Lyssa loved the small room. Understated opulence, set off by the images that were more about substance than form, as if the artist had captured the simplest rendition of a woman's quiet but complicated soul.
"My lady." Jacob extended his hand. "I believe you usually prefer to remove your shoes?"
Nonplussed, she took his hand as he went to one knee. Guiding her hand to his shoulder to balance her, he bent and slid off one heeled slipper, then the other. Absorbing the sensation of his fingers gliding along her ankle bone and her instep, she studied the shape and feel of his shoulder under her hand. Solid bone and muscle, telling her he was disciplined about what he put into his body, as well as how he conditioned it. When he took her hand, his pulse had begun to race beneath her touch. An urge swept over her to trail her fingers under his hair, feel the individual strands slide through them, see the way they looked tangled in her grasp.
I give you Jacob. Thomas's note, offering her a man whose motives were as yet unknown to her.
"Stay on your knees."
He stilled, his hand hovering over her right foot as he remained on one knee, his elbow propped on it.
Wondering at herself, for she hadn't indulged such a romantic notion in a long time, she moved her hand to his ear, tracing the shape of it. Then she curled her fingers into his hair as she'd desired.
If she exercised her enjoyment of such things with her prey it could be dangerous, giving a sharp edge to her hunger. While she was experienced enough to control it, it was disruptive, an appetite that only grew stronger as she fed. Her mind said she was going to discard Thomas's offer as a presumption, tolerated only because it was now made beyond the grave. The sensation drifting through her fingers and up her arm was saying something else entirely.
The wide expanse of his shoulders had tensed, the smooth cords of muscle displayed well. While his hand Was now curled above her foot, one forefinger was extended, the scoundrel daring to brush the top of her foot in a very light caress.
Her gaze followed the line of his spine, marking each vertebra, noting the shallow dip in his lower back. Her brow furrowed at the crisscrossing of scars. Lash marks, deep ones that would still be sensitive, probably a month or two old at most. There was the tempting swell of his buttocks well defined by the hose. Because of the low ride of the rolled waistband, she could see the hint of the indentation between his buttocks. She wanted to place her finger in that shallow valley, caress the tip of his spine there.
She wondered if his cock was swelling to even greater proportions against the crotch, testing the limits of the fabric. Since she could smell his arousal, she suspected it was, his reaction wetting the tip of his broad head. Her tongue touched her lip as she imagined it.
Just that instance of desire and she remembered a different image. Rex lying on the bed, his fist in her hair, forcing her mouth down roughly on his length. One hand clamped on her thigh as she faced away from him, his fingers bruising her, communicating his intention to break her thigh bone if she didn't make him come quickly enough. Or to do so anyway as part of the rush of pleasure of his climax. One of the lovers' games they'd played.
Withdrawing her hand, she wondered how it was possible to hate and love someone equally. To miss him desperately in the dead hours of the night and yet be relieved to be without him. So relieved that the idea of having another like Rex had kept her unusually chaste ever since she'd lost both him and Thomas.
"Why did you dress this way?" she asked.
When Jacob raised his head, his face was at the level of her breasts. She was aroused just from touching him, so her nipples were drawn to hard points. Since she was small in that area, she only wore a bra when she deemed it necessary.
He deliberately studied the curves, the upward thrust of the nipples, the way they pushed against the stretched yarn of her sweater, before he raised his gaze. She didn't feel he was being vulgar, improper. Instead, she felt wholly desired, a woman's need that the passage of time never diminished. She couldn't deny the potency of it when it was offered by the right man. From the aching hardness of her nipples, she concluded he was apparently the right man.
"Thomas told me you'd want to see as much of me as possible. He said that you had a fondness for this style and it might intrigue you enough to give me a chance." The dim firelight shadowed his face, but she was almost sure there was a hint of that attractive smile again.
You deceitful, conniving monk, I don't think you made it to Heaven after all.
"I would have stepped out naked, but…" He lifted a shoulder, and now she was the one who couldn't take her gaze off his lips. "I figured the security guard might take exception."
"What if I'd wanted you to strip before me right there, regardless?"
"I suppose he would've had to get over it, wouldn't he, then?"
From the shockingly teasing glance he gave her, the hint of Irish brogue that tempered his words, she realized he thought she was offering a jest. It appeared Thomas had not apprised him of everything being a human servant meant. Or that she didn't have much of a sense of humor.
* * *
Would a smile on her lips banish the lonely melancholy Jacob saw in her face? Such sadness would have made a mortal woman look drawn, detracting from her beauty. On her it added to the haunting, mysterious quality. Mixed with a fuck-me-now sensuality, that air of mystery was turning his compass upside down. Vulnerability, an intimidating, imperious manner and an erotic aura that would register on the hellfire side of red hot mixed together to drive him crazy. A man could be torn in half by the desire to have her body and the need to protect it with every ounce of strength in his own.
Thomas had been so concerned about her not having a human servant, Jacob sometimes thought the man had hastened his own passing when Jacob had refused to leave him until the end. It had seemed absurd that a creature as formidable as Lady Lyssa was supposed to be could be at risk from the simple absence of a mortal companion. During these first few minutes, he understood Thomas's concerns better. She was so tightly wound up the stress pulsed off her like a force field. Though he couldn't identify whether the cause was emotional or physical in nature, he sensed she was in desperate need.
The first step in the manicure was supposed to be massaging the hands to loosen and relax the joints, easing tension in the wrists. But after the intimate caress she'd bestowed on him several moments ago it seemed too personal to start with that. Not to mention his body was already inflamed by that proprietary touch. She'd been testing him to be sure, giving him the barest taste of what it would be like to be considered hers.