Tammy Falkner - [Faerie 02] (17 page)

Finn woke to the gentle hum of a song across the room and rolled over, shading his eyes from the sun that shot through the open curtains on the window.

The bed was empty, and Finn quickly sat up and called, “Claire?”

“I’m here,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. She sat across the room, her paint jars spread over the small tea table in the corner of the room. She had a canvas leaned against the wall where she painted, and three more completed paintings were spread around the floor surrounding her. “Good morning,” she said quietly.

He could wake up to this every day, he couldn’t help thinking. She was wearing her nightrail, and her hair was unbound, hanging down her back. Her hands were spattered with paint, and a smear of orange marred the left side of her nose. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

He rolled onto his side and laid his head in his hand, his elbow pointed toward the head of the bed.

“I’m in a chair.” She grinned unrepentantly. Then she shrugged. “I wanted to paint.”

“With the magic paintbrush?”

She held up the one she was using. “Just an average one,” she said.

Finn wanted to get out of bed to go and look at her work, but he needed a moment to compose himself. It was morning, and she looked damned fine sitting there across from him. He was hard as a rock, and it wasn’t getting any smaller. “What are you painting?”

She pointed to each one in turn. “That’s the house I grew up in.”

It was a manor house, much like the ones in his world. “That’s in the land of the fae?”

“That world looks a lot like this one,” she said. “Except we have fantastically odd things happen in my land that seem completely normal.”

“Will you take me there one day?” He wanted to see where she came from more than anything.

She shook her head, a sadness overcoming her features. “I don’t think so. It’s forbidden. Or at least it was for a long time.”

“Your father and Robin got to go.” He was hurt by her refusal. And hated that he was, but so be it.

“Special circumstances, I think. I doubt they’ll admit humans on a regular basis.”

Finn sat up. “What if our child is fae? Wouldn’t they make an exception?”

“They never have before.” She went back to painting.

Finn was disturbed. Very disturbed. “But you plan to visit the land of the fae with our child, should that child happen to be fae.”

She looked back over her shoulder again. “How else will he or she learn about my life and my beliefs? And magic, for that matter.”

Finn tossed the counterpane to the side and got out of bed. He no longer had to worry about surprising her with his raging manhood. That had been sufficiently doused, as though with a cup of freezing cold water.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he bit out.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, rising to her feet. “Talk to me.”

“Why should I? You have the fae to talk to. And my child, for that matter, if he or she happens to have pointy ears and wings.” He knew he sounded like a petulant two-year-old, but he didn’t like the idea of her taking his child to the land of the fae. Or to any place where he couldn’t accompany them. Not one bit. He jerked on his trousers and pulled a shirt over his head. Then he quit the room. It was either quit the room or let her see how hurt his feelings were. And that just would not do.

“Wait,” Claire called to his retreating back. He didn’t stop, so she jumped to her feet and followed him down the corridor. “Wait!” she called again.

Finn heard her call to him. He just didn’t want to hear her. He didn’t want her to try to explain away all the differences between her world and his. He didn’t want her to try to justify it. It was what it was. And what it was was damn hard.

Her bare feet pounded down the corridor behind him. It was then that it sank into his brain that she wasn’t even supposed to be out of bed, much less upset with him. He turned around and pointed his finger at her. “Go back to bed.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “You go back to bed.”

“I am not the one who has been confined to bed rest.”

“I am not the one who has his short pants in a twist.”

Good God, she was maddening.

“Don’t walk away, Finn,” she said softly. “Come and talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. It’s not going to change anything.”

He stalked toward her and she stood her ground, just lifting her nose higher in the air and squaring her shoulders. She did squeal, however, when he scooped her up in his arms and started for the bedchamber. “Put me down,” she cried.

He lowered her gently to the bed, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him down there with her, until he gave up and sat on the bed beside her. “Claire,” he warned, as he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Talk to me,” she said, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. She scuffed her hand against his beard stubble.

“I don’t like the idea of you taking our child to the land of the fae, where I can’t go.”

***

Claire could understand that. But didn’t he see that she was giving up time with their child too? If the child wasn’t fae, she wouldn’t be able to take him or her back and forth with her to the fae.

“What if our child isn’t fae?” she asked him.

“I don’t care if she’s fae or human, Claire.”

“You’re thinking about yourself,” she said softly. “This affects me too.”

“I don’t see how. You’ll be going back and forth to the fae with our child, to a place I can’t go. I don’t like it. I don’t like it a bit. And there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

“I have to give things up too,” she reminded him.

“Like what?” he snorted.

“I can only take our child to the land of the fae if he or she is fae. Don’t you see that? So, when I travel to and from there, I won’t get to take any child who doesn’t have pointy ears and wings, as you say. I’ll have to leave that child in your care while I travel.”

“How often do you plan to travel?”

She hadn’t given that any thought at all. None. “I have no idea. Whenever there’s a mission for me or I’m needed in the land of the fae.”

“Do you still want to go on missions after the baby?” His brow furrowed.

“Did you think I would stop?”

His eyes opened wide. “I’d assumed you would.”

He assumed wrong. “It’s what I am.”

“No, it’s what you were. Now you’ll be a wife and mother.”

“What does that change?” She knew her voice was rising to a dangerous pitch. But it was impossible to ignore his implications. “I’m still fae.”

“So, where’s the compromise?”

“I don’t see a compromise.”

He gave her a blank look.

“Do you intend to stop with your special investigative work?”

“Why should I?” Now he looked offended.

“Because now you’ll be a father and a husband, and if I can’t put myself in danger, neither can you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Almost as ridiculous as you asking me to stop taking missions. Goodness, you might as well clip my wings and take my memories if you’re going to do that. You’ll be taking part of me. Don’t you see that?”

“And I’m giving you part of me.” He pounded a fist over his heart.

“It’s not the same.”

“Apparently, I’m not as important to you as that part of your life.” He looked at her, and she could feel his pain. Was he as important to her as that part of her life? It really couldn’t be compared.

“That’s not the case.”

He got up and stalked toward his dressing room.

“Where are you going?” Certainly, he wouldn’t leave in the middle of their argument. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that.

“Out,” he said curtly.

“Where?” She wouldn’t let him shut her out. She just couldn’t. Not even if he wanted to.

He sighed heavily from the other room. “I need to go and talk with Robin about Mayden. To see what the next step is.”

“We haven’t settled anything, though.”

“Is that possible?” He looked around the corner of the door. “You’re not going to pick me over magic. Ever. I should have known that.” He stalked by her and out the door.

“Finn!” she called to his retreating back. Tears pricked at her lashes. The front door slammed hard behind him, and she jumped with the force of it. He was gone. He’d left and they hadn’t resolved a single thing.

***

Finn made his way across town to meet Robin and some of his men so they could make plans for Mayden’s upheaval from society. They might not be able to prove that Mayden had killed Robin’s wife, or Colette for that matter, but when they called in all of his debts, they hoped he would get scared and leave England.

Typically, Finn had all of his men over to his house for meetings like this, but he couldn’t do so with Claire there. See? He was already making concessions for her in his life. Didn’t she see that?

He was changing the way he lived. For her. And she didn’t plan to change her life at all? Impossible.

His heart twisted in his chest at the thought of her leaving him to travel back and forth to the land of the fae. Much less taking their child or children to a land he couldn’t visit. But she’d obviously picked that life over him.

He supposed he’d have to accept the cards he’d been dealt and play them as he was able. He had a woman he loved, a child on the way, would marry her in a matter of days, and he’d get to hold her in his arms every night as she fell asleep. And wake with her every morning. It wasn’t such a bad life, was it?

Robin walked into the room, and his men filed in behind him. “Let’s get Mayden on the run, shall we?” Robin said, smiling at him.

Finn nodded and they set about putting the wheels of justice in motion.

Claire sank down into her bath, the glow of candlelight the only light in the room. Finn wasn’t home yet, and she refused to give up waiting for him. He’d been scarce all week, coming in after she was in bed at night and getting up before she rose in the morning. The only time he touched her was when he thought she was sleeping. He’d pull her into his arms and inhale her scent.

The first time it had happened, Claire had rolled into him, but then she’d remembered the way he’d walked out angry, and she’d pretended to be asleep. His hands had roamed over her body, teasing her to delicious wakefulness, but she’d still pretended to sleep. He’d finally given up, drawing her into the crook of his arm as he fell asleep, his breath deep and even.

The next night, he’d come home and done the same thing, but Claire had feigned sleep again. He’d finally grunted and rolled away from her, and she’d lain there crying silently into her pillow.

Tonight, she refused to pretend. She had waited all day for him to come home. She wouldn’t give up now. When she felt like she’d need toothpicks to hold her eyelids open, she’d called for a bath to keep her awake.

Claire hung her hair over the lip of the tub, determined to keep it as dry as possible, particularly since it was difficult to wash it by herself. She settled back against the tub and tried to make a plan. Finn would come in tired. He’d been gone all day, doing whatever it was he did. And she would be waiting for him.

The door to their bedchamber closed with a soft click. Then she heard his voice. “Claire?” he called out.

She didn’t answer. She was feeling more than a little dejected, unwanted, and unloved. And now that he was home, she still didn’t know what to say to him.
Come
help
me
with
my
bath, darling?
No, that would be ridiculous.

The dressing-room door, where the big tub was kept, flew open quickly. “Claire?” Finn called.

“I’m here,” Claire said quietly. She didn’t make a move to cover herself.

Finn stumbled to a halt just inside the room. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” she murmured.

“Why are you up so late?” He stood there in the doorway, not bothering to move away as her fingers made patterns in the top of the bathwater.

“I was waiting for you.”

He froze. “Why?”

“The doctor came today.”

He was across the room in a thrice, and he settled down next to her. “What did he say?”

“He said everything is fine with the baby, Finn. Nothing to worry about anymore.”

Finn softened almost perceptibly, and then he lowered himself to sit beside her on the floor by the tub.

“Where have you been?”

“Putting out fires,” he said with a sigh.

“Fires?” She made a move to get out of the bath.

“Not real ones. The kind that Mayden likes to create. He’s not happy about his debts being called in. And he’s making a bit of noise in town.”

“Is it bad?”

“I wouldn’t call it bad. I’d call it a nuisance.”

His finger trailed up her naked arm as he leaned toward her and placed his forehead against her nose. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you this week.”

“You were angry at me. I understand.”

“Do you?” He tilted his head at her, his blue eyes dark in stillness of the room.

“Yes,” she replied. “I believe I do.”

“I tried to make it up to you when I came home, but you were asleep.”

She hadn’t been asleep. She’d been angry. “Yes.” A grin tugged at her lips, even though she really wanted to pout. “What were you going to do to make it up to me?”

He kissed her lips gently, and his hand slid into the water to skim across her breast. Heat pooled at the apex of her thighs. “So beautiful,” he breathed. “Are you almost finished with that bath?” he asked.

“I just got in, actually.” She stretched luxuriously, enjoying the way his eyes stayed focused on her breasts as they rose and fell in the water.

“How long will you be?” he asked, his voice raspy all of a sudden.

“All night,” she said quietly.

“Do you need some help?”

“With my bath? No, thank you.”

“Are you certain? I could wash your back.” He picked up a sponge and some soap, and dipped them in the water. “Sit forward. I’ll wash your back.” He picked up her hair, gathered it and rolled it, and secured it haphazardly with a pin at the top of her head. “Very pretty,” he said with a laugh.

“I probably look like a deranged pixie,” she said, crossing her eyes in an attempt to make him laugh.

“You look like a debauched pixie right now.”

“Debauched? Me? I think not.”

“If you’re not already, you’re about to be,” he murmured as he began to soap her back. His hand was unhurried, and his face was right beside hers as his hands dipped and retreated. He soaped slowly across her shoulders and down the middle of her back, feeling each lump of her spine and swirling around the dip just above her bottom.

Finn raised one of her arms above her head and soaped down the length of it, sliding across her armpit and down into the water to rinse the sponge. He did the same with her other arm.

Claire’s breasts were aching, begging to be touched. She hitched herself higher up in the tub and arched her back. But he ignored her, and soaped down her breastbone and to her stomach, where he replaced the sponge with his soapy fingers, stroking lightly where their child rested.

“I’ll never get used to the feeling of having you so close to me, growing heavy with our child. It’s like magic.”

He lifted her leg to rest on the edge of the tub, and proceeded to wash her knee and down to her toes, slipping between each one with his fingertips, tugging lightly as he moved from one to the next. Claire giggled when he brushed across the bottom of her foot. He bent his head and took her big toe in his mouth, nibbling the sensitive tip of it lightly. “Finn!” she cried.

“Oh, that is only the first thing I plan to taste, my lady,” he said with a chuckle.

His manhood pressed hard against the front of his trousers. Claire reached one hand out to touch him, but he took her hand and placed it back on the edge of the tub with a soft, “No.”

“Why not?”

“It has been a week, Claire. I can’t last if you start touching me now.”

She lay back in the tub, making sure her breasts were out of the water. The water brushed the hard peaks of her nipples, and she squirmed her bottom against the bottom of the tub.

“Something wrong?” he asked. But his tone was teasing and light and as hot as a summer fire at the same time.

“Not a thing,” she said as she reached into the tub and touched the aching peak of her left breast, just to see what he would do.

“Oh my God,” Finn breathed. But his hands didn’t stop his slow sensual assault. He walked around the tub and lifted her other leg to the edge, and soaped it, cleaning from her knee to her toes and back. Then he rinsed both legs, but he didn’t lower them. She lay there with her legs spread indecently, and she’d never felt more beautiful.

***

She’d never looked more beautiful. Finn was about to spend his seed inside his trousers, he wanted to come that bad. He leaned forward and ran the tip of the sponge over her nipple, and she responded by arching her back and pushing her breast harder against the sponge. He forced himself not to linger, however, and soaped around the curve of her breast and beneath it, careful not to touch her nipple again. He did the other the same way, and Claire was fidgeting with her hands by the time he was done.

She laid her head back against the tub and regarded him from beneath heavy-lidded blond lashes. His debauched pixie. God, he loved her.

Finn threw the sponge into the water and soaped his hands, then he cupped her breasts in his palms, testing the weight of them, testing their buoyancy… testing her. Claire drew her lower lip between her teeth to nibble it. Finn lingered about her breasts until her cheeks were rosy and damp.

“Finn,” she warned playfully. “We should probably get out of the tub before I turn into a prune.”

“We’re not done yet,” he whispered. He soaped his hands again and slid one down her breastbone, across her belly, and down into her curls, where he sifted lightly and tugged gently. She squirmed her bottom, pushing her mound against his hand.

“Is that where you want me?” he asked.

She nodded, still worrying that lower lip.

“Did the doctor say I could put my fingers inside you?” he asked, leaning close to her ear, and then he leaned in to kiss her as he parted her hot folds, sliding through the warmth that was her desire, rather than the warmth of the water.

“He said we could have intercourse,” she said. Her cheeks pinkened even more. “I didn’t ask him about fingers.”

“But you did ask him about intercourse?”

“Of course, I did. I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he said.

“But you haven’t been here all week.”

“Sorry,” he breathed as he slid one finger across the pulse of her, finding it swollen and throbbing for his touch. Claire nearly left the tub, she jumped so high. But she didn’t pull her legs down from where they were draped over the edges of the tub. And he could clearly see her curls and her most private places through the sudsy water in the tub. He stroked across her pulse again and then dipped a finger quickly inside of her to bring her own slickness forward, to mix it with the slide of the soap.

Claire arched her hips to meet him as he dragged a finger back and forth across her pleasure center, alternating between that place that he knew ached for him and her channel, which quivered every time he slid inside it. She grabbed on to his free hand with hers and squeezed it tightly, mimicking the motion of his fingertips and their speed.

He leaned his forehead against her temple and felt her wicked little breaths as they left her mouth, battering his evening stubble. She could unman him with a well-placed breath. Or a poorly placed breath; it mattered not the kind of breath. Just that she was there and she was his. And she was going to come on his fingers.

Finn slid two fingers inside her and rocked his thumb against the center of her as she arched to meet him. She was tight inside and gripped his fingers so well that he wanted to grab her from the tub and bend her over it, just so he could feel her quiver around him. But this moment was hard won. He had her at his mercy, and she had him at hers. With one breath, he could shatter along with her.

Her little pants were wicked markers of her pleasure, and they grew faster and faster. He sped his thumb, hooking his fingertips inside her so he could rub that squishy place inside her that might make her squirm.

“Finn,” she whispered, her voice too broken to respond. “Finn,” she chanted. “Finn, Finn, Finn,” and then she broke. He leaned close to her face, taking in her breaths as though they were his own. Her inhale was his exhale, and her exhale was his inhale. They shared the same air, the same space, the same body. She squeezed his fingers in a viselike grip as she broke around him. Her breasts bounced in the water as she slowed, and her head came back to rest against the lip of the tub once more. Her body was lax and sated, and she was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

“Goodness,” she breathed.

Then she curled into herself, and he wanted to wrap around her. “I missed you,” he said softly. He had. He’d missed her like crazy. Holding her at night was nice, but it wasn’t the same as talking to her. Not the same as sharing his life with her.

***

Claire looked up at him from the bath, not sure what to say to him. “Thank you” seemed inadequate. “I missed you too,” she finally said.

“When you have the wherewithal to stand up, I want to wash up really quickly.” He patted her knee and started to take his clothes off.

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Then he tugged his boots off and shucked his trousers, letting them fall to the floor as he stepped out of them.

His manhood was rigid and arched up toward his belly, purple at the tip. She reached out a hand to touch him. But he dodged her. “Do you need some help getting out?” he asked as he offered her a hand. She took it, supported fully by his firm grip and bolstered by the challenge in his eyes. She was naked. And he liked the way she looked naked, if his staff was any indication. She stepped out of the tub and let him wrap her in a towel. He stepped into the tub and took up the sponge. He arched a brow at her when she looked at his manhood. “Something wrong?”

Claire stepped toward him and sat down on the ridge of the tub. She took the sponge from him, and took up where he’d already moved it across his shoulders. She moved across his flat stomach, and he flinched as she dragged a fingernail across the ridges of his abdomen. “Careful there,” he warned. Claire stood up and went around behind him, soaping the sponge as she went. She washed slowly across his back and shoulders, inspecting his shoulders the way he’d inspected the ridges of her spine.

Her hand slipped down his belly, and she dipped into the springy curls that made a path from his navel to his manhood. He groaned aloud when she brushed the sponge across the head of his staff. “Comeuppance is painful,” she whispered, biting back a laugh at the look on his face.

“Don’t play with me, Claire,” he warned.

“Don’t play with me, Claire,” she mocked.

Claire dropped the sponge into the water and soaped her hand, then grabbed his manhood in a fist.

“I promise I won’t just play with it,” she whispered dramatically. He chuckled as he rocked forward on his heels, arching into her hands.

“I can’t take much of that,” he warned.

“Yes, you told me,” she said with a laugh. “I just want to get you as clean as you got me.”

Claire sat on the edge of the tub and looked up at him as she stroked up and down his length. His face was harsh, his teeth pulled back from his lips.

“Claire,” he warned.

“You mentioned the other day that you were going to make me come with nothing but your mouth,” Claire reminded him.

He groaned low in his throat. She dipped her hand in the water and washed off the soap, and then slicked all the soap off him with the sponge. He was gritting his teeth by the time she was done. And she was nearly giddy inside at the way she could make him feel.