A Little Magic(14)

The words were in Gaelic, and that was what stopped him. He understood them as if he’d been speaking the language all his life.

“Love,” she had said. “My love.”

“Is this the answer?” The fury returned as he pushed her back against the wall. “Is this what you want?” Now his kiss tasted of violence, of desperation, nearly of punishment.

Her own fears sprang hot to her throat, taunting her to fight him, to reject the anger. But she offered no struggle, took the heat, the rough hands until he drew back and stared at her out of stormy eyes.

She took a steadying breath, waited until she was sure her voice would be strong and sure. “It’s one answer. Yes, I want you.” Slowly she unfastened the buttons running down the front of her dress. “I want you to touch me, to take me.” Parted the material, let it slide to the floor so that she stood before him defenseless and naked. “Where you like, when you like, how you like.”

He kept his eyes on hers. “You said that to me before, once before.”

Emotions swirling, she closed her eyes, then opened them again. And smiled. “I did. A thousand years ago. More or less.”

He remembered. She had stood facing him, flowers blooming at her feet. And she had undraped herself so that the pearly light had gleamed on her skin. She had offered herself without restrictions. He’d lost himself in her, flowers crushed and fragrant under their eager bodies.

He shook his head, and the image faded away. Memory or imagination, it no longer mattered. He knew only one vital thing. “This is now. This is you and me. Nothing else touches it. Whatever happened or didn’t happen before, this is for us.”

He scooped her into his arms. “That’s the way I want it,” he stated.

She stared at him, for she was spellbound now. She’d thought he would simply take her where they stood, seeking release, even oblivion. She’d tasted the sharp edge of his passion, felt the violence simmering under his skin. Instead, he carried her in his arms as if she were something he could cherish.

And when he laid her on the bed, stepped back to look at her, she felt a flush warm her cheeks. She managed a quick smile. “You’ll be needing your clothes off,” she said, tried to laugh and sit up, but he touched a hand to her shoulder.

“I’ll do it. Lie back, Bryna. I want to see you with your hair burning over the pillows, and the sun on your skin.” He would photograph her like this, he realized. Would be compelled to see if he could capture the magic of it, of her—long limbs, slender curves, eyes full of needs and nerves.

He watched her as he undressed, and his voice was quiet and serious when he spoke. “Are you afraid of me?”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t expect to be.” But her heart was fluttering like birds’ wings. “I suppose I am, yes. A little. Because it means…everything.”

He tossed his clothes toward the little chair, never taking his eyes from hers. “I don’t know what I believe, what I can accept. Except one thing.” He lowered himself to her, kept his mouth a whisper from hers. “This matters. Here. Now. You. It matters.”

“Love me.” She drew his mouth down to hers. “I’ve ached for you so long.”

It was slow and testing and sweet. Sighs and secrets, tastes and textures. He knew how her mouth would fit against his, knew the erotic slide of her tongue, the suggestive arch of her hips. He swallowed each catchy breath as he took his hands slowly, so slowly over her. Skimming curves, warming flesh. He filled his hands with her breasts, then his mouth, teasing her nipples with tongue and teeth until she groaned out his name like a prayer.

She took her hands over him, testing those muscles, tracing the small scars. Not a warrior’s body, but a man’s, she thought. And for now, hers. Her heart beat slow and thick as he used his mouth on her with a patience and concentration she knew now she’d been foolish not to expect.

Her heart beat thickly, the sun warmed her closed lids as pleasure swamped her. And love held so long in her heart bloomed like wild roses.

“Calin.”

His name shuddered through her lips when he cupped her. He watched her eyes fly open, saw the deep-blue irises go glassy and blind in speechless arousal. He sent her over the edge, viciously delighted when she cried out, shuddered, when her hands fell weakly.

His, was all he could think as he blazed a hot trail down her thigh. His. His.

Blood thundered in his head as he slipped inside her, as she moaned in pleasure, arched in welcome. Now her eyes were open, vivid blue and intense. Now her arms were around him, a circle of possession. She mated with him, their rhythm ancient and sure.