Лорел Гамильтон - A Caress Of Twilight

"What does Galen have to do with any of this?" Frost asked.

"If you have to ask that, then it is not I who am blind," Doyle said.

Confusion chased over Frost's face. Finally he frowned and shook his head. "I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it," Doyle said.

As interesting as the conversation was, I'd had enough of it. "You are all talking as if I'm not here, or as if I have no choice in the matter."

Doyle turned his so serious face to me. "Do you object to me sharing your bed tonight?" He asked it in the same neutral voice that he would have used to order at a restaurant or talk to a client, as if my answer meant nothing to him.

But I knew he sometimes used that neutral voice when he felt anything but neutral. It was a way of shielding himself from the emotion; act as if it doesn't matter, and maybe it won't.

I looked at him, the sweep of shoulders, the swell of his chest and that sparkling glint of silver, the flat plains of his stomach, the line where his jeans cut across his body. I had never seen Doyle nude, ever. He did not participate in the casual nudity of the court; neither had Frost.

I looked at Frost. His silver hair was still back in the loose ponytail, so his face was clean and unadorned, if anything that beautiful could ever be called unadorned. He had his jacket and shoulder holster, complete with gun, hung over one arm. He was wearing his arrogant mask again, the one he hid behind so often at court. That he felt he had to wear his mask here and now in front of me hurt my heart.

I wanted to go to him, wrap my arms around him, lay my cheek against his chest, and tell him don't leave. I wanted to feel his body against mine. I wanted to wake in a cloud of his silver hair.

I did go to him then, but not the way I wanted to go. I got close, but didn't trust myself to touch him. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn't let him go, "I have the chance to satisfy mine and many a court ladies' curiosity tonight, Frost."

He turned away so he couldn't see my face. "I wish you joy in it," but he didn't sound like he meant it.

" I want you tonight, Frost."

That turned him to me, with a startled look.

"With Doyle in my bed looking like that, and all the waiting, I still want you. My body begins to ache when you're not with me. I hadn't realized until today what that meant." I couldn't keep the pain out of my eyes, and finally stopped trying.

He stared down at me, raised a hand to touch my face, but stopped himself just short of my skin. "If that is true, then Doyle is right. You will be queen. And some things. . you cannot be as others. You must be queen before all else."

I laid my face against his open hand, and even that small touch made me shiver.

He drew his hand away, rubbing it against his pants as if something clung to his skin. "Tomorrow night, Princess."

I nodded. "Tomorrow night, my — " and I stopped there for fear of what word I might use to finish.

He turned without another word and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Some small noise turned me back to the room. Rhys slid to the other side of the bed near the window and picked up his clothes that were lying in a hasty heap on the floor. "The first night shouldn't be a group effort."

"Making this a threesome had not occurred to me," Doyle said.

Rhys laughed. "I didn't think it had." He worked his way round the bed, holding the clothes with the brush balanced on top, all held above waist level so my view was uninterrupted. It was a nice view.

"A little help with the door, please." The moment he asked, I knew that he was feeling left out. He was flaunting his charms and I was ignoring him. A deadly insult among the fey.

I got up to open the door for him, as if he couldn't have shifted his clothes around to do it himself. But I stopped before opening the door and raised up on tiptoe to kiss him. I balanced with one hand behind his head, lost in the curls at his neck, and the other hand trailing down the side of his body, caressing over his ribs, the sweep of his hip. I let him see in my eyes how beautiful he was to me.

It made him smile, and he gave me a shy glance out of his one perfect eye. The shy was pretend, but the pleasure wasn't.

I stayed on tiptoe long enough to put my forehead against his. My hands played in the curls at the back of his neck, and he shivered under my touch. I stood back on the ground flat-footed and moved out of the door so he could pass.

Rhys shook his head. "That was her idea of a good-bye kiss, Doyle." He glanced back at the other man, still kneeling in the bed. "Have fun, kiddies." But his serious face didn't match the flippant words.

Rhys offered me the hairbrush from the pile of clothing, then I let him out. I shut the door behind him, and was suddenly very aware that I was alone with Doyle. Doyle, whom I'd never seen nude. Doyle, who had frightened me when I was a child. Doyle, who had been the Queen's right hand for a thousand years. He'd kept me safe, guarded my body and my life, but somehow he hadn't really been mine. Somehow he wouldn't really be mine until I'd touched that dark body, seen all of him bare before me. I wasn't sure why that was so important to me, but it was. By withholding himself from me, it was almost as if he was holding his options open. As if he believed that once he was with me, he'd have no more options. Which wasn't true. I'd been with my onetime fiance, Griffin, for seven years," and in the end he'd found plenty of options, none of them me. Having sex with me hadn't been a life-altering experience for him. Why should it be different for Doyle?

"Meredith." He said my name once, but for once his voice wasn't neutral. That one word held uncertainty, a question, and a hope. He spoke my name once more, and it turned me around to face the bed and what lay waiting for me among the burgundy sheets.

He sat on the edge of the bed closest to the mirror, closest to me. He was almost lost among the black dream of his hair. Almost all the other sidhe I knew had some contrast from hair to skin to eyes, but Doyle was all of one piece. His unbound hair cascaded around him like a black cloud, so that his ebony skin was almost lost in the folds of it. A long, long lock of hair had fallen over his face, and his black-on-black eyes were lost in that darkness. He looked like a piece of night itself come to life. He swept a hand up to draw back the hair and try to tuck it behind one pointed ear. The earrings glittered like stars against his darkness.

I walked forward until the bed bumped against my thighs. My legs pressed into the bed, but all I could feel was the thickness of his hair, trapped between my body and the firmness of the bed. He turned his head, and I felt the hair tug underneath me. I pressed in harder, trapping his hair.

He turned those dark eyes up to me, and there were colors in his eyes that shone nowhere in the room, like a swarm of brilliant fireflies — blue, white, yellow, green, red, purple, and colors I had no name for. The pinpoints danced and swirled, and for a second I could almost feel them flying around me, the tiny wind of their passing like being caught in a cloud of butterflies; then I was falling and Doyle caught me.

I came to myself in his arms, in his lap, where he'd sat me. When I could speak, I said, "Why?"

"I am a power to be reckoned with, Meredith, and I want you to never forget that. A king should have more to offer than seed."

I slid my hands across his skin, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Are you auditioning?"

He smiled. "We all are, Meredith. Some of the others may forget that in the rush of hot skin and sex, but you must never forget. You are choosing a father for your children, a king for the court, and someone you will be tied to forever."