocked her head to the side, almost as if she were listening to someone. The hair on his arms rose as he watched her. She looked directly at him then, but her eyes were different, pale and distant. “The book is here,” she said, and her voice was strange, breathless, and not entirely her own. It was not Elise's voice, but it was close enough that it brought a chill. She turned away and strode toward the windows.
He wanted to stop her, fearing for her safety, but she didn't touch the windows. Instead, she knelt before the window seat and began pulling the pillows and cushions away from it. Her movements were frantic, almost fevered, until it was only bare wood and stone. She calmed then, and pressed a small rosette that had been carved into the wood. The panel opened and she reached inside, removing a small bundle wrapped in a paisley fabric. He recognized it as a shawl that had belonged to Elise. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a small journal, the leather cover worn. She didn't open the book, but rose from her knees and walked toward him.
She extended the journal toward him. “Your answers are in here."
He took the book from her, his fingers brushing hers. They were like ice, he thought. Her sightless eyes closed, and she began to collapse. He caught her, crushing her to him. With one hand, he slipped the book into the pocket of his dressing gown, and then carried her over to the small daybed. It was draped in Holland covers, but dust was hardly a concern at the moment. Carefully, he placed her on the bed and wondered what sort of phenomena he had just witnessed.
Emme stirred, and sneezed. As she opened her eyes, she immediately recognized that she was not in her own room. She also recognized that she was not alone. The heat of his body was a welcome refuge from the frigid room, and the scent that had become so agonizingly familiar teased her senses. Slowly, she sat up and met his gaze.
"Sleepwalking again?” he said.
She hadn't been sleepwalking, and he knew it as well as she did. The evidence was written all over her face. “Did you follow me?"
He nodded, “It's an interesting talent you have. The door to this room and the door to the tower were both locked. Your present attire lends me to believe you are not hiding either a key or lock picking tools on your person. Someone must have unlocked the doors for you."
"Someone?” she queried him, her gaze challenging.
"Or something,” he conceded, though it pained him to do so. “You've never been in this house, certainly never in this room, and yet you discovered a hidden compartment that apparently had only been known to Elise.” He held up the book and the shawl as evidence.
When she spoke, her voice trembled with emotion. “I don't seek this out. I don't want it. I've never wanted it."
The words were spoken so softly and with such sincerity, he didn't doubt their truth. He looked at her, peering into her wide, troubled grey eyes. He eased his arms about her and pulled her to him. He had meant to offer comfort only, to hold her and perhaps warm her as he had no doubt she was freezing. But the softness of her body pressed against his own, the sweet scent of lilies, which clung to her defeated his higher intent and sparked his base desires. The memory of their earlier kiss pulled at him, tempting him with the remembered taste of her sweet lips. He tipped her chin up and claimed her mouth. Her lips were soft beneath his, untutored and sweet for it.
It was not merely a repeat of the innocent kiss he had bestowed on her earlier. It was more insistent, more intense, and all the more dangerous for it, because it was even more tempting. She'd fought off clumsy advances and had generally avoided situations with gentlemen that might result in such activities. In spite of that, she had been curious. And in the darkened tower with Rhys, her curiosity easily superseded her good sense. All of her reasons for avoiding just that sort of situation with him fled.
She relaxed against him, pressing closer to the warmth and strength of his body, accepting what he offered, willingly. Eagerly, she fitted herself to him, into his warm embrace. The feel of his strong arms closing about her, of the hard, warm planes of his chest beneath her palms was heady.
It was like lightning. The hunger flared in him with a ferocity that left him stunned. It consumed him and any thoughts of propriety fled in the face of his desire. His hands were in her hair, angling her head so that he could deepen the kiss. She sighed against him, and he slipped his tongue between her parted lips. He felt her stiffen, obviously startled by the invasion, but then she relaxed against him, welcoming the touch. He delved deeper, exploring the taste that intoxicated him—the taste of her mouth, the pillowy softness of her lips beneath his, her hair tangled in his hands. It was what he had longed for since that first night. The need rose in him, hot and insistent, and the kiss took on a life of its own. Passion flared between them, as his lips played over hers. With lips, teeth and tongue, he explored her, learning each sweet contour.