Shadow Spell (15 page)

He stood as well. “So we'll both think on it, give it all a little time and see how we feel.”

“That's the best, isn't it? It's just a matter of taking time to cool it down, think clear so we're not leaping into an impulse we could regret. We're both smart and steady enough to do that.”

“Then that's what we'll do.”

He offered a hand to seal the deal. Meara took it, shook.

Then they both simply stood, neither backing away, moving forward, or letting go.

“Ah hell. We're not going to think at all, are we?”

He only grinned. “Not tonight.”

They leaped at each other.

10

G
RAPPLING WASN'T HIS USUAL WAY, BUT THIS WAS
something so . . . explosive he lost his rhythm and style. He grabbed whatever he could grab, took whatever he could take. And there was so much of her—his tall, curvy friend.

He all but ripped off her shirt to get to more.

No stopping now for either of them, for here ran needs and urges far beyond careful and rational thinking. Here was the moment, and the next and the next would have to wait.

This bright new hunger for her, just her, must be fed.

But not, he realized, standing in her living room or rolling about on the floor.

He scooped her up.

“Oh Jesus, don't try to carry me. You'll break your back.”

“My back's strong enough.” He turned his head to meet her mouth as he walked to her bedroom.

Crazy, she thought. They'd both gone completely mad. And she didn't give a single bleeding damn. He carried her, and though his purpose—and hers—was hurry, it was foolishly romantic.

If he stumbled, well, they'd finish things out where they landed.

But he didn't stumble. He dropped to the bed with her so the old springs squeaked in surprise, gave with a groan to nestle them both in a hollow of mattress and bedding.

And those hands, those magick hands were busy and beautiful.

She used her own to pull and yank off layers of clothes until, at last—God be praised—she found skin. Warm, smooth—with the good firm muscles of a man who used them.

She rolled with him, struggling as he did to strip off every barrier.

“Bloody layers,” he muttered, and made her laugh as she fought with the buckle of his belt.

“We would, both of us, work outdoors.”

“Good thing it's worth the unwrapping. Ah, there you are,” he murmured and filled his hands with her bare breasts.

Firm and soft and generous. Beautiful, bountiful. He could write an ode to the glory of Meara Quinn's breasts. But at the moment, he wanted only to touch them, taste them. And feel the way her heartbeat kicked up from canter to gallop at the brush of his fingers, lips, tongue.

All that was missing was . . .

He brought light into the dark, a soft, pale gold like her skin. When her eyes met his, he smiled.

“I want to see you. Beautiful Meara. Eyes of a gypsy, body of a goddess.”

He touched her as he spoke. No grappling now; he'd found his rhythm after all. Why rush through something so pleasurable when he could linger over it? He could feast on her breasts half a lifetime. Then there were her lips, soft and full—and as eager as his. And her shoulders, strong, capable. The surprisingly sweet stem of her neck. Sensitive there, just there under her jaw so she shivered when he kissed it.

He loved how she responded—a tremble, a catch of breath, a throaty moan—as he learned her body, inch by lovely inch.

Outside someone shouted out a half-drunken greeting, and followed it by a wild laugh.

But here, in the nest of the bed, there were only sighs, murmurs, and the quiet creak of the springs beneath them.

He'd taken the reins, she realized. She didn't know how it happened, as she'd never given them over to anyone else. But somewhere between the hurry and the patience, she'd surrendered them to him.

His hands glided over her as if he had centuries to pet and stroke and linger. They kindled fires along the way until her body seemed to shimmer in the heat, to glow under her skin like the light he'd conjured.

She loved the feel of him, the long back, the narrow hips, the hard, workingman's palms. He smelled of the woods, earthy and free, and the taste of him—lips, skin—was the same.

He tasted of home.

He touched where she ached to be touched, tasted where she longed for his lips. And found other secret places she hadn't known longed for attention. The inside of her elbow, the back of her knee, the inside of her wrist. He murmured to her, sweet words that reached into her heart. Another light to glow.

He seemed to know when the glow became a pulse, and the pulse a throb of need. So he answered that need, drawing the pleasure up and up before spilling her over into release.

Weak from it, dazed by the flood and the flow, she clung to him, tried to right herself.

“A moment. Give me a moment.”

“It's now,” he said. “It should be now.”

And slid inside her. Took her mouth as he took her, deep and slow.

It should be now, he thought again. For she was open for him to fill. Warm and wet for him.

Her moan, a sound of welcome; her arms strong ropes to bind him close.

She rose to him, wrapped those long legs around him. Moved with him as if they'd come together like this, just like this, over a hundred lifetimes. In the glow he'd made, in the glow that gleamed now from what they made together, he watched her.

Dubheasa
. Dark beauty.

Watched her until what they made overwhelmed him, and the pleasure deepened dark as her eyes. In the dark and the light, he surrendered to her as she had to him. And let her take him with her.

* * *

SHE LAY, BASKING. SHE'D EXPECTED—ONCE SHE'D ACCEPTED
she was having sex with Connor—a rollicking rough and tumble. Instead she'd been . . . tended, pleasured, even seduced, and with a delicate touch.

And had no complaints whatsoever.

Now her body felt all loose and soft and weak in the loveliest of ways.

She'd known he'd be good at it—God knew he'd had the practice—but she hadn't known he'd be absolutely bloody brilliant.

So she could sigh now in utter satisfaction—with her hand resting on his very fine ass.

Just as she sighed, it occurred to her she couldn't possibly have measured up. She'd been taken by surprise, she thought, and surely hadn't done her best work—so to speak.

Was that why he was currently lying on her like a dead man?

She moved her hand, not quite sure now what to do or say.

He stirred.

“I suppose you're wanting me to get off you.”

“Ah . . . Well.”

He rolled, sprawled on his back. When he said nothing at all, she cleared her throat.

“And what now?”

“I'm thinking,” he said. “That once we take a bit of a breather, we do it all over again.”

“I can do better.”

“Better than what?”

“Than I did. I was taken off-balance.”

He trailed a finger lazily down her side. “If you'd done better, I might need weeks of a breather.”

Unsure what that might mean, exactly, she pushed up enough to see his face. Since she knew what a satisfied male looked like, she relaxed again.

“So it went well for you then.”

He opened his eyes, looked into hers. “I'm considering how to answer that, for if I tell the truth you might say: Since it went so well, that's all for you tonight. And I want you again before I've even caught my breath.”

He slid an arm under her, drew her over, cuddled her in so they were nose to nose. “And did it go well for you?”

“I'm considering how to answer that,” she said and made him grin.

“I've missed seeing you naked.”

“You haven't seen me naked before tonight.”

“Sure have you forgotten the night you and me and Branna and Boyle and Fin snuck out and away to swim in the river?”

“We never— Oh, that.” Content, she tangled up her legs with his. “I was no more than nine, you git!”

“But naked all the same. I'll say you grew up and around very well indeed.” He ran a hand down her back, over her ass, left it there. “Very well indeed.”

“And you yourself, if memory serves me, were built like a puny stick. You've done well yourself. We had fun that night,” she remembered. “Froze our arses, the lot of us, but it was grand. Innocent, all of us, and not a worry in the world. But he'd have been watching us, even then.”

“No.” Connor touched a finger to her lips. “Don't bring him here, not tonight.”

“You're right.” She brushed a hand through his hair. “How many, do you think, are where we are tonight who have all those years and memories between them?”

“Not many, I expect.”

“We can't lose that, Connor. We can't lose what we are to each other, to Branna, to all. We have to swear an oath on it. We won't lose even a breath of the friends we've ever been, whatever happens.”

“Then I'll swear it to you, and you to me.” He took her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers. “A sacred oath, never to be broken. Friends we've ever been, and ever will be.”

She saw the light glowing through their joined fingers, felt the warmth of it. “I swear it to you.”

“And I to you.” He kissed her fingers, then her cheek, then her lips. “I should tell you something else.”

“What is it?”

“I've my breath back now.”

And when she laughed, he rolled back on top of her.

* * *

SHE'D SHARED BREAKFAST WITH HIM BEFORE, COUNTLESS
times. But never at the little table in her flat—and never after sharing the shower with him.

He could count himself lucky, she decided, that she'd picked up some nice croissants from the cafe when she'd gotten dessert for her mother.

Along with them she made her usual standby—oatmeal—while he dealt with the tea as she hadn't any coffee in the pantry.

“We're to meet tonight,” he reminded her, and bit into a croissant. “These are brilliant.”

“They are. I don't step foot into the cafe often as I'd buy a dozen of everything. I'll go by the cottage straight from the stables,” she added. “And help Branna with the cooking if I can. It's good we're meeting regular now, though I don't know as any of us suddenly had a genius idea on what to do, exactly, and when to do it.”

“Well, we're thinking, and together, so something will come.”

He believed it, and the croissants only helped boost his optimism.

“Why don't I take you to the stables on my way, and just fetch you when we're both done? It'd save you the petrol, and seems foolish for us to each take our lorries.”

“Then you'd have to bring me home after.”

“That was the canny part of my plan.” He hefted his tea as if toasting himself. “I'll bring you back, stay with you again if that's all right. Or you could just stay at the cottage.”

She downed tea he'd made strong enough to break stone. “What will Branna think of this?”

“We'll be finding out soon enough. We wouldn't hide it from her, either of us, even if we could. Which we couldn't,” he added with an easy shrug, “as she'll know.”

“They'll all need to know.” No point, Meara decided, being delicate about it all. “It's only right. Not just because we're friends and family, but because we're a circle. What we are to each other . . . that's the circle, isn't it?”

He scanned her face as she pushed oatmeal around in her bowl. “It shouldn't worry you, Meara. We've a right to be with each other this way as long as we both want it. None who care for us would think or feel otherwise.”

“That's right. But then as far as my other family—my blood kin—I'd as soon not bring them into it.”

“That's for you to say.”

“It's not that I'm ashamed of it, Connor, you mustn't think that.”

“I don't think that.” His eyebrows lifted as he took a spoonful of her oatmeal, brought it up to her mouth himself. “I know you, don't I? Why would I think that, knowing you?”

“That's an advantage between us. It's that my mother would start fussing, and inviting you to dinner. I couldn't take another kitchen disaster on the heels of the last—and my finances can't take a bigger tab at Ryan's Hotel. In any case, she'll be off for her visit with Maureen soon—and unless that's a fresh disaster, it'll be a permanent move.”

“You'll miss her.”

“I'd like the chance to.” She huffed out a breath, but ate some oatmeal before he took it into his head to feed her again. “And that sounds mean, but it's pure truth. I think I'd have a better time with her if there was some distance. And . . .”

“And?”

“I had a moment yesterday, while I was rushing over there, not sure what I'd find. I suddenly thought, what if Cabhan's been at her, as he'd been at me? It was foolish, as he's no reason to, and never has. But I thought as well of what you said about feeling better knowing your parents were away from this. I'll rest easier knowing that about my mother. This is for us to do.”

“And so we will.”

* * *

HE DROPPED HER OFF AT THE STABLES, THEN CIRCLED
around to go home and change out of yesterday's work clothes.

He found Branna already up—not dressed for the day as yet, but having her coffee with Sorcha's spell book once again open in front of her.

“Well, good morning to you, Connor.”