Witch Blood (14 page)

Brushing his lips languorously against hers for several moments, he broke the kiss and cupped her cheek. “Maybe you can practice on me.”

Isabelle stumbled back, feeling a little breathless. No man but Thomas had ever made Isabelle Novak feel breathless.

She swallowed hard and tried not to let uncertainty show in her eyes as she remembered the panic attack she'd had in front of the Coven the other night and the inviting length of the driveway leading away from the building.

But she didn't want that anymore. That fear. That loneliness and self-reliance that she'd been wearing like a protective coat of armor for as long as she could remember.

Gazing up into Thomas's eyes, she realized just how much she wanted
him
. Not just for the sex, but wanted his strength and caring, his protectiveness and intelligence.

She smiled, letting the uncertainty bleed away from her eyes. “I want to try, Thomas.”

He leaned in again and kissed her senseless. She hung on to his shirt, fingers fisted, as his lips worked over hers—teeth nipping at her lower lip, tongue exploring her mouth. Warmth bloomed through her chest, comfortable and nice.

When he stepped away from her, Isabelle could hardly focus her gaze, but Thomas had a distracted look on his face.

“He's collecting them,” Thomas said, rubbing his chin the way he did when he mulled something over. “That has to be it. He's going after certain witches with certain qualities and absorbing their magick. Once he has the right combination, the right balance, something happens.”

Isabelle took a moment to yank herself from the Hormonal Happy Land where Thomas's kiss had sent her and focus on the important issue at hand. “A doorway opens and he gets to go home.”

“Exactly.”

“He trades the lives of at least four witches just so he can go home.” Anger vanquished the last of the passion Thomas had kindled in her moments ago.

“I'm sure we're nothing but cattle to him.”

She chewed the side of her thumb, thinking. “When we foiled Boyle's attempt to take the little girl yesterday, he simply found other witches to fulfill what he would've gotten from the child. Like ingredients for a stew.” Her voice broke on the words. “So there's no way for us to protect anyone.”

“You did protect someone.”

“But in the long run—”

He cupped her chin and guided her gaze to his. “No. Isabelle, this was not your fault in any way. Don't even go there. I know it's hard. I'm trying not to go there either. I keep thinking there should've been some way to stop this from happening and I feel guilty I didn't—”

“There was nothing you could've done—”

“
Exactly
, Isabelle. There was nothing either of us could've done.” He stared into her eyes for several heartbeats, his vehement words echoing through her mind.

Isabelle pulled from him and walked away a few paces. He was right. Plus, they didn't have the luxury of wallowing, not if they had any chance of finding Boyle and protecting future victims.

“I know,” she answered. “We need to concentrate on the task at hand and not dwell on might-have-beens. Boyle will kill again and this needs to be about those targeted witches, not us.” Sorrow for Brandon and Mary clogged her throat and made the words come out husky. Because of the moisture memory, she almost felt like she'd known them.

“Yeah. That means sleep so that we can function at our best. We both need to get some of it. It's late and we have a long day ahead of us.”

She snorted and turned toward him. “Sleep? That's not something I'll be getting much of tonight.”

He sighed in defeat. “Yeah, me neither. Drink?”

“Definitely.” She considered the options. “I have some great peppermint tea in my room.”

“Tea? I was thinking bourbon, whisky, or scotch. Hell, maybe tonight all three at once.”

“Are you afraid drinking peppermint tea will hurt your manly image?”

His lips twisted. “Only if you serve it in tiny china teacups and make me raise my pinky when I sip it.”

“I won't do that, but I will put lemon in it.”

“I can hardly wait,” he answered in a dry tone. He motioned toward the stairs. “Lead the way.”

Once in her room, she poured two mugs of steaming hot water from the purified water dispenser, plunked a couple of peppermint tea bags in each one, and then finished them off with the highly anticipated lemon wedges.

Thomas sat sprawled on the couch in the sitting room, looking too big for the small area. He had one long leg extended and one arm thrown up on the couch back. His silky hair cascaded down one shoulder and he'd unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. She could see a bit of smooth, fine muscled chest beneath. Even though she tried to suppress her reaction to him, her mouth watered.

He glanced at the pieces of clothing she had lying around with a raised eyebrow. A blue shirt was draped over the back of a chair. A pair of jeans lay wadded up in the corner. She remembered how spotless his room was. Though from Thomas she'd expect no less. At least she hadn't left any of her underwear wadded up on the floor.

“No one ever said I was tidy.” She shrugged and handed him a cup. “Voilà.”

He took a sip, grimaced and set the cup on the table.

Isabelle sank into a chair across from him. “Mmmm…I love a man secure enough in his masculinity to drink a cup of tea. It's so sexy.”

Thomas picked the cup back up again and leaned against the couch. Isabelle hid a smile.

“You did a fantastic job at the warehouse, Isabelle. It took a lot of courage to tap the moisture in the room. I know what it cost you. I don't regret asking you in to help out the Coven.”

“Well, I'm glad you think I did a good job, but my agenda isn't the Coven's agenda, it's my own. They just happen to coincide in this case.” She took a sip of the tea. “So don't go offering me a job or anything. I won't accept.”

He held up a hand. “Wasn't going to. You've got a career already. You're a travel writer, right?”

“Yes. Although I wouldn't call it a career, more like just an excuse to take trips.”

She didn't have to work for money. It was the one way Catalina seemed to show she cared about her daughters, though dollar bills were a cold substitute for motherly love.

“I never travel unless it's on Coven business.”

“What? You never get vacations?”

Thomas shrugged.

“Oh, I get it. You just don't
take
vacations.”

“Not usually.”

He rested his feet on the coffee table in front of him, slumped in his chair and let out a deep groan of relaxation that Isabelle felt all through her body. Thomas rolled his head lazily. “So, tell me about some of the places you've been.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Eqypt, Tibet, India, Australia, Russia. I've been just about everywhere.”

“What country do you like best?”

“That's like asking a parent to pick their favorite child. All countries have different good points, depending on what time of the year it is.” She paused, thinking. “I don't know. I would have a different answer to this question every single day.”

“So what's your answer today?”

Smiling a little, she reflected on some of her favored places before answering. “I love Naples, Italy, in the spring. I love the smell of the city and the yowling of stray cats everyone feeds at the water's edge. I love waking up and down the cobblestone streets to buy a loaf of fresh bread. I love sitting in an outdoor cafe and drinking small, strong cups of coffee while I eat the warm bread straight out of its white bakery bag.”

He took a sip of the tea, grimaced again and set it on the table. “So you do that alone?”

Isabelle fought the urge to defend herself. The comment pricked and she knew why.
Yes, alone
. She was always alone. Only until recently had that become tedious.

“I like being alone,” she answered simply.

He nodded, but his eyes said clearly that he didn't believe her. He was right not to.

“So what about you? Why no vacations? Why no traveling?”

“My work has kept me in the States for the most part. I started working for my father when I was fifteen. When he died, the Coven appointed me head. This job has taken all my time and energy.”

Isabelle
tched
. “All work and no play.”

He gazed at her through hooded eyes. “Do you think I'm a dull boy, Isabelle?”

She smiled. “I wouldn't say
that
. I would say that I might be a loner, but you're a workaholic.”

“We're the perfect pair.”

“A match made in hell.”

A speculative look enveloped his face. “All opposites, you and I. You can't stay still and all I've ever done is stay still. I'm patient and a planner and you're impulsive.”

“You drink champagne and eat gourmet food and I like Ho Hos and Diet Coke.” She rested her head on the couch back and dropped her eyelids to half-mast. “Like I said, a match made in hell.”

“Or somewhere.”

They sat for a while in companionable silence, Isabelle with her feet tucked beneath her. She closed her eyes for a moment, but opened them when she felt Thomas take the cup from her hand and set it on the coffee table.

“It's time to sleep,” he murmured. “We have a demon to catch tomorrow.”

She nodded and stood, wavering on her feet. He caught her around the waist and she leaned into him, enjoying for a moment that he could take her full weight and not even notice it. Thomas guided her to the bed and undid the buttons of her shirt with deft fingers.

She gave him a heavy-lidded leer. “What exactly do you think you're doing, Mr. Monahan?”

She'd been going for playful, but his expression was serious. “I'm getting you ready to sleep.” He dragged his gaze to her eyes. “It's not like I haven't seen you naked before.” He eased her shirt down and off her shoulders, then unbuttoned her pants.

She had mixed feelings about his response and the businesslike way he undressed her. On the one hand, she'd wanted to avoid any more intimate contact with the dangerous Thomas Monahan. On the other hand, now that he was here with his hands on her and the scent of him teasing her…

“You're such a gentleman,” she murmured.

He sent her pants sliding down her legs and glanced at her face. “Trust me when I say I really don't want to be a gentleman right now. Where are your pajamas?”

She reached around and undid her bra. The bit of fabric fell to the floor between them. “I don't own any.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. He slanted his mouth over hers and parted her lips, spearing his tongue into her mouth hungrily. He tasted like peppermint tea and lemon.

Thomas wrapped his hands around her waist and slid them up her bare back. One hand pressed her against him, the other found her nape and controlled the movements of her head while he kissed her.

When they finally pulled apart, she breathed heavily. “I think I just decided I don't want you to be a gentleman.”

“Isabelle,” he murmured, “you're a confusing woman.” Then he pushed her backward onto the bed and came down on top of her.

This was wrong, so very wrong, but damned if she cared right now.

S
HE CURLED HER LEGS AROUND HIS WAIST, FEELING
the ridge of his hard cock rub against her tender flesh. The scent of him—part cologne, all man—teased her senses, and the brush of his hair over her skin raised goose bumps along her flesh. She loved the weight and heat of him on top of her; lying flush up against Thomas Monahan was fast becoming one of her favorite places to be.

“Being confusing is part of my charm,” she sighed as she slid her hands between them and impatiently undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt. “Keeps a man on his toes.”

Thomas only grunted in response and slid his palm down her outer thigh and under her to cup her bottom and grind himself gently against her. They both groaned. Isabelle's clit plumped with need, becoming sensitive and yearning to be stroked.

Lady, she had to get his clothes off a lot faster than this.

She finished with the buttons of his shirt and ran her hands over his chest, feeling the smooth, hard muscle that lay beneath his satiny skin and the rough rub of his chest hair.

“Off,” she ordered softly and he shrugged his shirt down his shoulders and threw it to the floor. “Mmmm…much better. You have an exceptional upper body, Thomas.”

He dropped his head to a breast and murmured, “So do you. Can't keep my mouth off it,” right before he took a nipple between his lips.

Isabelle arched her back at the erotic, punishing scrape of his teeth, followed by the soft swipe of his tongue. The combination caused lust to flare low in her body and made her want much, much more.

Rolling to the side, he reached down between them and yanked her panties to her knees, then dragged his hand between her thighs. His fingers found her swollen, aroused clit and petted it while his lips worked over one nipple and then the other with exquisite care.

“You have an exceptional lower body, too,” she breathed, running her palms up his biceps and over his shoulders to enjoy the satiny hardness of him—like silk poured over steel.

He chuckled low, sending vibrations through her breast. He raised his head for a moment and murmured, “Is that a hint?”

Isabelle threaded her fingers through his long, silky hair that spread over her chest and stomach as he moved, and closed her eyes. “Uh, maybe. Not sure I'm capable of something as complex as a hint right now, though.”

In an impatient, almost rough gesture, he pulled her panties all the way off. Pleasure warmed her sex and tingled through her body, making her half-crazy with the need to feel him thrusting deep inside her. She moved her hips toward him in an unconscious way, seeking his cock to ease the throbbing ache he'd kindled in her.

He dragged his hands up her legs, and parted her thighs. For a moment, he just looked down at her, taking in the view of her aroused sex. Then he dragged his skillful fingers over her folds, rubbing between her labia until she moaned, and slid them inside her.

She felt the walls of her sex clamp down as he moved them in and out. Isabelle rode his fingers, fisting the blankets on either side of her, and tossing her head.

“Hint or no hint, I need to taste you,” he murmured, dropping his mouth to kiss between her breasts. He trailed his tongue down, over her abdomen, into her belly button and lower, all the way to her clit. There he teased her with his tongue and lips until she felt herself break apart beneath him.

Pleasure burst over her body, swamping her mind and forcing her to arch her back. Thomas rode her through it, petting her sex and tonguing her clit when her climax stuttered nearly to a halt. Her clit became sensitive almost to the point of pain, and then her orgasm flared again, engulfing her body once more and making her cry his name.

Once the ripples of pleasure had subsided, she yanked him up and kissed him, her tongue skating between his lips to mate with his. She dropped her hand to the waistband of his pants between them and undid the button and zipper as fast as she could. Not wanting to take the time to pull his pants off, she simply pushed them down far enough to pull his cock out and stroked it in her palm until he groaned into her mouth and shuddered against her.

“Isabelle, I want you,” he rasped.

She smiled against his lips at the need in his voice. “I'm right here. Not going anywhere.”

He pulled away from her and nearly ripped his pants and shoes off. Thomas stood for a moment, watching her. His hair had fallen across his face, shadowing his eyes. She let her gaze travel over his gorgeous body and long, wide erect cock for a moment. The man's beauty was breathtaking.

Then he stepped forward, grabbed her by the back of the knees and pulled her so her ass was nearly off the edge of the bed. She gave a squeal of surprise.

Thomas grabbed her wrists and pressed them to the mattress above her head. She had a flicker of unease that made her breath catch, but then Thomas kneed her thighs apart roughly, and guided his cock into her and she forgot her fear, forgot everything.

He held her hands above her head and pushed into her wet heat slowly until he'd seated himself to the base. He stayed that way, staring down into her eyes. Isabelle's heart beat faster. With her wrists restrained, his cock buried deep inside her and his dominant, almost challenging, gaze on her, she felt trapped, possessed. It edged her pleasure with the slightest bit of panic that she fought to control.

Thomas withdrew and thrust back in, steadily increasing the pace of his thrusts, setting up a rhythm that would soon send them rushing headlong into ecstasy.

She dug her heels into the mattress and curled her fingers around his wrists as he held her captive. Pleasure skittered through her sex and up her spine, signaling her oncoming climax.

Thomas rotated his hips a little, driving into her by another angle, one that brushed the head of his cock against her G-spot with every thrust. Isabelle sank her teeth into her bottom lip and came. It slammed into her body with the force of a train, stealing all her thought and her breath momentarily along with it. She felt the muscles of her sex pulse and ripple along Thomas's thrusting length.

“Isabelle,” he breathed a moment before he released himself inside her with a long, rumbling groan of pleasure.

They lay tangled together, breathing hard. She'd thrown one leg around his waist and the other now hung off the side of the bed. Thomas released her wrists after a moment and she rotated them. He'd held her firmly, but he hadn't hurt her. Oddly, she felt a bit sad that their contact was now broken.

“Isabelle,” he murmured again as he moved to her left with a groan of exhausted satisfaction. “You kill me, woman.” He crawled onto the mattress and collapsed. After a moment she followed him.

Thomas rolled onto his side, tucking up against her body and propping himself up on one elbow, and stared down at her with an unsettling intensity. He said nothing. He didn't need to say anything; his emotions lay in his gaze.

Thomas cared for her a great deal.

That knowledge made a wisp of fear curl through her stomach, brought images of long, dark winding roads and airport terminals flickering through her mind. Instead of giving in to her fears, she reached up and cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble that he hadn't shaved since that morning.

She'd meant what she'd said about
trying
. For the first time in her life, she'd found a place and a person she just might want to hang around for. Maybe. Thomas Monahan was worth a closer look, at least. There was no doubt about that.

Idly, he stroked her breast, playing with the nipple until it hardened and she squirmed on the bed from the heat it kindled in her sex. “Never thought I'd fall for a high-maintenance woman.”

Her eyes widened. “First of all, who's
falling
for anyone? This is all about the sex, bub. Second of all, who's high-maintenance?”

He chuckled. “Funny.” Then he lowered his head, closed his lips around her nipple and she forgot the flare of panic she'd felt when he used the words
falling
, as in
falling in love
, in reference to her.

His hand slipped between her thighs to stroke as he paid careful and thorough attention to each of her nipples in turn. Her breath came sharper and her body tingled. He could play her like an instrument, make the sounds of pleading fall from her lips like music.

Dangerous was the man who could make her beg for him….

“Thomas.” One word. His name. But it was spoken like a prayer and an entreaty all at once.

He kneed her thighs apart and slid between them, slipping his cock into her body as though it were a part of her. His hand followed the curve of her waist and hip until it slid under her buttocks to cup her against him as he rode her so slowly the pleasure made tears sting her eyes.

Yes. This was a man she could stay for. Here was a man who could be her home. The thoughts came into her mind like leaves falling from a tree, so naturally. In a haze of pleasure, she felt warmed by them.

Her climax rose slowly this time, teasing her with the edge for many moments until it stole over her and then exploded. It rolled up her spine and through her body, thieving everything in her world for a moment that wasn't directly related to the sensation.

Thomas responded to her climax only a moment after hers had ended. He groaned her name low, while she scattered kisses along his throat and gently dragged his skin between her teeth.

After it was over, he pulled her to the side with him, burying his face in the curve of her throat and breathing heavily.

“Orgasm blindness,” she murmured.

His breathing paused for a moment and he lifted his head. “What?”

“Orgasm blindness. When I climax, for those few moments, I can't think at all. Can't focus on anything but the pleasure. It's like I'm blind and deaf to everything else.” She adjusted so she lay on her side and propped her chin in her palm. “Is it like that with men?”

“Yes.” He pursed his lips. “Although you seem to have that effect on me all the time.”

She buried her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of him and hiding the pleasure his words gave her.

Eventually Thomas's breathing evened out and relaxed into that of deep slumber. Her thoughts were heavy tonight, and complex, just as complex as the emotions that Thomas engendered in her.

She might be falling in love with him.

That realization came with equal parts terror and joy. Joy that she might actually be capable of a deeper relationship, a tie with another human being. The terror came from the same thought.

Unable to sleep, she slipped from under the blankets, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a light white sweater, and left the room. Wandering the halls of the Coven in the dark was actually relaxing. The gentle magickal hum of the building's wards warmed through her, soothing her. Just the very leading edge of morning filtered in through the windows. The world outside was still hours from truly stirring.

Finally, she reached the library and slipped inside. She knew why she'd been drawn there; within, it smelled like Thomas. This was his favorite room in the Coven, the one that doubled as his office. The place was steeped in the energy of
Thomas
and she felt comforted here.

She hesitated at the doorway, suddenly torn between wanting to enter and wanting to go back to Thomas. The desire jarred her. She'd never wanted to return to a man's bed before. Moving by only the light that filtered through the big window, she felt her way to Thomas's desk and flipped on the lamp.

Then she turned around and came face-to-face with Boyle.

Isabelle stared into the demon's eyes for a moment, unblinking. Adrenaline zinged through her body. His eyes were flat gunmetal gray. She'd expected them to be empty, but they weren't. The demon's eyes were full of emotion, of personality. Like a human's.

One would have to have emotion to want to chew on the bones of a child, wouldn't one? One would have to have a force of personality to lie in wait within an attorney's office for an innocent witch and then suck the life from her body and the magick from her soul.

Isabelle lunged backward, skidding over the top of Thomas's desk, knocking everything off and grabbing a letter opener she'd seen as she went. The demon didn't move as she put the heavy piece of furniture between them and brandished the weapon in her hand.

“You killed my sister.” She didn't even realize the words had come from her throat until they were out. They didn't even sound like they'd come from her, so low, so sinister, so gravelly. “You killed those four innocent witches. You tried to kill that little girl!”

The demon remained disconcertingly motionless, his eyes unblinking as his gaze bored into her. “It was necessary. I needed them.”

The answer was far from satisfactory. Pure rage blossomed in her chest. She moved from behind the desk. Taking her eyes from the demon fleetingly, she glanced to note Thomas's sheathed sword lying against one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. That would be so much nicer to have between herself and the demon than a tiny letter opener. As it was…