Owen stopped, and reached into a low hanging tree, plucking a handful of fruit. “Four months ago when he returned to England.”
“And he never mentioned anything curious? Nothing that would suggest he was in trouble at all?”
She swore his eyes were filled with an empty sadness as they connected with hers. “Vera, Tom was a great man, destined for great things. He had already achieved so much.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry you lost such a good friend.”
He removed a knife strapped by his boot and carefully cut the fruit, a sweet perfume erupting into the air. He stretched his hand out, his fingers lingering over hers. “Try this. I think you’ll like it.”
Vera stepped closer for no other reason than to be near Owen. She cast her eyes down to their fingers touching, her stomach fluttering as she put the fruit to her lips. With closed eyes, she took a bite, reveling in its sweet magnificence exploding in her mouth. When she opened her eyes, Owen stood with the fruit halfway to his mouth, as though he were struck.
Again, she blushed, and bit the corner of her mouth. Trying her best to hide the smile chasing its way to her lips.
“Has anyone ever told you that your smile looks like a secret?”
With heavy lidded eyes, she glanced back, watching as he ate the fruit. “That would be considered flirtation. That’s a concept I haven’t experienced for quite some time.”
“That’s a shame.”
Her smile broke, spreading across her mouth as the warmth of need flooded her body. “Scoundrel.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“So you keep reminding me, Mr. MacKenna.”
“I’m Mr. MacKenna again?”
She stepped around him. “It’s the proper way of things, though I suppose since I’m alone with you, unchaperoned, the proper way of things no longer matters.”
“They matter,” he said, cutting her off. “But hell if I care.”
His lips found hers and she discovered just then that she didn’t care for the proper way of things anyway.
Vera tasted of figs and sun and a life he could only dream of having. She tasted of a woman who was too good for him, she tasted like one he might even care for.
In short, Vera tasted of trouble, and damn if he couldn’t stop kissing her. First, by the fig tree, then later when they stopped for water, and now, against a rock with his knee between her legs. They’re pace had slowed but he didn’t mind that either. If only he could have these last two days with her, maybe he could rid himself of that ridiculous daydream that haunted him these years. She was an itch, a memory that was constantly there within his mind. Her voice, her touch, her kiss, a sweet salve to a life full of violence, killing, and lying.
And now he had his best friend’s sister up against a cliff, kissing her senseless, and feeling like the very devil. But at least he could die a man satisfied.
“You kiss like it’ll be your last,” she whispered, running her hands into his hair.
If he could be any more undone by her, he felt his body melt against hers. “It could be.”
“I think you like the danger.” Vera nipped at his lips, laughing as he pulled away and darted kisses along her face, to quiet her.
“If you only knew, darling.” He chased kisses down her cheek, her jaw, nuzzling aside the collar of his shirt to taste the salty skin of her collarbone.
“Tell me.” She tossed her head back, bucking her hips against his.
For such a bluestocking, she was free in giving herself over to him. Something he appreciated more than she knew. He dreamed of this after all, dreamed of her on nights alone, waking up to spill himself with ease from the ache of want.
“Vera.” His hands roamed over her body, his hand greedy as they crept lower, searching for the heat between her legs. He was a man possessed.
“What are you keeping from me?”
He was keeping everything from her, and if he wasn’t careful, he would lose his head and get them both killed. There were greater forces at play than a man and a woman playing at messy affections. If he wasn’t careful, he would slip and admit that he treasured every moment of the time they shared together.
And that, in all its glory, was more dangerous than failing his mission. Of that he was sure.
Vera hummed to herself as they emerged from the jungle to a small clearing, the sight of a small cottage a blessing after five days trekking through the jungle. Tall grass waved in the slight breeze as they made their way closer, up the worn path to the front door.
“It belonged to a group of French missionaries, but they’ve since moved on. Stay here,” Owen ordered, walking in first. A few minutes later, he emerged, flagging her to join him.
She brushed by him, smiling to herself as his hand settled protectively at the small of her back. Inside, the interior was stark. A chair and table filled the main room, along with an upended trunk. Down a small hallway, there was a bunk room, then another used for an office, and finally...
“Oh, isn’t that a glorious sight,” she exclaimed, unable to hide the giddiness in her voice. Before her lay a four-poster bed and mosquito net pooling over the mattress. She dropped her things and scrambled up on top, kicking off her boots. “I could lay here for years.”
A rich laugh sounded from the doorway. Vera sat up, her breath stilling in her chest as she observed Owen leaning casually against the entry, his arms crossed. The air in the room grew hotter, or maybe it just became difficult to breathe, either way, something funny happened. Something that felt a lot like fate barging into the cottage in the middle of the African jungle.
It struck her then, there in the dim light, that she was in love with the man watching her with such intent it was as though he were committing her to memory, one inch at a time.
He raised an eyebrow, his mouth in a crooked smile. “I’m going to fetch us some water to wash up.”
She nodded, falling back on the mattress, trying to make the world stop from spinning.
Owen arrived a few minutes later with a pitcher of water and two rags. He rummaged through the closet and found a washbasin. Without a word, he poured the water in the washbasin, then dipped a cloth in, bowing his neck as he washed his face.
Certainty struck her. Certainty that she was about to do something that women of good breeding never did, not without consequence at least.
He stood at the table, his arms braced wide as he dragged in a deep breath. She got off the bed and approached him from behind, raking her hands down his back. She reached around and undid a button of his shirt, then another before he turned to face her.
“Vera.” It was a cross between a plea and a warning.
She bent forward and kissed his chest, running her fingers up his sternum to play at the sharp edge of his collarbone, to trace the line of his jaw. “Please.” She undid the rest of the buttons, then helped him shake off the shirt to the floor. Before her stood a man who was without a doubt not completely human. His golden skin was lean sinew and muscle and solid. He was strength and power. He was the wolf, hungry for her and about to feast.
He reached behind and grabbed the second cloth, dipping it into the water. Seconds later, she felt the blessed coolness of water gently sweep across the back of her neck. Owen helped her out of her shirt, and she stood there in her corset and oversized pants, tied at the waist with a cord of rope. She stood still, her gaze cast to the floor as he untied the rope. Her pants pooled on the floor at her feet, and she stepped out of them, standing there before Owen in her drawers and corset.
Owen bent down and pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder, reaching back to untie her hair. It fell to her waist in a gentle swoosh. “Gorgeous,” he whispered. With a gentle tug, he spun her, slowly undoing the fastenings of her corset. With a deep breath, she steadied her shaking limbs, closing her eyes to the whisper of his fingers chasing down her spine. He loosened her corset, then took it off, gently setting it on the table by the pitcher of water. Owen spun her, leaning down to take t
he knife from his boot.
She looked up into his eyes, full of silent questions. With deft fingers, he slid the blade beneath the bandages wrapped around her ribs and sliced them away, revealing her bruised skin and breasts. Vera snapped her arm up to cover herself on instinct.
Owen caught her hand, gently shaking his head. “Let me see you.”
She couldn’t take her eyes away from his chest, tracing the collection of scars that tattooed his skin. That was his own map, one that held the truth to all of his secrets. Secrets he continued to withhold from her. Here she was, bare to him, and Owen had done little to reveal himself to her. And yet she couldn’t help herself. She would lie at his feet if only he would share something. She was his. It had always been so.
Vera dropped her hands to her sides and stood, her body alive with shivers of anticipation. Owen gently rubbed the cloth across her bruised ribs, rubbed the cloth below the curve of her breasts, and then wiped the valley between, his lips ghosting behind the coolness.
He splayed his hand and ran it down the length of her stomach, stopping at her hip. Her breath quickened, the warmth and want pooling in between her legs. With his free hand, he tilted her chin up to his, training her eyes on his as his hand and cool rag slipped beneath her drawers and brushed against the soft curls there.
“I don’t know if I can be what you need from me,” he said, his hand sliding lower. “But I’ll give you what I can.” The rag dropped to the floor.
His mouth crashed down hers as his finger slipped inside her. She burned alive, falling forward to lean against his warm chest. She kissed him back, losing herself in the way he touched her, in his kiss. Oh, it was maddening in the best way, in a way she could never imagine.
He bent forward, nipping at her neck as she leaned back, bowing as his free arm hooked under her bottom and lifted, carrying her to the bed. Just as suddenly, she felt the mattress against her back and his lips at her stomach. She closed her eyes as his head went lower.
“I’m not sure, that is...”
“I’m sure. Close your eyes if it helps. Find your pleasure, Vera.” His mouth found her middle and he kissed her, his tongue gentle and slow, before quickening. It felt glorious, it felt...
Oh, she was sure she would burst from the feel of it all. She tried to catch her breath, as warmth mounted urgently in her body. She ran toward it, opening her eyes in time to watch his head move between her legs. He looked up with a crooked smile, and she nodded, urging him on. She felt the pressure increase as he added another finger, stroking her inside. His thumb pressed against her core and then, like a flash streaking across the summer night, her body burned and burst, shattering around his fingers in a wave.
“I could lay here for years,” she said again on a happy sigh.
Owen climbed on top of her, kissing his way up her body before pulling her lips in a slow kiss. “I’ll never be what you need, lass. But take what you can.”
And just like that, he ruined what pleasure she had found.
Chapter 8
Vera waded deeper into the small pool of water below the waterfall, her arm covering her breasts as she peeked over her shoulder to Owen, the cottage not far beyond the horizon.
“Don’t go too far now.” His voice was a low rumble of that Scottish burr of his.
“No?” Vera turned, lowering her arm. The cold water licked her nipples as she stood before him, naked.
He dove into the water, slicing his way to her with quick, clean strokes. Strong hands tugged on her hips before he emerged before her. “No.”
“Why—”
His lips sealed over hers in a kiss, strong and intoxicating. Her knees bent below her, the ground suddenly too soft. Even the water couldn’t take away the heat in his touch as his hand slowly climbed from her knee to her thigh, wrapping her legs around his waist. She felt his length between her legs and gasped, her breath hard to find as her heart raced against her chest.
Owen bent down and kissed the column of her neck, nipping the thin skin with his teeth, before wiping away the pain with a stroke of his tongue.
“Owen,” she said in a soft plea. She was sure there was more she wanted to say, she felt the weight of the words against her chest, but nothing came. Nothing except the steady thrum of her heart. “Owen,” she whispered again.
His hands were strong as they stroked up her back and pulled gently at the nape of her neck, forcing her lips back to his for a long, breathless kiss.
“I want to do such bad things to you, love. Do you know that?”
Bad things could hardly ever be bad if they felt so good, surely. There must be some allowance of gratification in sin, or they wouldn’t have a word for what was happening between them now. Sin. Unforgivable, more like unforgettable.
“Please,” she said between a gentle kiss to his shoulder.
“Please what, lass?” He ground his hips into hers, drawing a sound she never knew she was capable of making from her throat. She tightened her grip on his hips, pressing back in equal measure, feeling the now familiar burn between her legs increase. He had brought her pleasure before, and now she wanted to do the same for him.
She cupped his face between her hands and kissed his jaw, drawing his head around so their eyes met. “Owen MacKenna, how many ways do I need to tell you that I want you?”
If he had an answer, it was in his responding kiss, how his lips kissed the corner of her mouth, slowly drawing her lips apart with his tongue before he stroked the inside of her mouth. He was just as hungry for it as she was.
Without a word, he walked them backward out of the water, kissing her neck as he walked them to the cottage. He pushed through the front entry, his lips not leaving hers as she clung to him, desperate for more. She twisted in his arms, circling her legs around his waist, and running her hands through his hair.
“Careful,” he said, his voice a sensuous warning. Owen walked them down the hall as he cupped his face firmly in her hands, her eyes locking onto his.
“What if I’d never fallen in love with you?” she whispered, struck with an enormous tide of emotion. Vera kissed him again, forcing him to slow his pace as she drowned in the possibilities that lay between them.
He laid her carefully back onto the bed, the mosquito netting pooling around them as the night’s damp air filled the cottage. Rain gently fell outside, cascading against the lush green jungle.
“You don’t have to tell me anymore, I’ve dreamed of this enough. Like this. With you here before me. Your gorgeous face.” He reached forward and brushed back her hair, then leaned down to draw her nipple into his mouth, slowly sucking it. “Your beautiful body.” He darted soft kisses down the length of her stomach, crawling over her legs and parting them with his knee. “If you want me, Vera, just know that I’ve wanted you longer. Please tell me this is what you want.”
She nodded as he paused above her, his hand resting on her inner thigh. “Say it, lass,” he said in that low burr of his.
“Yes, I want it.”
He sucked in a breath. “Thank God.” He dipped lower, his mouth finding her center, kissing her until Vera bucked up from the intense pressure of the pleasure building between her legs. She screamed out as two fingers entered her and his thumb pressed down at her core, bringing her to a shattering climax.
“That’s it, love.”
But it wasn’t it at all, she was sure of it. Vera grew greedy, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling, tugging until his mouth was back on hers and his length slid between her legs. She ground her hips against him, riding out the pleasure that rippled through her.
“Christ, Vera.”
He drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard as he entered her in a slow thrust. Vera threw her head back, biting back a scream that was somewhere between pain and pleasure. With another slow stroke, Owen washed away the hurt, bringing forth a new rush of heat as the tightness in her body began to unravel. His hips moved against her in a steady rhythm, until he rolled over and pulled her on top.
“You’re so damn beautiful.” His hands braced her waist, rocking her hips as he had done except this time, by God, it felt amazing. His hand guided his cock to her entrance. She closed her eyes as the pressure mounted against her. With a steadying breath, she slid down his length. It was so wonderfully strange to be filled with him, to feel him inside her, she mewed.
“That’s it, lass. Let me hear you.”
Owen braced his hands on her hips and moved her, showing her a rhythm her body craved without her ever knowing such intimacies. He sat up, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his mouth hungry at her throat. A wolf, consuming her without apology. She screamed out in pleasure as he bucked beneath her, sliding deeper. The room smelled of sex and the jungle and raw want and she swore the world was spinning much too fast as her body rushed ahead and came around him. He laid her down on her side, stretched her leg up over his hip and slid into her again, his fingers twined with hers. His hips ground against her, first slow, then faster, bringing her to the brink. With his mouth desperate against hers, he pulled out, and spent himself on her stomach.
The moment after was quiet, full of two of them trying to catch their breath and Owen untangling from her. He bowed his forehead to hers and kissed her tenderly. He got up and retrieved a rag, cleaning her before he crawled into bed, pulling her in close.
“Owen?”
His face was pressed into the pillow, his hair messed into peaks. His body was hot and slick with sweat. And still she couldn’t get enough of him, of what just happened between them. She felt as though she finally discovered the language of love the poets had been using for centuries. So this was love? This wonderful, filling, tiring...
His soft snores chased away her question. “Tell me I mean something more,” she whispered, cuddling in closer. “Please.”
Chapter 9
The settlement at Stanley Falls was rough, a village full of men fed on greed and sex and sin, and here Owen was, marching Vera into the center of it all.
A Spy to Call My Own: A Ravensdale World Book Page 6