Enchant the Dawn (3 page)

He had no idea what had happened, other than the forging of their connection. It scared him more than he could say. He’d fled so far away from what he knew because he thought he could escape his fate. Instead he’d run right into it. He knew if he left, he’d never again feel whole. He knew now that up until today he’d never felt whole in his life. But a part of him wanted to run again, to make sure than he and especially she, would be spared the deeper pain of separation should they build a life together.

But Mary and Giuseppe and Irene and even Tommy would not let him just escape so easily. June was already patting the girl down, coming up with a clutch purse in a deep pocket of the coat. Mary bent down with difficulty and was feeling for a pulse.

“Girl’s fine. Just fainted is all,” Mary declared in her smoky voice. Daron merely nodded in response. He should have told her not to bother to check. Daron knew in his bones, without a doubt that his
ashavi
was healthy. Whether she was “fine” was a completely different matter. Americans always simplified things to a ridiculous extent. He was not sure either of them would ever be “fine” again.

Chapter Three

Sophia was warm and comfortable. In fact, she was warmer than she could remember being in a long, long time. Not the sticky, sweaty heat of a New York City summer, or the muggy breathlessness of an Ohio August heat wave. This was the happy kind of heat that welled up from inside and kept your soul warm and toasty. This was her heartfire burning brightly, a cheery blaze that made her feel as though she was home.

But she’d never been here in her life. Deep in a forest she’d never set foot in, surrounded by the tallest mountains she’d never set eyes on, she felt completely at home. A brook rippled over rocks at her feet, splashing and bubbling filling the air with soothing calm. The dim half-light of early morning swirled visibly around her as the chill of the morning made her breath into clouds. But she still wasn’t cold.

He was here. This had been his home.

His smile was tender, but the heat in his eyes had been the tinder to set her aflame. There was only a few feet separating them, and yet it was suddenly an untamed river of swirling depths. The stream had become a ravine a thousand feet deep and dark. Only the bravest adventurer could make such a crossing.

He wasn’t terribly tall, or terribly broad, but he held a quiet strength within that called out to her. Skin like old wood polished to a luscious gleam and long dark hair that caught the red tint of the coming sunrise. And from head to toe, he wore only that gentle smile. The muscles of his chest called to be touched, the trunks of his thighs begged to have her wrap around them. Dark hair led in a tantalizing path from his navel to the pulsing cock that thrust toward her, weeping with want.

Tearing her eyes away from his body, she looked down at herself and found that she was equally nude, wrapped in nothing but a long curtain of brown hair, a style she’d left behind long ago when Jimmy had died. She was nothing special, nothing alluring like the mysterious man on the other side of the water. But somehow, she knew he wanted her.

He held out a hand, beckoning her to cross, and she resisted, sure she would fall to her death. But the hand intrigued her. Beautiful, sensual fingers would be fascinating enough, but these were glowing. Threads of light entwined around his skin, light that she knew she recognized, but her mind fled from why. She only knew that she was afraid to get any closer.

Then he took a step toward her, and she threw herself forward, desperate to stop this man from falling to his death, even if it caused her own. She had to protect him!

They met in the middle, bare feet sunk in the icy cold of the babbling brook. There was no chasm, no rapids, no real risk. Her pounding heart slowed slightly, terror and panic subsiding with the feel of the pebbles beneath her feet. But the man in her arms would not let her heart rest for long. He blew softly in her ear, and though he spoke only a word, his breath carried a thousand promises. Safety. Happiness. Fulfillment. Love.

She didn’t believe in love anymore. But she couldn’t deny the feel of his lips on her neck gave her goose bumps, and the warmth flooding her body was welcome after years and years of cold. Her arms wrapped around his ribs, her breasts were crushed against his chest and it felt like this was the way she was supposed to be. His hands roamed over her back, cupping the curves of her ass with firm possession. He felt so damn good.

His cock pressed hard against her stomach, and all she wanted was to have him inside her, to see the hard planes of his face tense with his orgasm, to see his eyes—oh those green eyes. She was lost for a moment, held suspended over the chasm once again as those eyes pierced her soul. Green wrapped around her like the strongest vine, pulling her forward almost against her will.

Then his lips had captured hers and her own eyes fluttered closed. She ceased trying to understand or trying to fight. She was bound to this man. Her hands moved up his back, burying themselves in the thick lushness of his hair, pulling him closer to her, unable and unwilling to let him go.

The kiss was hot and wet and unending. Quick breaths for air were the only interruptions to the dance of tongue and teeth, the teasing of lips and the torture of nips and bites and sighs and low, deep laughter. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs drawing tight circles over her nipples. Soon, her knees seemed to shake beneath her and he knelt, bringing her with him.

The cold water of the stream shocked her heated skin, adding another layer of sensation to her already overwhelmed system. The smooth slide of their flesh was merely aided by the water, and before she could quite understand it, he was kneeling between her thighs and he was holding her ass in his hands as his thick cock pressed against her clit. She wriggled and writhed until he was poised at her entrance, she wouldn’t accept anything less than the full measure of him within her.

He slid inside and she hissed in satisfaction, clamping her thighs around him as she wrapped her legs around his ass, allowing him to take her weight in his arms as she bucked against him, feeling every glorious inch of him within her tight sheath. His lips captured her nipples and she keened her approval, her hands clutching his biceps hard enough to leave welts. Deeper and deeper she impaled herself, until she knew that the warmth filling her soul would never go away again. Pleasure cascaded through her as she heard his deep roar, the sound of his voice triggering her own climax. She would never be cold and alone again.

Jarred awake, her eyes remained shut as she clung to the last remnants of a wonderful dream. But she knew she had to wake up, as she was not alone. She felt their presence before she heard their voices. There were three— no, four—other people in the room but only two of them were talking. One had a slow voice that caressed words like only a Southerner could. The other was clipped, almost tense and very matter-of-fact.

“Nana, we’ve got her home safe and sound. I promise I will send Patsy or Robin to check on her later if you are so worried.” This was the clipped, upper crust accent and it was followed afterward by the mewling that must be from an infant working up the energy to cry.

Sure enough, as Sophia cracked open an eyelid, she saw a nattily-dressed woman bouncing an infant in her arms. The sunlight of early morning streamed in weakly through the tiny window in the top of her basement apartment, setting aglow the dust particles that floated in the musty air.

The rusty Southern voice cut in, “Not so fas’, Miz Irene. I ain’t never seen a youn’ gal go down quite like dat. Not after what done come out of her. Dat dere was some powerful
moco
, dat’s fo’ sure. I’m thinking that Mr. West will be wantin’ one of us to stay here for a bit, to keep an eye on his woman.” This woman was old. Old as Grams had been, maybe more so. Skin that had once been dark as chocolate had faded with time to a powdery gray. But the soul within had faded not a jot. It was warm to the touch and Sophia would have basked in the forgotten glow of such energy, if there hadn’t been another silent presence in the room.

The man from her dream, the man from Central Park was standing just inside the door, as though unsure of his welcome. Or he was simply overeager to leave. Mr. West, she presumed, had bound up his hair and almost looked respectable, standing with a cap on his head and his hands in his trouser pockets. He was looking intently around the room, staring at her motley collection of jazz posters and dried herbs, dancing shoes and weighing scales, beeswax candles and French lingerie. Especially at the lingerie.

So, he’s definitely just a typical man then…sure, dear, you just try to convince yourself of that one. Those arms and that chest don’t belong to your average man
. The plain linen shirt he wore seemed too small to contain him. He’d taken off his coat, even though it wasn’t nearly warm enough in her little basement hovel. Truth was, she didn’t do much here other than sleep and she’d collected a mountain of blankets to keep her warm when she’d stopped collecting men. Not that she was averse to having a man keep her toasty. Especially the right man.

Just the thought of what she’d like to do to the mysterious Mr. West filled her energy she had no right to have so early in the morning when she’d been up all night and had collapsed in Central Park.

Right. I fainted in the middle of Central Park. Great way to handle yourself in the big city, country girl
.
He must think I’m an idiot. Or pregnant
.

She turned her head just slightly to get a better look at his face and met his eyes again as he turned toward her.

She forgot the fuzzy taste in her mouth and the pounding behind her temples. Her blood pounded through her and the room went from chilly to sweltering. Her nipples grew hard, her pulse fluttered. Her mons grew heavy, her womanhood slick. She wanted him, in a way she’d never felt so strongly in her life.

And she knew that he wanted her. He wanted her so much his eyes burned with it. If she hadn’t returned that desire measure for measure, she’d have run for the hills at the feral power she felt in those eyes.

When she was a child, the whole family had trekked up to Michigan to visit her mother’s people. They camped out by Torch Lake on a warm summer’s night and she’d gone off a way to listen to the old maples and oaks in the surrounding forest. Just as the sun was done setting, she’d come face to face with the biggest cat she’d ever seen. It was half her size, dark gray with long legs, tufted ears and a black-tipped tail. It can come out of the shadows to stare at her eight-year-old self with yellow-green eyes. Eyes filled with undeniable hunger for what it could not have. It was a hunter and she was unattainable prey.

This man held the same look in his eyes.

He said nothing to her but whispered something to the old black woman. He opened and shut the door lightly, with the conservative, graceful motions of a man confident in his body. Without meeting her eyes again, he left.

She’d be damned if she let him off that easily.

“So, you’re awake then.” Sophia turned to look at the speaker, whom the old woman had called Irene. She’d love to say something caustic, as the woman just set her teeth on edge but it was hard to be purposefully mean to a woman who was nursing a child. Irene perched in the little upholstered parlor chair she’d lugged up in the subway from Greenwich. The brunette with porcelain skin lost some of her hard edge and distant airs when she gazed down at the blond infant in her arms, the light of love softening her features. The fine silk of her blouse was pushed aside and lace camisole pulled up so that she could pacify the hungry little man in her arms.

Sophia was shocked when she pictured a black-haired little boy instead and felt her stomach jump with longing. She’d never pictured herself with a baby. Perhaps she’d struck her head on something when she fell or she managed to get dead drunk at Burt’s place and was hallucinating.

She tried to sit up but was promptly pushed back down by the old lady. “No gettin’ up now, you hear? What’s your name, honey?” If this woman wasn’t somebody’s grandma, she sure did a fine imitation, making short work of getting Sophia covered in enough blankets to fairly smother her.

“It’s Sophia, ma’am. Least it was last time my mom wrote me a letter.” Sophia wriggled a bit, not used to having anybody care for her like this. “Pleased to meet you. May I ask how I got back to my place? Last I remember, I walked in on some kind of party in Central Park.”

Irene sniffed disdainfully, looking up from where her child beat his tiny fist against her breast in contentment. “If that is how you wish to think on it, so be it. In truth, you collapsed in front of us, most likely from too much cheap alcohol.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes and restrained her baser instincts to wound. “If you thought I was just some dime-a-dozen lush, why go to the trouble to bring me back home and tuck me in?”