Wicked Paradise (12 page)

A frown painted Ryan’s face. “Your knees.” He squatted and rolled up her T-shirt to the bottom of her thighs. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She glanced down. Blood and dirt caked her knees. Soothing aloe bits stuck to her scraped skin. No wonder she hadn’t felt pain with the healing aloe mysteriously clinging to her. “That happened when I was crawling in the cave. I hardly noticed.” The island’s healing heart encapsulated her, shivered over her knees. She literally felt the scraped skin knitting together.

Ryan suddenly scooped her up like a babe and strode toward the pool.

Indignation arose in her stomach, trouncing her leftover energy. “Put me down!” She kicked out her legs. “They don’t hurt.” She slapped her hand ineffectively against his shoulders.

“Stop it or I’ll spank you.” Mock severity masked his face, his playful mood shocking Morgan into silence. He deposited her on a slate slab alongside the waterfall. “Don’t move.”

A loud sigh escaped Morgan, and she gazed longingly at the enticing water. Dappled sunlight lit the waterfall, and the cascading sheet sparkled like gemstones feeding the pool. She looked forward to slipping in and sloughing the fiendish day off her skin, out of her hair, after she indulged in Ryan’s ministrations. She was so used to healing others on Avalon that the idea of someone caring for her caused a gentle, cheerful stirring in her heart. And the notion of the powerful sorcerer touching her sent her pulses racing.
Not again!
Evidently, the island had tricked her body to beat her head into submission in all matters concerning Ryan O’Rourke. A frustrated groan slipped out.

Ryan returned with a cloth and a hollowed coconut brimming with water. He cleansed the dried blood off her knees. Diligently, he picked out each speck of debris, tossed away the aloe bits, a perplexed look on his determined face.

“I have a healing salve in my bag. I’ll use it after I bathe,” Morgan offered behind closed eyes. She leaned so far back on the boulder, she was practically prone. Drowsiness overcame her, and her limbs grew languid.

Silence greeted her. Morgan thought Ryan had left, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him drop his loincloth to the ground in front of her. For the first time, she glimpsed him fully without the leather garment.

Startled, Ryan froze, staring down at her upturned face, as if waiting for her to say or do something. Without an ounce of embarrassment, her gaze crawled up Ryan’s suntanned torso. Rivulets of sweat cut through the dirt coating his skin, striping him like a tiger. Her senses ravished his flat, rippling stomach, his powerful chest, the crusty edges of the rune tattoo. Her brand. His lips parted, revealing a hint of straight white teeth. His smile spread to his eyes, deepening his dimple the slightest bit. She internally tramped down the twist and pulse of desire staging a scorching comeback south of her stomach.

Ryan’s half-lidded eyes held an immeasurable promise. She reached out and touched his wrist, barely conscious of licking her dry lips or of her hard nipples straining toward the sky. He stroked his thumb across her palm, and electricity arced up her arm. Not another muscle stirred in Ryan’s body until the caws of two swooping ravens tattered the tense silence.

He groaned. “You’re killing me.” With that, he spun on his heels and dove into the pool.

The waterfall masked the splash of his body hitting the water and the pounding of her heart in her ears. Morgan swung her head back and laughed, the first time in what seemed ages. She reveled in the influence she held over this man of immense strength, who stirred feelings in her she desperately wanted to explore. Little did he know he was killing her, too.

She propped her elbows on the smooth stone, unable to take her sight off his magnificent, sun-worshiped body. His muscular arms knifed through the water as strong fluid legs scissored the pool’s length. Despite her renewed exhaustion, arousal sprawled from her middle and sprung a need she never knew existed until she met Ryan.

The magnitude of her feelings for him inundated her and dismay quickly hammered her longing. The other vision she suffered during the earthquake flooded back. The fleeting image of Ryan making love to another woman—Lauren Blackwell—on the altar of a crumbling church on the night they announced their coven pact was like a knife dicing her heart into pieces. Lauren Blackwell, a Druid leader in her own right, was worthy of her claim on Ryan. What did the horrid vision foreshadow?

A jealous hatred ignited in her chest. From her earlier scanty visions of Ryan’s life, she recognized his fierce loyalty to his people. “Defend and lead,” was his motto. He would find a way to return home for their sake, leaving her on the island, alone as she always envisioned herself on a dying Avalon. In time, maybe her father’s beckoning spells might bring her a man she could love. Or maybe love simply wasn’t part of her destiny. Wistfulness pricked her heart as she stared at Ryan’s strong, beautiful body standing erect beneath the waterfall.

The raven pair cawed loudly, diverting her troubled contemplation. The birds landed on a straggly oak branch above her head. One alighted above the other, then fluttered down to perch beside its mate, scooting together until their wings tangled. Were the birds destined for one another? Did the island bring them together? Morgan’s thoughts clouded. “Get lost, you mangy featherheads.”

Chapter 13

An owl hoot interrupted the serenade of chirping crickets and croaking frogs in the grotto. Not a breeze stirred the humid air. The relaxing sounds of life combined with the plummeting waterfall loosened Ryan’s stiff muscles. It had only taken him a couple of days living in paradise to realize how much he missed the bursts of nature he experienced in his busy reality before the Horde Wars destroyed all plant and animal life. Now, he never wanted to live without the sight and sounds of a precious world protected from the blight. If he found a way, he’d love to bring the covens to the island. As it was, he hadn’t figured out how he and Morgan landed there, where they were, or if other islands like it existed.

Taking his nightly check around the grotto’s perimeter, Ryan’s thoughts centered on Morgan. He couldn’t fathom knowing her anywhere but on this idyllic isle, possibly the last piece of the proverbial paradise pie. In their dream, they had met in a verdant meadow. If what Morgan said about traveling from the past was true, she had never seen his destroyed world, and it gladdened him. She didn’t belong in that hell. She belonged to the island.

His heart twitched, and he wheeled away from his reverie to collect firewood from the stack outside the alcoves. Thick stone kept the caves cool from the sweltering heat, but at night, they got downright chilly. If it were just him, he’d not bother with a fire.

Morgan slept on, regenerating her powers, while he made do with a few hours of fitful sleep on the cold, hard-packed cave floor. When the fire died down, he revived it and prepared a meal for when Morgan awoke. He forced himself not to stare at her willowy body cuddled on his bed. He fought the overwhelming urge to climb into the furs and bundle her softness against him, to let her soft curves smooth his hardened edges.

While she slept, he brewed tea with the herbs she’d given him. Hell, he couldn’t walk about 24/7 with a perpetual hard-on. The cool waters of the pool hadn’t slaked his demented thirst for the sorceress either. He’d even tried to swim off his frustrations to the point of exhaustion. No luck there. The useless tea relaxed him little more than a beer.

“Damn it all to hell.” He knocked his neat stack of kindling into a heap, wanting to knock out his idiot brain cells. Too bewitching, too distracting, he’d let her get to him when they had a boatload of things to discuss. He sensed Morgan had withheld vital information during their conversation in the destroyed cave. Ryan wanted to get to the bottom of it after she awoke, before he acted on his crazed impulses to seduce her, losing his mind in her totally.

He hefted the crudely split wood into the cave, tenting pieces inside the fire ring. Blowing on the embers, he coaxed flames to life. Ryan snuck a glimpse at Morgan. The bunched furs at her side revealed the outline of her breasts, barely concealed by a sheer gown. Her rosy nipples strained against the material, and the warmth flowing down to his groin reignited the fire in his body. An instant hard-on put an end to Morgan’s impotent herbs. Nothing was strong enough to dampen his internal fire for her. “Damn it.” He knocked his fist on the wall. “Get your shit together, man.”

As if feeling the weight of his lust upon her, Morgan’s eyelids fluttered open. She rose up on one elbow, pulling the fur over her chest, a shy smile tilting up her dry lips. “Did I sleep long?” She yawned, visibly battling to keep her sight fixed on his face, rather than sliding lower to the bane of his existence, which stood at attention, unfortunately, at her eye level.

Disgust ran through Ryan at his foolish lack of control. Morgan knew how she affected him so it was useless to hide it. “It’s evening.”

Fire licked at the wood, brightened the cave. Flames and shadows tangoed on the walls, and the memory of the rune images mirrored on them screeched back. In the day’s events, he’d forgotten the displays of power and the amulet’s spell. The brand on his chest tingled, causing him to recall Morgan’s lips soothing his skin. He groaned aloud and twisted away from the sight of her shapely beauty taunting him. He almost summoned his fire magic to kill his longing, something he’d only had to do as a girl-crazy teen.

“Are you all right?” Morgan’s small hand settled on his arm, alabaster against the black tattoo—his family’s crest—circling his biceps. So wrapped up in stomping down his arousal, he hadn’t heard her move off the bed.

“Yes. No. Ah, hell!” He shrugged his arm, dislodging her fevered touch, turning around to face her. “What did you do to me?” He balled the amulet in his fist. “Why did this brand me? What do these symbols mean?”

“They are rune marks.”

“No kidding.” He sneered. “I figured that out.” He grabbed her slight shoulders, his eyes practically bulging from their sockets. “What do they mean?”

Firelight blazed in her eyes, reflecting her caginess. “They are of little consequence.” In obvious avoidance, she wrung her hands, shuffled her feet.

“You made the damn thing, so they must mean something.”

She swished a hand in the air. “Fanciful words I strung together as a child.” She broke away from his loose hold. The back of her knees hit the sleeping wedge, but she held her ground, hands on her hips.

He knew she held back—felt it in the minuscule clamp on their bond. Like a bird dangling a worm in front of its hungry mate and then gobbling the worm itself. Morgan narrowed her eyes with a mad raven, beady look that turned him on more than any look should.

Feet spread in a defensive stance, he towered over her as if to force his dominance upon her. “Why did the amulet burn into me? What kind of magic was it?”

“Does it still hurt?” She pursed her lips. “I have a healing balm that will help.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Ryan edged closer to her. “Why did the amulet draw my attention in a stormy sea before my boat capsized? Why did I clutch it when I washed up for dead on this gods-forsaken island? Why does—” Ryan was unable to ask her why his magic leapt alive and danced around his heart whenever she was near, or why the amethyst gave off a hum when lust raged through him. The barely perceptible din annoyed the hell out of him because it never ceased. Why did her magic touch his? Why did he sense some of her emotions? He shouldn’t feel this way! Magic like this didn’t exist. Although he’d read about ancient Druid magic, binding rituals and the like, they’d disappeared centuries ago. Fomorians burned every book they got their grimy paws on after the Wars. His people managed to hide several caches of history books in the consecrated churches, but nothing he read explained Morgan’s spells.

It didn’t matter. He’d escape the island soon, return to killing evil and protecting his people. Those obligations called to him every minute of every day. Unable to wipe away his frown, he snagged his hands through his hair, scratched his scalp.

Morgan rested her delicate hand on her dagger belt. “All will be made apparent when the Goddess wills it.”

Ryan laughed scornfully. Maybe he ought to toss her a piece of her avoidance pie. “I want
you
to make it apparent for me.” Gently, he captured a handful of her long, silky hair and wound it loosely around his fingers.

Anger stained her cheeks. “I cannot.” She clamped her fingers around his wrist—barely able to reach half its circumference. “Unhand me, or I will be forced to use magic on you.”

Energy spiked between them, raising the hairs on their arms to dance in the slight breeze kicked up by the heat of the fire.

A wicked smile split his mouth. “No magic,” he warned in a low voice. “You don’t want to risk WindWraith’s attention. Who knows how long my crystal barrier will last. If it actually works.”

“You jest with me.” The hesitation in her voice clouded the irritation in the set of her jaw.

“Try me.” He smoothed her flyaway hair, his thumb stroking her neck. Dipping his head, his lips caressed the tip of her satiny ear. “You say you cannot tell me, but I think you mean you
will
not tell me.” He licked her lobe. The rune brand on his chest stung. His crystal gleamed brighter, hummed louder as heat spread from his center of power, southward.

Morgan inched backward with nowhere to go. He wound his arm around her waist, preventing her from falling on the bed. He recognized yearning in her darkening eyes, and his blood smoldered in response.

“Where did you get those beautiful, expressive green eyes?” His mouth brushed over hers. Her lips parted in anticipation but he resisted the temptation.

She collapsed into his bracing arms. As he leaned down, she molded her soft curves into his hard body. “From my mother,” Morgan breathed out on a whisper. Her voice was like wind chimes in a cool ocean breeze.

Emboldened by the little noises in her throat, he nuzzled her neck, alternately nibbled and kissed a path to her ear. Sucking her lobe into his mouth, his tongue tantalized it before he slid his mouth ever so slowly across her jaw to her plump lips. Her floral scent coated his senses like aged whiskey.