Pleasures of the Night(81)

Aidan leaped to stop him, but as quick as he’d come, the Elder was gone. Vanished into thin air.



As JB grumbled loudly and kneaded her thigh, Lyssa rolled into the sofa cushions and pulled the chenille throw over her head.

“Go away,” she protested, hating that he had woken her up. At least when she was asleep, she wasn’t thinking about Aidan. For the first time in her life, not having dreams was a blessing.

A month had passed since they’d parted, and still the pain of his loss ate at her. The intensity of her longing and sorrow hadn’t lessened at all.

It was made worse by the fact that no one remembered Aidan at all so there was no one she could share her torment with. If not for the clues left behind—the books, the pendant, his sword—Lyssa might have thought she was fucking crazy. Not that she wasn’t close to insanity anyway. Sometimes, in those dark moments when she cried until there were no tears left, Lyssa wished Aidan had cleared her mind, too. Just for a moment. One blessed moment of peace.



JB crawled over her thigh and nudged his head against her. Lyssa withdrew her hand from beneath the blanket and rubbed behind his ears.

He yawned. She cried. Crushed under the weight of her grief, she curled into a ball. Her chest heaved with painful sobs; her heart ached in all its many pieces.

Her mind sifted through her sorrow, remembering blue eyes filled with predatory heat and possessive intent. Remembering a hard, powerful body, and a savagely beautiful face. Phantom touches of Aidan’s callused hands moved over her skin.

I love you. Tell me you know that.

She did know that, with a soul-deep surety. It was both a salve and a barb. To have found a love like that, only to lose it…Knowing he was still out there somewhere, loving her, and yet they would never be together.

The doorbell rang.

She ignored it. Her mother had stopped by earlier to berate her and order her to go to the doctor. It had been torture to sit up and pretend that she was just tired, and not dying from a broken heart. Finally she’d yelled at Cathy to go away, and her mother had stormed out the front door in a huff, leaving Lyssa to collapse in relief. Going to work during the week was bad enough; dealing with prying visitors was too much.

The door opened and she groaned, snuggling deeper. If it wasn’t her mother, it was Stacey, and she didn’t want to see either of them.

“Lyssa?”

Aidan’s soft brogue caressed her skin like warm velvet. She stiffened, afraid to look. Afraid not to look. Afraid she would wake up. Afraid she had died and gone to heaven, where her deepest wish was granted.

“Hot Stuff.” The love and the concern in the beloved voice made her cry harder. Then gentle hands were lifting her, arranging her, scooping her up effortlessly. She curled into the hard, familiar body, crawling over him as he sank into the sofa. Her thighs straddled his hips, her arms circled his neck, her nose pressed to his throat, and she cried against his skin.

“Lyssa.” Aidan’s hands stroked the length of her spine; his lips pressed kisses into her hair. “Don’t cry. I see you crying and it kills me.”

“Stacey doesn’t remember…no one remembers…”

“Look at me,” he murmured.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Her head lifted, and she met his gaze—dark as sapphire and deep. So deep, with centuries of memories behind them. She cupped his impossibly gorgeous face in her hands and pressed trembling lips to his. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“I’m here,” he said hoarsely, “and I love you. Christ, I love you too much.” He took her mouth, his lips slanting across hers, kissing her breathless. His hands were in her hair, angling her to better fit his kiss. His body stirred beneath hers, growing harder. Everywhere.

Wracked with grief, confusion, and a terrible need to assure herself that he was real, Lyssa tugged up his T-shirt, her hands finding and caressing hot satin skin. He groaned into her mouth and her tongue stroked his, swallowing the sound. She felt his lust rise, felt the effect she had on him as his kiss turned from fervent love to raw, carnal desire.

Her fingers moved lower, to the waistband of his jeans.



“Wait,” he said, looking as if that was the last thing he wanted her to do. She brushed his fingers away and ripped open his button fly.

“Hot Stuff…” The gritted-out endearment made her nipples hard. It was a sound of both surrender and demand. “Don’t get me started,” he warned. “I’ve missed you until I was insane with it. Let me calm down a bit.”

“You’ll be calm enough in a few minutes.”

His cock sprang out into her hand—hard, thick, and throbbing. His breath hissed out when she wrapped slender fingers around him. His clothes didn’t quite fit, and from his earlier explanations, she knew why. It was a tiny bit of proof that she wasn’t dreaming and she latched on to it gratefully.