A Deep Dark Call by Vane Rose

Author:Vane, Rose
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carina Press
Published: 2017-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

It was with relief that she entered the safety and warmth of the manor. She had been afraid after all—afraid for the child, and angry. And afraid of her own anger.

As they stepped into the hall, Alexandra gave a cheerful cry, which, reassuringly, suggested she was somewhat recovered from her earlier shock. “Papa!”

She jumped into her father’s open arms. As they started an animated discussion in Romanian, Lucy could not take her eyes off the lovely image of Ioan with the child in his arms. They looked very much alike. And it was then that a different kind of scent invaded her nostrils, one that she had only faintly felt before. It was a scent that she was beginning to recognize only now: love. A father’s love for his daughter. Whatever else he might be, he was a man who deeply loved his daughter, and that was unmistakable.

He seemed cheerful. She saw that when he finally raised her eyes to meet hers, still holding his daughter in his arms. “I’ve brought a tree,” he said in English, including her in the conversation.

“Can I see it?” Alexandra said excitedly. Then, without waiting for further prompting, she ran through the exit and to the yard, where she must have guessed that the tree already lay.

He smiled watching his daughter, a sunny smile she had not seen before. But it changed when he looked at her. It became wicked and lingering. Predatory. He crossed the distance between them in three quick strides.

“Missed me?” he asked, and he captured her lips without waiting for an invitation.

His cheeks were still cold, but his lips were quite warm. He smelled of snow and frozen earth and fir. A Christmas smell, really. And there was a further smell, potent and intoxicating, of deep desire mixed with something more.

“I’ve chopped the tree myself,” he told her, breaking the kiss. “There, you can be proud of your brawny Wallachian husband.”

A bubble of laughter rose in her throat, in spite of her distress. She scarcely knew him, but she could safely say that he did have a sense of humor. There was however so much that they should discuss, now that she was thinking more clearly.

“Listen,” she told him. “We’ve been to the village.”

He narrowed his eyes and the cheerfulness in them was suddenly gone. “You should not have done that,” he said calmly, but she could feel anger seething beneath his voice.

“I should not have taken Alexandra. For that I am very sorry, but—”

His fingers which had earlier held her gently suddenly seized her arm in a painful grip. “I want you to tell me what that madman told you. I want you to tell me every filthy word he uttered in front of my daughter,” he snarled, a feral glint in his green eyes.

He was angry, and she could scent his anger with every inch of her being. And suddenly she also was angry and found herself savagely snarling at him in return.

“You know too well what he said!” she countered.

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