My Reaper's Daughter (27 page)

performed the act by the numbers, her Reaper was taking her completely off the chart.

His body was doing things to hers she had not known existed and it was sheer bliss.

The power of him, the forcefulness and the mastery was what she had longed for in

many a fevered dream. She was no simpering miss, no untried virgin, no precious

porcelain vase to be handled with care. What she had craved, he was providing.

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His lips left hers to press against the column of her throat. “I don’t want to hurt

you,” he said, and a tremor shot through his body.

“You are not hurting me,” she assured him, and raked her nails down his back in an

instinctive goad. He reacted as she’d hope he would.

Glyn pushed hard into her velvety, wet channel, seating himself deep within her

sweet folds. The fire was building in him, lapping at his self-control, burning him to a

cinder, and he was an addict before whom an intoxicating menu of mind-altering drugs

had been placed. He wanted this woman with every atom in his body and nothing

could have stopped him from withdrawing then slamming into her again with enough

force to move her upward in the bed.

“Yes!” she hissed, and her nails drove into his back. Her legs tightened painfully

around his middle.

He was sliding in and out of her so fast he could barely catch his breath. His teeth

ground together and his fingers dug into her soft rump as he hiked her farther up from

the mattress. The toes of his boots were stabbing into the mattress and the constriction

pissed him off. With a blink of his mind, his boots and clothing were gone and he was

flesh to flesh with her, his sweaty skin sliding over hers.

“Now that was some trick,” she said with a laugh, lifting her head to look down at

the beautiful, brawny body that covered her.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he mumbled through clenched teeth.

And he took her higher still into an erotic, sensual realm where they were grunting

and panting, sweating and oozing, clenching and thrusting. Heated waves of intense

pleasure spiraled out of control and centered in their loins. The itch was so powerful it

drove them to a frenzy of mindless movement. With flesh slapping against flesh and the

bed beneath them rocking, the Reaper came with a roar of possession at the same

moment his lady found the heaven for which she had always yearned.

“Mine!” Glyn Kullen shouted as pulse after pulse of his seed shot into Mystery’s hot

body. He stilled as the last spurt erupted and held it as he gloried in the feel of her

vaginal walls squeezing around him, milking him, draining him, taking all there was of

him.

Mystery clasped him to her, her arms imprisoning him, holding him to her with

every ounce of her strength. Her legs were wound around his waist, caging him in. She

could feel his lips against her neck and knew he had sunk his fangs into her but it didn’t

matter. There was no pain, no discomfort at all, and as his tongue lapped over her

perspiring flesh, she began to quiver in his arms, feeling him shuddering in hers.

“By the gods,” she heard him whisper as he collapsed atop her. His heart was

racing in his chest and she could feel its thunder in the vein that throbbed wildly at his

throat. He was gasping shallow breaths.

“My husband,” she named him, and brushed her lips along his damp forehead.

“Yours,” he agreed. His head was on her shoulder, his lips against her neck.

“Always.”

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Mystery smiled for all was—at last—right in her world.

She must have slept for a short while for when she opened her eyes, he was

standing at the window looking out, his uniform in place. Silently she watched him,

admiring the striking masculine figure he presented with his broad shoulders and

powerful arms straining beneath the sleeves of the black silk shirt.

He didn’t look around when he spoke. “I don’t believe it will ever stop raining,” he

said quietly.

Naked as the day she’d come into the world but as unself-conscious about it as

she’d been as a toddler, she swung her legs from the bed and padded over to him,

slipping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his back. When he

covered her clasped hands with one of his, she smiled contentedly.

“Are you going now?” she asked.

He sighed. “I have to interview Simmons about the disappearances.” He turned,

breaking her hold on him and gathered her into his arms, placing his chin atop her

head. “I still have a job whether I’m inclined to do it or not.”

“You’d have it no other way,” she said, instinctively knowing that about this man.

“I guess not.” He put a kiss on her hair then eased her back so he could tip her chin

up with a crooked finger. “But I’d rather stay here in bed with you all day and listen to

the rain rather than stomp around in it.”

She searched his eyes, smiling tenderly at him. “When will you be back?”

“As soon as I can but it might not be until tomorrow.” He lowered his head and

kissed her gently, releasing her reluctantly and twisting sideways to retrieve his slicker

from the hook where he’d hung it.

“You’ll be careful?”

“As careful as I know how to be,” he replied. He hesitated—wanting to kiss her

again but realizing if he did, he might never leave. He picked up his hat, rocked it atop

his head and opened the door.

Mystery watched from the window—her nakedness concealed by the curtain—as

he dug his foot into his mount’s stirrup and flung a long leg over the horse’s back. Her

heart did a funny little squeeze of pride for this was a man in whom any woman would

delight. Tall and lean but rippling with muscles, he sat straight in the saddle as the

heavy rain pelted him. There was no slouching for this warrior. Keeping her attention

on him while he maneuvered the animal through the growing mud puddles, she felt a

deep satisfaction knowing she had won his heart.

* * * * *

Leilani’s face broke into a warm, sensual smile when she opened the door to find

the handsome Reaper standing on the porch of the main house. When he swept off his

hat, she felt heat rushing between her legs.

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“Good day, milady. Is Mr. Simmons in?” he asked the woman he took to be the

housekeeper.

“Aye, milord,” she replied, and stepped back to allow him entrance. Once he was

inside the foyer, she closed the door and turned to him. “Let me have your hat and coat,

Lord Glyn.”

Glyn was stunned by the opulence of the entryway into which he’d stepped. There

was expensive marble on the floor and he knew the wallpaper had to have cost the

plantation owner a pretty penny. He knew it had to be watered silk from Chrystallus,

and just one of the fancy throw rugs that lay like rich islands on the highly polished

floor most likely cost more than a month of his pay. As he shrugged out of his slicker,

he stared at the copper and glass chandelier hanging overhead. He wasn’t even aware

of the woman’s hands on his shoulders as she helped him out of the wet garment.

“I’ll show you to the library then fetch Mr. Simmons for you,” he heard the woman

say, and jumped as she ran a hand down his arm. He glanced around at her, surprised

at her brazenness. She smiled seductively at him. “Through there.”

The Reaper nodded curtly and headed through the archway she had indicated.

Once again he was taken aback by the richness surrounding him. Overstuffed, soft

leather chairs and dual settees flanked an enormous fieldstone fireplace, the

arrangement sitting on a plush wool rug. The floors were dark pine and gleamed from a

recent waxing. Tall bookcases ranged ceiling to floor all the way around the room and

the large array of casement windows with flowing damask draperies sat behind an

ornate desk that was nearly as big as Glyn’s bed at the Citadel.

“Fancy place he has here,” Kullen mumbled.

“Mr. Simmons is a very wealthy man,” the woman informed him. “He owns five

plantations other than this one. Please take a seat. I won’t be long.”

Glyn sank down into the lush softness of one of the leather chairs and whistled

silently. He ran his calloused palm along the buttery yellow arm, thinking it was as soft

to the touch as the small of Mystery’s back. He smiled at his wayward thought and

resumed his inspection of the library, mentally calculating how many books were

contained on the shelves.

“Lord Glyn, at last we meet!”

The man who entered the library was a complete surprise to the Reaper. He had not

known what to expect, but Anthony Simmons was definitely nothing as he had

imagined.

Tall—at least seven feet worth of tall—with hulking, broad shoulders that strained

the white lawn shirt he wore and upper arms the size of small trees, the planter had a

ruddy complexion that gave evidence of many hours spent in the hot southern sun.

Large, wide hands and thickly corded forearms said he was no stranger to hard work.

His chiseled features—hawkish nose and high cheekbones—were not classically

handsome but he had a certain look that told Glyn women would find this man more

than attractive. White teeth and pale gray eyes sparkled with health and vitality but it

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was the thick lips that caught—and held—Glyn’s attention. He’d never seen lips that

large on anyone and the sight was disconcerting. He found it hard to look away from

them.

Simmons reached him and shot out a hospitable hand. “Welcome to Sagewood,” he

greeted the Reaper.

The grip that engulfed Glyn’s hand was enough to make the lawman wince but

there was friendliness in the gaze that held his own and he surmised the man was

unaware his grasp was so punishing.

“You have a very productive-looking plantation,” Glyn complimented.

“Our people strive to make Sagewood the best in Vircars,” Simmons responded.

“Please, come and sit. What’s your poison of choice?”

Glyn frowned. “Beg pardon?”

Simmons threw back his head and laughed. He clapped a heavy hand to Glyn’s

shoulder, nearly staggering the Reaper. “Your libation, my good man,” he corrected.

“Coffee? Hot tea?” He lowered his voice and wagged his thick brows. “Something

stronger perhaps? How ’bout coffee laced with a spike or two of fine whiskey?”

“It’s a mite early for me but black coffee would hit the spot. This rain is starting to

make my joints creak.”

“Ah, well don’t I know it!” Simmons agreed, pointing to a set of oversized leather

wingback chairs. “Take a load off, Glyn.”

Not sure he liked the easy familiarity, Glyn took a seat as Simmons turned to the

woman of color who stood primly in the doorway of the library.

“Two coffees, Leilani. Fix mine as usual,” the plantation owner ordered. He sat

down in the chair beside Glyn’s. “What brings you to my bailiwick on such a brutal

morning?”

Glyn was chomping at the bit to tell someone his good news. “The reason was twofold,” he said, unaware the young woman had yet to leave the room. He did not feel her

hot stare wandering over him. “Officially, I need to ask you some questions about the

disappearances but on a personal note, I came to ask Mystery Butler to be my wife.”

Simmons’ eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “You what?” he asked in a

near-whisper. When Glyn repeated his words, the plantation owner let out a wavering

breath and asked, “How is it you know Mystery?”

Leilani backed out of the library, her fury building like a fire upon which an

accelerant had been poured. Digging her fingernails into the palms of her hand, she

strode angrily into the dining room and to the bar where the liquor was kept. With her

vision red-tinged and her jaw clamped tight, she poured a small amount of whiskey

into a cup for Simmons then added coffee from the expensive silver pot. Before she

poured the Reaper’s, she stared long and hard into the cup then a hateful smirk eased

over her pursed lips.

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“You think you want that nappy-headed bitch? Well, we’ll see about that, Mr.

Reaper Man.”

That said, she spun around and walked hurriedly to the front hall and jerked open

the door. Without bothering to grab an umbrella, she bolted into the deluge, her

slippers sinking into the mud as she ran.

“Well,” Simmons said as Glyn finished his tale of how he’d first met Mystery, “that

is very romantic, I must say.” He was staring at the Reaper, the friendliness gone from

his gaze. Placing his elbows on the chair arms, he steepled his fingers. “You must allow

me to make the arrangements with the local priest for you.”

“We’ve time for that,” Glyn said, feeling a bit uneasy beneath the stony stare that

was aimed his way. “Until this business with the disappearances is settled, I won’t have

time to spare.”

“Aye,” Simmons said with a slow nod. “And women want a man’s full attention

when she jumps the broom with him.”

The Reaper frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what that means.”

Simmons waved a dismissive hand. “It’s an old southern tradition dating back to

slave times.”

Glyn didn’t like the reference and his frown deepened. He decided a change of