Authors: Ann Macela
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense
Wild Magic (26 page)
Everybody thought it was a good idea, so Irenee, Jim, and John said good night and left. John took one elevator down to return to the hotel side. Saying he’d see her to her door, Jim followed Irenee up to her condo on the fourth floor.
All the way to her door, Irenee wondered how to ask him to stay the remainder of the night with her. She simply wasn’t sure she’d get even a little bit of sleep unless he was close.
Neither said a word until they were inside and she turned on the lights. Then Jim pulled her into his arms, and they held onto each other for a few minutes.
When they let go enough to pull back, she got no farther than “Jim, I—”
“Irenee, we both may need time,” he interrupted, his golden-green eyes very serious, “but I’m staying here with you for the rest of the night. There’s no way I’m going to be over in the other wing. I won’t be able to sleep unless I’m sure you’re safe. Your couch looks long enough, so I’ll bunk here.”
She was right. They were attuned to each other. “The sofa in my home office is a bed. It will only take a minute to open it.”
“No, this is fine.”
“Okay, let me get you a pillow.” Rather than dig one out of the closet in the office, she walked into her bedroom and pulled one off the bed. For a blanket, he could use the afghan. Coming back out into the living room, she plopped it on one end of the couch and watched as he took his weapon out of the back of his jeans and put it on the coffee table.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of guns, a big bad Sword like you?” he said when he noticed her watching him. As he spoke, he unloaded it again.
“Let’s just say, I respect them.” She hadn’t even noticed him putting the bullets-or clip, or whatever the thing was—back in the weapon before they left the Whipple’ place. More proof she was really exhausted.
“That reminds me, what was the glowing stick you had in your hand in the lobby? It disappeared.”
“My sword. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
“Fine. For now ...” He drew her into his arms and kissed her until they were wrapped around each other like jungle vines.
When they finally broke the kiss, she managed to whisper, “Sleep tight,” and wobble off to her room, so tired she wasn’t certain if she’d make it to the bed without falling on her face.
After thirty long minutes of tossing and turning—with a nagging flutter in her center—she dragged herself to the bedroom door and down the short hall to the living room. When she came around the corner, he sat up on the couch.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Neither can I.”
“My center’s bugging me.”
“Mine is, too.”
She hesitated, then blurted out the only remedy she could think of. They really did need to rest. “What if we only lie down together? Sleep, not do anything else. We’ll know where each other is. Maybe the physical proximity will help.”
“Works for me.” He got up, grabbed his pillow, his weapon, and its pieces, and came toward her. He’d taken off his jeans and had only his boxers on. He stopped when she looked at them. “I can put my jeans back on.”
She shook her head. “Too much trouble.”
She led him into the bedroom, where he put his gun on the chest next to his side. Between the weapon and her sword, they were ready for all physical threats, and she hoped there’d be no repeat of bad dreams for the rest of the night.
They climbed into bed, he leaned over to give her a little kiss, and she snuggled into his arms.
Exactly where she was supposed to be. She took a deep breath to fill her lungs with his scent, and it was the last thing she remembered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jim woke up the next morning with Irenee’s hair tickling his nose. Her head was on his shoulder and her arm flung out across his chest. He couldn’t see her bedside clock and he didn’t have his wristwatch on, but the sun was shining through a crack in the curtains. Light outside, however, didn’t mean it was time to get up. The summer dawn came so damned much earlier in Chicago than his southern California self was used to.
Bridget had told them to sleep late, so he wasn’t going to wake Irenee just yet. Instead, he’d lie here and enjoy having her in his arms. She’d had the right idea last night for them to go to bed together. He hadn’t slept so well in months. No dreams.
Of course, after that nightmare, who needed another one?
He hadn’t really had time to think through all the info and events of the last few days. My God, it was only Wednesday. It felt like he’d been here for days. This mess had only started on Saturday night—when everything seemed so simple in comparison. All he’d had to worry about was catching Finster.
Now he knew about the practitioner world and discovered he was
one of them
and could actually cast spells. He had a soul mate—
a soul mate
—and everything had become so damn complicated. It was a wonder he could think at all.
one of them
and could actually cast spells. He had a soul mate—
a soul mate
—and everything had become so damn complicated. It was a wonder he could think at all.
Strangest of all, however, he was comfortable with the whole situation. Like he finally had the answers to most of his personal problems.
How to reconcile his new situation with his job, he had no clue. If he couldn’t, would he even be able to stay with the DEA once his main objective, catching the Finster/Ubell combo, was completed? He’d have to talk to Whipple about fitting magic talents into the everyday world. What would Irenee think of his profession, either way? Please, God, don’t let her get the idea as a Sword she could
help
him with it.
help
him with it.
No answers came to mind. His antennae didn’t even wiggle.
Damn his hunch mechanism. He had to find a way to bring it under control. He couldn’t be the first practitioner with the damn premonitions. Somebody had mentioned “probability theory,” but he’d always thought that went with games of chance and odds. No, he considered his hunches more akin to data analysis, gathering all the info he could, sifting it through his mind— consciously or unconsciously—and coming out with a solution for a problem or a correct reading of a situation or a plan of action. He sure would like to be able to turn it on and off at will.
Whatever happened there, it was for future consideration.
More immediate, no,
most
immediate was Irenee. What was he going to do with a soul mate?
most
immediate was Irenee. What was he going to do with a soul mate?
One part of his anatomy had no trouble answering the question. Especially in the morning.
His brain, however, was slow to get itself in gear. He’d gone to bed last night and been asleep before his head hit the pillow, despite all the stuff running around in his mind. Then the nightmare, then the sofa, then her bed, and finally true sleep.
Before those events, she’d told him about soul mates and asked what his hunch said about them. As he lay there with her in his arms, all his conclusions came back to him full force. Having her as his soul mate would put an end to so much—loneliness, rootlessness—and he’d have someone to care about and protect and who would do the same for him.
Did he deserve her and all that came with her?
Probably not, but he’d be stupid to turn it down—and he was no fool.
Were they really and truly soul mates? She seemed to think so. The skeptic cop in him wasn’t so sure. A small prick in his center warned him to watch his thinking. All right, he’d keep an open mind. He couldn’t, however, deny the facts of her world, now his, or magic. He’d have to let the events play out before he truly accepted, fully embraced the soul-mate concept.
He had the sneaking suspicion she hadn’t told him everything, either.
None of it mattered. By God, he’d do everything in his power, magic or otherwise, to keep her safe.
His center vibrated a little in agreement, and he suppressed a growl. Every time he turned around, his center was bugging him. The damn thing was worse than swallowing a cell phone.
Right this instant ... he had a warm woman next to him. Even if she wanted to put off having sex—or, her word,
mating—
he could see no reason why they couldn’t fool around a little. He inhaled and let her slightly spicy, slightly floral scent float in his lungs. His impatient body responded—as did his magic center, which vibrated harder.
mating—
he could see no reason why they couldn’t fool around a little. He inhaled and let her slightly spicy, slightly floral scent float in his lungs. His impatient body responded—as did his magic center, which vibrated harder.
Carefully, he eased her onto her back. She frowned, mumbled something, but didn’t wake up. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked his fill. Her dark red hair was spread out on the pillow, and he gently removed a few strands from her face. She was so gorgeous—the porcelain skin of a redhead, slightly arched reddish brows, straight nose, luscious lips. He was looking forward to seeing those dark brown eyes open and make him think of diving into chocolate pools.
Chocolate pools?
Where did such a sappy term come from? He shook his head. Would he be spouting poetry next? God, he had it bad for the woman.
Where did such a sappy term come from? He shook his head. Would he be spouting poetry next? God, he had it bad for the woman.
His center vibrated again—like it was laughing. Idiot center. The way it got excited at the sight or thought of her? It was worse than his cock.
Enough of this. He was a man of action, not mushy words.
He looked down at the rest of her. Her long T-shirt was hiked up, revealing almost all of her legs, and the sight made him think how they would feel wrapped around him. Yeah, he’d show her his “spell”—his own “sword.”
He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. When they opened slightly, he ran his tongue around the soft inner lining. She stirred, and the tip of her pink tongue traced his line. She sighed, and the edges of her lips quirked up in a faint smile.
He traced the V-edge of her shirt with a finger, continued from the bottom of the V over the top of her breast, circled around and up to her nipple. Her shirt was so thin he could see the deep rose of it, and as he played, the nipple became darker and harder, like a raspberry getting ripe. He shook his head again at his flowery thoughts and noted they didn’t stop his body from reacting. In fact, they might be encouraging his arousal.
He settled his hand over her breast and gave her another small kiss. Another lingering one.
She sighed again, made a sound like purring, and responded by flicking her tongue into the gap between his lips.
He pulled back, and when she opened her eyes, he murmured, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She stared at him solemnly for a few seconds, with no sign of recognition.
He grinned at her. “Remember me? Tall guy, wild talent, hunches?”
She grinned back, reached a hand up to his hair, ran her fingers through it. “So, kiss me, Mr. Hunch Man, and tell me what your intuition says about us.”
He complied with her command.
And fell headlong into a maelstrom of wanting, of longing, of need. Desire rushed through him, tightening his muscles, speeding up his heartbeat, spreading the heat from his center to every cell in him.
In that instant, without a doubt, he knew here was where he belonged, in her bed, in her arms, in her body, in her heart.
When he ended the kiss and came to his senses, he had one leg thrust between hers, her top leg was hooked over and around his hip, and his stiff cock was trying its best to get out of his boxers. His top hand was rubbing her back up under her shirt.
She had one hand on the elastic of his underwear, like she was going to pull it away and dip her hand inside. When she moved the hand to his back and ran it up and down, part of him mourned. His mind told him it was better she hadn’t touched him where he so much wanted her to. Stupid mind.
She didn’t seem inclined to let go or to talk, and she was breathing as hard as he was. He was content simply to hold her close and rock gently until their breathing slowed. Finally, he loosened his arms and leaned back enough to look her in the face.
“Wow,” she mouthed soundlessly.
He had to clear his throat before he could say, “Yeah. My hunches are quiet, but the rest of me sure wants you.”
She cupped his jaw and ran her thumb over his cheek. “I had no idea of the strength of this ... I don’t know what to call it.
Attraction
doesn’t cover it, and every other word I think of seems too weak.”
Attraction
doesn’t cover it, and every other word I think of seems too weak.”
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