“Marcus—oh, God—” A gasp cut her off. He finally reached her breasts, his hands taking possession.
She arched against him, his touch setting her on fire. Marcus pressed his lips to her damp skin. In a move that left her breathless he captured her wrists in both hands, lifted her arms over her head. The tips of his fingers brushed their way back down her arms, tracing the lines of her body until he reached the hem of her gown. His fingers closed over the indecently thin fabric and pulled it off her in one smooth move. With a wicked smile he dropped it, the tiny gown landing on the floor.
He worked his way up her throat, brushed over her lips—then he left her on the bed, shivering and frantic for his touch. After an endless minute he returned to her and wrapped her in his arms, skin on skin. She let out a ragged sigh, buried her hands in his glorious, wild curls.
“Claire—” She smothered his voice, kissing him with a desperation she knew he felt. Lowering her to the bed, he shifted until they both lay side by side, facing each other. “Tell me.”
With a sigh, she kept her gaze on his chest. “Zach—”
“Not Zach. I want to talk about what you are unsuccessfully attempting to hide from me.” Long fingers cradled her chin, applying pressure until she met his eyes. “Do you think I cannot feel your pain, your growing weakness? You have not been well since we returned from England.”
Claire pulled out of his grasp and rolled to her back, staring at the ceiling. The tears she couldn’t control anymore stung her eyes, slid back into her hair. Marcus pressed his lips to her temple, so gentle it simply made the tears come faster.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in, brushing at the tears with his thumb. “When there is love, sweet, worry is part of the package.”
“God above—what did I do right in my misspent existence?”
“I wonder the same, every time you look at me.”
Claire let out a watery laugh. “Should we make a list?”
Marcus smiled, for the first time since he stepped in the door. “There you are. I’ve missed that sharp humor.” The smile faded, and he tightened his grip on her. “Tell me what I can do.”
She knew there was nothing. Her spirit had been shattered by the spell, her strength used up in her fight against it. Touching the scar on his left cheek, she kissed his jaw, leaned into the warmth of his skin, hoping some of it might seep into her. “Just love me, Marcus. Stay with me.”
He stilled at her words. “Tonight?”
“And tomorrow.” She lifted her head, met the jade green eyes. “And the day after, and then the day after that. Rinse and repeat, as Annie would say.”
“I will need more than just your tomorrows, Claire.” When she tried to pull away he simply held on. “Marry me.”
Everything stilled inside her. Never, in the centuries she had existed, did she expect to hear those words. Now that the only man she wanted to hear them from actually said them, she wasn’t sure she could make a commitment.
“I don’t—Zach—”
“Is making his own way.” Marcus tilted her chin until she met his eyes. “Whether or not he comes back to you, this decision is yours, Claire.”
“Marcus,” she whispered. Closing her eyes for a long moment, she let out a breath, and followed her heart. “Yes.” He looked so startled she wanted to laugh. Instead, she framed his face with her hands, and leaned in to kiss him. “Yes, Marcus of Sinai. I will marry you.”
She gasped when he yanked her off the bed. It turned into a laugh as he spun her around the small bedroom, both of them stark naked, threatening to knock over every piece of furniture. He finally lowered her to the floor, leaned his forehead against hers.
“I love you, Claire Wiche.”
Tears stung her eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. “You are the first, and the last, Jinn. My heart is yours.”
He answered by kissing her. Heat wrapped around them, laced with the sand that had created him. Claire felt it brush her skin, a caress, an acknowledgement that he trusted her absolutely. She slid her hands over his waist, around to his back, felt him take in a sharp breath when her fingers found the whip scars. Scars put there by his own kind.
Marcus broke off the kiss, looked at her. Gold striated the jade green depths of his eyes, proof of his power, and his need. “I want to do this soon, sweet. I have waited long enough for you.”
Claire knew he was right, and absolutely justified. Especially since he almost lost her six months ago. But she needed—