Gathering of Angels(50)

He let out his breath, eased back. “I have no choice. I need to feel the sun I was created under, to touch the sand that I walked before Karana—before my wife died.” His hand slid up her back, into her hair. “I am still surprised, every time I look at you, that my heart can be touched again, can feel again.”

Claire reached up to cradle his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I am not healing.”

She let out her breath. “Why didn’t you say so before now?”

“I hoped—” He shook his head and pulled away, turning to face the front of the shop. “Returning home may not make a difference, but I must try. It is where I was made, and my essence is tied to the land. My power has diminished to the point I can no longer—it does not matter.” He ran his good hand through his hair, the wild curls brushing his shoulders. “I never planned to stay, when I first came here. Now I find myself unable to leave. Even when I must.”

Swallowing, Claire moved to him, slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. He didn’t move, simply watched her, those green eyes dark, unreadable. Before she could talk herself out of it she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

With a groan, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her off her feet. Claire simply held on as he deepened the kiss, his heat coiling around her heart. She knew he could cajole, entice, charm—instead he just gave.

He broke off the kiss, staring down at her. Then he cursed under his breath and came back for more. She let out a startled gasp, and the heat burst through her. Her own curse had him smiling against her lips, before he gently and thoroughly explored every inch of them.

When they finally came up for air, Marcus brushed his lips over hers. “I meant to leave without knowing the taste of you, the feel of you.” He lowered her to the floor, brushed her cheek. “I don’t know if returning will be possible.”

Fear clutched her. “Marcus—”

“For a Jinn, a wound to our power equals constant, bone deep pain. And a not so pleasant temper to go with it.”

“God above—” Claire took his hand, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. “Is that the reason for your disappearing act?”

“I owe you my life, Claire. I did not want to repay you with anger.”

“I can handle the anger, Jinn.”

A smile flashed across his face. “I have no doubt.” That smile faded as he swallowed, closing his eyes.

“Marcus—”

“All right.” He twined their fingers together. “My plane leaves tonight.”

Claire leaned against him, her free hand sliding around his waist. She refused to give in to the tears that stung her eyes. Later, after he was gone. Looking up at him, she made her decision. “Stay here. I’m going to close up the shop.”

“Claire.” He looked panicked. “There is no need to say goodbye at the airport—”

“Oh, I’m not going to the airport.” She let go of him and freed her hand, backing toward the door. “But you are getting more than a taste, Jinn, before you leave.”



*



Sprawled on top of Marcus, Claire took in a shaky breath. Every sweaty inch ached, in an incredibly satisfying way.

She rarely allowed this kind of contact, because she was never sure how she would react if she lost control. But Marcus was more than a match, even if she had still been a demon.

Under her, Marcus groaned.

“Oh, God—” She started to slide off him. His right hand spread across her back, held her. “I’m not hurting you?”

“You have ruined me. But I am feeling little pain at the moment.” Smiling, she kissed his shoulder. Just above the bandage hiding his wound. His hand moved up her back, fingers tracing the knife scar left by Natasha. “And you did not lose all your magic.”

She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. Truly.”

Laughing, she slipped over his equally sweaty chest to kiss him. He trapped her there, fingers tangling in her hair as he stretched the kiss out. They were both breathless by the time he let her go.

Claire pressed her face into his throat, relishing the feel of him against her skin, the taste of him against her lips. Hot, salty, with a touch of exotic spice.

He brushed his hand through her hair, gentle, soothing. “I miss the beauty of your length, how it followed every graceful move. I wanted nothing more than to bury my hands in it.” He pulled a strand free, let it fall to her shoulder. “But this does suit you, my beautiful mortal.”

Claire felt the subtle brush of his charm, as if he tested her resistance. “Don’t bother trying, Marcus. I’m still immune to your tricks.”