Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (26 page)

Damnation.
He could not converse like this. Nor could she. Closing his eyes, he held his breath as he gave her what she desired and slid two fingers inside. She lifted off the ground, allowing him the room to swirl his thumb over her sensitive bud. Slowly he withdrew. Slower still, he pushed back in.

She moved against him, a perfect counterstroke that clamped his lungs down tight.
His body strained against a blast of fierce desire. He wanted her. Wanted her on her knees, his hands on her breasts, his cock slipping through her slick flesh. He ached to feel the press of her bottom against his groin, the clamp of her muscles as she took him deep.

If such were possible, his shaft swelled even more at the thought.
Caradoc breathed shallowly, the scrape of Isabelle’s short breaths a torture to his over-sensitized nerves. In a desperate measure to override his tumultuous hunger, he pushed her to the point of breaking by countering the backward motion of her hips with a firm press to the hardened bud between her legs.

Isabelle let go with a guttural moan.
Her flesh pulsed around his fingers, teasing him with the exquisite remembrance of how perfect that clamp and release felt around his shaft. Eyes closed, teeth clenched tighter than a vise, Caradoc guided her through her climax and willed his own to subside.

His fingers trembled as he eased them from between her legs and ran a hand down the smooth length of her thigh.
Her hips quietly fell to the ground. He did not dare to look at her as she rolled over for fear the sated pleasure radiating in her eyes would devastate him completely. Instead, he focused on the conversation she had begun. His rough voice grated over her ragged breathing. “You mentioned…angels?”

The subject matter might not be more than a child’s illusions, but ’twas the perfect opportunity to lead to the conversation he desired.
When he had finished that necessary exchange, he could cast aside this exercise in torture and yield to the need that ran rampant in his veins.

“Yes, angels.”

If he could withstand the coy way her fingers drifted up his bent leg to stroke the length of his swollen arousal over his trousers, he would be a saint. His eyes snapped open at the light touch. Hissing in a short breath, he caught her hand in his and restrained her wandering fingers. Hesitantly, he braved her heavy-lidded expression. Her parted lips called to his own, but the bright fire in her eyes that he most feared had dimmed, offering him a modicum of relief. He breathed easier. “What does she say of them?”

Isabelle’s husky laugh drifted over the faint music that drifted from the market below.
“Let’s see, there is a redhead who September says is in charge of all the others. Then there is dark haired woman with glasses—I get the impression she’s a bit of a brainiac.” Her smile widened as another laugh tumbled free. “A new one turned up not so long ago. Blond hair. September calls her the lady who knows about the mummies.”

All the fire that had rushed through Caradoc’s veins transformed into lumps of ice.
He stared at Isabelle, unable to believe she had just described Anne, Noelle, and Chloe, the first three seraphs discovered. September knew them. How could such be possible?

Tugging her hand free, Isabelle resumed her exploration of his leg.
Her palm crept up his inner thigh, slowly glided down to his knee. The merriment in her voice, however, disguised her sensual caress. “I had one imaginary friend when I was young. My daughter has three. Maybe she’s more bored than I thought. I guess I should look at preschool.”

Still unable to move beyond the incredible revelation that a young child knew the seraphs, Caradoc could do no more than blink.
As the first to be discovered and Merrick’s mate, Anne indeed led the women. There could be no mistaking the woman with glasses was Noelle, who preferred to stay locked away in the relic room studying the timeless treasures. And Chloe had come to the Temple less than three months past. She had studied Egyptian tombs the majority of her life. Impossible. Did they know of September as well? God’s teeth—did Mikhail know of this intriguing link?

Isabelle picked up Caradoc’s hand and toyed with his fingers.
Holding his disbelieving gaze, she grinned. “She even tells me I’m one. Which is sweet. She really knows how to melt my heart at times.”

Caradoc’s heart lurched into his ribs.
Saints’ blood, September knew the very things he must convince Isabelle to accept. This little girl, a child who should not exist if Isabelle’s claims of his fatherhood could be believed, knew secrets only shared between the archangels and those chosen to guard the Almighty’s realm. She had tried to tell Isabelle.

And unwittingly, Isabelle had opened the door to the same discussion he must now succeed in, where her daughter had evidently failed.

He cleared his voice to stop the sudden clogging of his throat. “What if you were?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Her bright smile lit her features despite the shadows that fell around them.
“What if I’m what? An angel?”

“Aye.”

There could be no mistaking the amusement in her hearty laugh. “My grandfather was a jewel thief. My father was part of the mafia. My money is as dirty as it can get, and Lord knows I’ve had shady customers as well.” Her eyes sparkled with her bemused smirk. “I’ve had a child out of wedlock, much to the Catholic Church’s disgrace. I’m hardly material for an angel.”

Mayhap so, but what she did not comprehend was that the link to the divine had nothing to do with act or deed.
It ran in her blood. Had existed there for centuries.

Ignoring her attempts at dismissing the conversation, he held her gaze steady and put more meaning into his voice.
“What if you were and you and your daughter were being called to duty?”

Chapter
25

T
he downy hairs along Isabelle’s arms lifted as a shadow crossed over her soul. Her smile faltered beneath the meaningful intensity in Caradoc’s eyes. Called to duty…Those words rang distinctly like the words people used for comfort when loved ones died. Worse, the phrase linked together the upheaval in her life and provided answers for all the things she couldn’t explain. It explained why Caradoc had returned to her life now, why September’s gifts manifested with such strength, and why her daughter had been kidnapped.

Possibilities she was in no way ready to confront.
Her life had never been
simple
, but that kind of complexity she couldn’t cope with. She didn’t want the responsibility of a divine purpose. Maybe once September was safe in her arms again, but definitely not before then.

And she absolutely didn’t want to have this conversation right now, when the twinkling stars and lilting music soothed, and the magic in Caradoc’s hands took her to a paradise far removed from the chaos of reality.

Shaking her head, she sat upright and leaned into his strong body. She trailed her fingertips down the length of his chest. “Me? An angel?” Her teeth caught the loose linen of his shirt in a playful tug. “You should know better.” To emphasize the sultry suggestion in her whisper, she slipped her hand over the fly of his pants and wrapped her fingers around his flagging erection. Giving him a firm squeeze, she flicked her tongue down the side of his neck. “I’d rather be wicked.”

Caradoc’s sharp intake of air sent a ripple of satisfaction thrumming down Isabelle’s spine.
She cupped him more firmly, lifted him into her palm as she caught his earlobe between her teeth. Beneath her fingertips, his cock swelled to full capacity.

“Isa...”

Low and hoarse, his whisper warned if she continued, she’d get everything she sought…and then some.

Exactly what she wanted.
For as long as they were here, like this, the other worries couldn’t creep into her mind.

“What, Caradoc?” she whispered against his skin.
Last night they had said no words. They’d loved with abandon, devoured each other in an instant, making it impossible to deny how deep their desire ran, despite their silence. Tonight, she ached to hear everything, needed the spoken confirmation that the hunger that flowed in her veins also ran in his.

He turned his head ever so slightly, giving her the perfect opportunity to dust a kiss against the corner of his mouth.
His lips sought hers, but she turned her head, leaving them a hairsbreadth out of reach. “Tell me what you want.”

A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat.
His hands latched onto her hips, his fingers biting hard. He dipped his head, scoring the exposed skin at her collar with his teeth. “You,” he ground out roughly. His breath was hot and moist against her flesh.

It was all she could do to not loop her arms around his neck and slide into his lap.
Beneath her hand, he was hot and hard, and she wanted every searing inch of that heat embedded inside her. Yet he’d resisted her attempts at seducing him only minutes before. This time, she wanted to make sure he was incapable of stopping, damn the consequences. This was Caradoc, the man she’d loved for as long as she could remember, and she was tired of fighting her heart.

As his lips ventured toward the hollow of her throat, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she whispered, “I want you inside of me.”

A shudder rocked through him, telling her that her confession held impact.
The sharp sting of his teeth, however, said so much more. He only ever used his teeth when he felt the insatiable need to possess her. She slipped her hands into his hair, holding his head in place, his lips against her skin. “Tell me you want to be there, Caradoc. That you need it as much as I do.”

“God’s teeth, aye.” he hissed against her flesh.

His hands slid to the small of her back, nimble fingers tugged at the clasp and zipper there. The fabric fell away with a wash of cool air. He dipped his fingers lower, slipped his thumb beneath the thin strap of her thong underwear to tease the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. Again, his teeth nipped at her collarbone, sending a shock of perfect pleasure rippling through Isabelle’s veins.

“Aye what?”
Tightening her hold on his hair, she tugged his head back, bringing his gaze level with hers. Though there was enough heat in that scorching gaze to make a desert seem cool, she read something far deeper than desire. Her stomach hollowed out as behind his long eyelashes she recognized the love she’d so desperately clung to in memories.

“Aye, I need you, Isa.”
His eyes never left hers, even as he brought one hand between their bodies and plucked at the buttons down the front of her blouse. Pushing aside the lightweight silk, he traced a thick fingertip along the lacy edge of her bra. “I need to touch you.” He cupped her breast in his palm, gently squeezed. His mouth followed the path his finger had taken, the languorous slide of his tongue awakening a whole new kind of pleasure. Her body tensed in anticipation. Her nipples beaded to hard points.

He would kiss her there next.
Set his mouth to her breast and suckle until she squirmed in sheer madness. His teeth would pinch; he’d soothe the sting with the swirl of his tongue. Heaven. Bliss…

Caradoc
.

Though she knew what came next, she couldn’t stop a ragged gasp from escaping as he tugged the lace aside and closed his mouth around one rosy peak.
She arched her back, her hands fisting into the thick wealth of his long hair. Moisture pooled between her legs. A low moan slipped from her throat.

It should be criminal how well he knew her.
And yet, that intimate knowledge thrilled her in ways she couldn’t explain. Making love to Caradoc always came with something more binding than the physical act. His understanding of her body, her understanding of his, created something time could not defy. They might have spent three years apart, but their energies melded with such perfection it was if the chasm that spanned between them had never opened.

“Make love to me,” she murmured.

Her nipple slid from the warm wet recesses of his mouth as he answered, “I intend to.”

In one effortless move, he laid her backward, into the crook of his arm.
With one hand supporting her between the shoulder blades, Caradoc lowered her onto her back. As he poised himself above her, Isabelle unfolded her bent knees and straightened her legs. His hands found her waist at the same time she reached for his belt. She lifted her hips, allowing him to slide her skirt and panties down her thighs. He sat back, denying her the opportunity to set him free from his pants and eased the garment off her ankles. Frustration mounted—she didn’t particularly want the sensitive, attentive lover. But as she opened her mouth to protest, the slow glide of his hand along the length of her leg silenced her. It wasn’t so much the touch, but the softening of his expression. The tenderness that caressed each inch of flesh seconds after his palm passed over it.

Warm, uncomfortable heat spread through her body and flushed her cheeks.
He’d looked at her countless times, admired even. Never like this. That he could find so much pleasure in the mere sight of her bare skin humbled her.

His hair touched her first, a gentle tickle that twisted her belly into fierce knots.
He bent over, and his blond locks dusted the tops of her thighs. The fall of his breath against the juncture of her legs made her swallow hard. The way he looked up at her and issued the silent order for her to open to him turned her throat dry. Unable to look away from his tawny stare, she parted her legs.

On a prolonged blink, Caradoc dipped his head.
One lazy stroke of his tongue against her wet flesh sent fire searing through her limbs. She flattened her bare feet, dug her fingertips into the loose soil at her hips.

“Aye.
Like so.” A hint of satisfaction poured through his hoarsened voice as he slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her hips closer to his mouth. “I have missed the taste of you, Isa.”

She could do no more than whimper.
Yet before the sound died into the waves beneath them, Caradoc flicked his tongue across her clitoris, and the quiet noise transformed into a needy mewl. She lifted into his mouth, a willing slave to the ecstasy he provoked. He tongued her again, and again, until he obliterated her ability to think. She would have thrashed and bucked, if it weren’t for the steadiness of his hands, the way he held her exactly where he wanted her, allowing her only the merest freedom to move. Subjected to his will, Isabelle turned her head from side to side in exquisite torture.

When he edged his tongue inside her quivering flesh, pleasure crashed upon her with such force she lifted forward, nearly sitting up.
But he held her in place, forbidding her escape, guiding her through her climax until her lungs loosened enough she could draw in a shaky breath. When she did, he caught her gaze through his long eyelashes, his pleased chuckle unmistakable.

She couldn’t help but smile.
Her limbs weighed down by sated hunger, she watched as he rocked back on his knees then stood to shuck his clothes. As he undressed, she took in his masculine beauty. Broad shoulders bulged with strength she now understood came from years of battle. No longer what she’d imagined as marks of boyhood escapades, the faint scars across his defined pectorals marked wounds of a more severe nature. Injuries not decades old, but possibly centuries.

Strange that he bore no further mark of time.
In every way, he resembled the man in his thirties he had claimed he was. The flat expanse of his corded belly told her exactly how much time he put into training, detailed the demands of his duty. Muscular thighs now brought visions of times long past when he would have sat atop a warhorse instead of playing the football games she’d presumed. Though the strength in his body was impossible to ignore, he didn’t possess the overdone bulges of men who went to the gym just to bulk up. Sinews rippled as he dropped to his knees. Tendons that knew how to use muscles with efficiency, and power that waited beneath the surface.

Weight braced on his arms, he wended his way up Isabelle’s body, scattering kisses from hipbone to breast.
There, he paused to suckle at the nipple he’d neglected before and laved it with equal thoroughness, stirring her desire once more. She tangled her fingers into his long hair and gloried in the flood of sensation. His skin warmed hers. The faint sent of sandalwood combined with her arousal took her back to the place she’d been moments before, when all she cared about was fulfilling the need that burned in her blood. A need only Caradoc could satisfy.

When she thought she could take no more and pressed her hips into his, he released her breast and captured her mouth.
His tongue tangled with hers, his flavor as exotic as his immortality and every bit as remarkable.

Caradoc answered her body’s subtle request with a gentle push of his hips.
Slickened from her arousal, the wide thick head of him slipped inside her body. But with that pleasant invasion, logic snatched Isabelle up by the collar. What was she doing? Hadn’t she learned the first time—even the second? Sleeping with Caradoc without protection would only get her into trouble.

Again.