Free State of Grace (Resurrection) by Elizabeth Davies Page A

eyes meeting mine again, his expression thoughtful.
     
    ‘Eryes.’ There was that strange word again and he accurately read my unspoken question.
     
    ‘Eryres,’ he repeated. His voice was both mellow and rough, soft, yet harsh, and oh, so sweet. The sound of him made the hairs on my neck rise up and I shivered. Before I could blink he had moved and was standing right in front of me, although looming would be a more accurate description.
     
    I gulped. His nearness was totally disconcerting and my heart thumped , and suddenly I felt quite warm. His eyes bored into my body and I could swear he could see through the thick, soft fur to what was underneath. Get a grip, Grace, I admonished, what is the worst he can do? and then I found I didn’t want to explore that thought any further as I remembered the fear I had felt both times we had ‘met’ before. There was something infinitely dangerous about this man, and that danger was disturbingly attractive.
     
    At the sight of the bulge in his breeches, I suddenly knew exactly what he could do. And a part of me wished he would do just that. I swallowed convulsively and trembled as his hand reached out to cup my chin. I was seriously worried. Everything about him was alluring, yet at the same time every instinct was screaming at me to run, to get as far away from him as was humanly possible. It was an organic, intuitive fear, and for all of the allure this man exuded my innate response to him was to flee, to put as much distance between me and his diabolical charms as possible, yet at the same time I was inexplicably drawn to him, in the same way that the high places drew me, the yawning, beckoning, sucking drops enticing me to fall into them, to let myself go…
     
    ‘Who are you?’ I breathed. ‘What do you want?’ I fought the impulse to dissolve into hysterical giggles. It was pretty clear what he wanted. He answered me, but again I couldn’t understand him. He was speaking a language that sounded a lot like French, but not quite; the accent and cadence were familiar to my high school French, but I couldn’t make out the individual words. I think I got the gist of his questions, though. He appeared to be asking the same thing.
     
    I shrugged and shook my head. His grip on my face tightened for an instant, then he let me go. I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. He stepped back and dropped to his knees so his head was level with mine. A sharp snap and a sudden hiss from the fire made me jump. Every sense was alert to him. Not only was he beautiful to look at and his voice compelling and melodious, his touch sent jolts of yearning through me like electricity. And now I could smell him. He smelt just as delicious as last time; the scent of him made my head spin and I wanted to lean in to him and let him do whatever he wished to me. I fought the compulsion.
     
    He appeared to make a decision.
     
    ‘Roman,’ he said, firmly, and pointed at his chest. ‘Eryres,’ he said, and pointed at mine. I understood what he was trying to do.
     
    ‘Not Eryres,’ I replied. ‘Grace.’
     
    ‘Grace?’
     
    ‘Grace,’ I stated.
     
    ‘Grace.’ He tested my name on his tongue and nodded sharply, once. Then unexpectedly, he reached for my hand and I felt the feather brush of his lips on the back of it. My pulse soared in response as a surge of sheer desire swept through me. I was breathing hard and my skin tingled where he kissed me.  He chuckled, a dark, sweet sound, as if he was fully aware of my reaction to his touch.
     
    ‘Roman,’ he repeated .
     
    ‘Roman.’ It was my turn to nod.  I tried hard not to giggle again nervously; this was so much like ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’.
     
    His eyes narrowed and he dropped my hand, the mood broken and he looked puzzled. I sighed in relief and the tension drained out of me for one brief second, before it flooded back as he whirled to his feet. One instant he was kneeling by the bed, the next he was