The Charmer by Autumn Dawn Page A

“I’ll be back in...” He
glanced at the clock on a wall shelf. “...twenty-six minutes. Be
ready.”
    The door shut behind him, and Jasmine looked
at Wiley.
    Wiley looked at her. She offered a weak
smile. “Need help with your hair?”
     
    He knocked on the door exactly twenty-six
minutes from the time he’d left, clad in his own formal wear.
Rihlia opened the door and entered the hall, followed by a sulky
Jasmine.
    Her jade gown deepened the green of her eyes
and made the red of her glossy, pouting lips all the more inviting,
not that he would tell her. She ignored his politely offered arm
and tried to walk around him, so he took her hand and tucked it
into his left arm, clamping his right hand over it.
    Her jaw tightened. “Shouldn’t you be
escorting Wiley? Doesn’t she outrank me?”
    “Her name is Rihlia, and Jayems will escort
her.” He nodded to Jayems as he stepped out into the hall and
offered Rihlia his arm.
    “I’ve called her Wiley for years now and I
have no intention of—oh!” She gasped as the backs of his fingers
brushed against her breast.
    “Rihlia,” he repeated with as much patience
as he’d use training a new villi. “It is her name, and I expect you
to address her as such.” Jayems and Rihlia rounded a corner and he
deliberately lagged. Their footsteps began to fade.
    There was far more to Jasmine’s refusal to
acknowledge Rihlia’s name than sheer stubbornness. Too many shocks
had hit her too quickly, and she was still trying to retreat. If he
continued to allow her to call his cousin Wiley then he was tacitly
allowing her the illusion of a return to life as she knew it. Such
a thing would be a cruel tease, and the sooner she forgot the idea
and moved on the better off she’d be.
    The woman on his arm sent him a withering
look. “I’ll call her whatever I wish, and what I wish to call her
is—” she broke off with a yelp as he spun her back to the wall and
bared her left breast. A hot, wet mouth closed over her nipple. She
cried out and grabbed his hair.
    “What will you call her?” he demanded. He
gifted her nipple with a long, fiery lick.
    She tugged weakly at his head, gasping,
“Stop! They’ll see—Oh, Keilor…” If anyone else had touched her like
that she’d have done her best to draw blood, but this was Keilor.
Though she’d have taken a beating rather than admit it, she’d
wanted this. Dreamed of it…
    His teeth raked her peak and she squirmed
against the wall. Her scent rose around him, entered into him,
permeating the chinks in his defenses, calling to him to take her
fast, now, against the wall.
    Keilor forced himself to pull away and glance
pointedly down the hall, reminding her they lacked privacy. “You
want to call her Rihlia, don’t you, Dragonfly?”
    Reminded of his game, she shoved against him
and tried to knee his groin, but he twisted and trapped her with
his hips against the wall. A handful of silky hair stilled her head
for him and a massaging hand at her naked breast gained him
entrance to her mouth. With all the pent up passion she aroused, he
kissed her, stealing her breath and making it his own.
    With one last lick to her luscious tongue, he
drew back, keeping their bodies locked together. Fighting for
breath, he warned her, “I can go all night, sweetheart, but I can’t
guarantee we won’t draw an audience.”
    She slowly closed her eyes. She’d done it
again; let him use her body against her. When would she learn?
“Rihlia,” she said, and it tasted like ashes.
    “Rihlia,” he agreed, but didn’t withdraw as
they both expected. Instead he kissed her again, softly, washing
away the ashes with the sweet tenderness of his kiss. Desire washed
through her like a warm rain, and when he withdrew this time, both
were trembling.
    Keilor stepped back while he still had the
strength. It took strength to straighten her bodice, tucking her
away from his sight. His hand fell away, and for a tortured moment,
neither could move.
    “Your