by Ann Macela
He didn’t confine his caresses to her back for long. The temptation was too great, she was too close, he was too deprived. He entangled his left hand in her curls to cradle her head. With his right, he nudged her pelvis closer to his.
Ah, right there.
She wiggled, and they achieved the perfect fit—at least with clothes on.
He took the kiss deeper, and she responded with a purr and a tilt of her hips against his rigid cock that almost stopped his breath. He had to have more of her, so he brought his right hand up and over her shoulder and down. A slight movement of separation, and he was able to cup her breast, to run his thumb across her nipple, already tight within the confines of her bra.
Johanna made a sound, partly like surprise, partly like pleasure. When she pressed into his hand, their centers aligned.
And heated.
And hummed.
Desire flooded his body, intensified his need, overwhelmed his patience, and he began kissing her like a wild, hungry man. She kissed him, just as fiercely, and that inflamed him even more. A thought crossed his mind fleetingly—he was losing control.
He didn’t care.
Then she rubbed across his rock-hard erection. The last bit left of his rational thought process blew away, and Saxt gave himself over to pure sensation and pure Johanna.
When his brain regained command of his body, Saxt discovered they had moved—to the floor. She lay on her back with her legs wrapped around him, and he was right where he wanted most to be.
Except they were fully clothed.
He raised up and supported himself on his arms to lift most of his weight off her. After a few seconds of deep breathing, he finally sucked in enough oxygen to ask hoarsely, “Are you all right?”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she mouthed the word, “Wow.”
He grinned and gave her a quick kiss before he maneuvered himself to stand and help her up. She stumbled as he lifted, and that only brought them into each other’s arms again.
Johanna started laughing, and he joined in as they clung to each other. When they separated, still holding hands, she gasped out, “We have to stop …”
“… meeting like this,” Saxt finished.
“Oh, corny. Coooorrrrnnny,” she complained and swatted his arm weakly with her hand until he captured it in his.
“But true,” he stated firmly. He raised her hand to his lips in salute. When he let go, the feeling of loss came so swiftly that he almost grabbed her again.
She appeared slightly disconcerted for a moment before she sighed. “I’d forgotten how strong the imperative is when it activates the urge to mate.”
To relax still tense muscles and take his mind off his aching lower body, Saxt used both hands to rub his face. “Me, too,” he groaned. “I think for the most part, though, it’s leaving me alone. How about you?”
“No jabs to the solar plexus, no excruciating pain. I’ve heard horrible tales from others.” She walked over to the cabinet, took out two water glasses, and held them up with a questioning look. When he nodded, she filled them with ice and water and handed him one.
Saxt took a long drink. Although he didn’t experience any lessening of the heat in his middle, his body relaxed, thank God.
After refilling the glasses, they turned on the lights, went into the living room, and sat on her long couch—one on each end. Better that way, he figured. They both knew the effect of proximity.
“I’ve heard the stories of the imperative’s interference and have seen what happened to a couple of other practitioners also. They were rejecting the soul-mate connection, however. We’re not. Or I’m not.” Saxt waved at the distance between them. “Right now, I can feel the pull to you, the need to touch, to have you beside me. The attraction kicks in when we do touch and escalates like power in the spinning ring when we hug or kiss. Then we lose control.”
“I’m not rejecting the idea either. I would like some time to get used to it,” she replied. “I agree completely on the ‘losing control’ aspect. It all simply feels so darn good.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Rain after years of drought.”
“I have had a few other problems at night,” Johanna said. “My dreams have been a little weird, more in the ‘anxiety’ mode. Especially those like last night’s where everything goes to pieces in my classroom. Spells going off all over, nobody paying attention, I suddenly forget every spell I ever knew, those crazy sorts of problems.”
“Sounds like real life to me,” he said. He’d had weird dreams—no, not dreams. Nightmares. No, one nightmare. The crash. He wasn’t going to tell Johanna about that yet. He wasn’t ready. Besides, it was too late tonight to start a tale that heavy.
Then he remembered the dream that followed the nightmare. The one with Johanna. And that made him harden again. Time to change the subject. If the imperative was mostly leaving them alone, he needed to learn how to divert his own libido.
Or not stop until they were bonded. He still didn’t think she was quite ready for that, however. He wasn’t sure he was. Events, problems, revelations, you-name-it were all coming too fast. Damn it, they had met last Friday, and this was only Wednesday. The mess with Bellman didn’t help at all. Which reminded him …
“I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you this evening.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Whatever for?”
“For standing up to Bellman the way you did. Lots of people would have knuckled under and agreed to fight him.”
“Oh, that,” she scoffed. “Lots of men, perhaps. The women around here have his number, and we don’t play his games. Remember, I’ve seen Phil in action. I’ve watched men with lesser levels fight him simply because they didn’t want him to call them cowards. I’ve seen them lose. He rarely fights those of his level or above. Basically, he’s more of a bully than Chuck. He’s certainly had time to perfect his technique. If Phil knew I was a fifteen, he’d never have issued the challenge.”
She took a sip of water and placed the glass on the coffee table. “On the way home, I was trying to think of what we could have done to or with Phil to straighten him out as a teenager or a young man. I don’t remember hearing that the masters really tried to. Short of assigning him to a ‘Grim Reaper,’ I doubt any remedy would have worked. I’ve known and dealt with him since I was thirteen and he was sixteen. What you see in Phil now has always been there in one form or another.”
Johanna paused, frowned, and looked down at her hands before she lifted her gaze to his. “I think you need to understand my position, Saxt. Or maybe you do, and I need to hear you acknowledge it. I’m not afraid of Phil. I can take care of myself. I am an experienced Sword.”
She raised her hand to stop him from commenting and continued, “I do appreciate your standing close to me when Phil was throwing all his verbal garbage around, both in the conference room yesterday and in the arena today. I was glad you were next to me if we needed to protect Barnaby. I was afraid Phil might do something foolish. Fortunately he didn’t. But I’m not used to being protected, and when I think about it, I don’t want to be. I’m a Sword. I fight my own battles.”
His earlier thoughts ran through his mind while he considered what to tell her. How they coexisted as Swords was almost as important as how they lived as mates. He hadn’t had the chance to talk with other mates of Swords, so he had no new information, no examples for comparison. He’d have to go with the feelings in his gut—and in his heart.
“I know you’re a Sword, and I know you can handle Phil,” Saxt said, gazing straight into her eyes. “I do understand the urge to protect that comes with the blade, or maybe it’s part of our individual nature from the beginning. I have it also—as you pointed out. I won’t deny that seeing you up against a powerful evil item—or a nutcase like Bellman—will scare the hell out of me. I expect you’ll feel the same way when I’m in the pentagon.”
He leaned toward her and stretched out his hand. She put hers in it. “I can’t ignore my protective instinct
s any more than you can. We’re probably going to drive each other crazy until we learn how to accommodate them. We will learn. I promise, I won’t go over the top—well, not after the first couple of times. Can you make the same promise?”
Johanna glanced at their clasped hands and back at him. A sudden grin lit up her face. “Yes, I can. We’re going to make a great team, aren’t we?”
With her question, a heavy weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying lifted off his shoulders. That was the first time she’d made an unequivocal statement they were mates. “We already are one.”
She must have recognized the import of their statements because her grasp tightened, and her expression turned serious. “You’re right. We are. Oh, Saxt, we must have more time together. We hardly know each other. We have so much to talk about, so many decisions to make.”
“We can’t achieve real time alone in the middle of this damn circus. Tomorrow’s Thursday. What’s on the agenda? Miriam and Barnaby are leaving after lunch. Jake’s not scheduling training until next week.”
“I have two extremely promising young Swords from Springfield coming in for a refresher class in the morning. Lunch with Miriam and Barnaby. After that, the day is clear.”
“What about Friday?” he asked.
“Nothing that can’t be delayed or handed over to a substitute. Saturday is my usual morning class—the one with Ben. Afterwards, an hour with him alone. I’m free by about eleven.” She raised her eyebrows at his grin. “Your crafty look tells me you have an idea. Am I about to hear another of your famous ‘Falkner Plans?’“
“Oh, ye of little faith.” He gave her a mock disgusted grimace. “Okay, here’s what we do. Tomorrow, we clear our Friday calendars. After we send Miriam and Barnaby home, we take off. Come here, go into the city, whatever we feel like. Don’t even think about the HeatherRidge, classes, training, new methods, councils, committees, all that. Simply relax. By ourselves.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said with a sigh. “Do you think this will work?”
“Absolutely,” he replied with a confident smile. “What could possibly go wrong?”
He pulled her into his arms for a good-night kiss. Half an hour later, there he was, driving to the HeatherRidge with another hard-on.
Tomorrow night will be different. They’d have all the time in the world to get to know each other much better. Despite the pain, he grinned all the way.
Chapter Twenty-One
In a thoroughly kissed, overly aroused, absolutely aching state, Johanna watched Saxt drive away. As his taillights disappeared, she lowered the garage door against the snowy night, but not before a little wave of cold seeped into the house. She shivered. Funny, she had been so warm when Saxt was around.
As she turned off the lights and climbed the stairs, she thought about what she had said to him. We’re going to make a great team, aren’t we? He’d given her such a look, she’d known immediately how he heard it—as a statement of commitment.
They were a team.
Should she have asked him to stay? Gone ahead and sealed the bond?
No, too much, too fast.
What was holding her back?
No answer occurred to her while she climbed the stairs. No answer except … Billy.
In her bedroom she turned on the dresser lamp and stared at herself in the mirror. She saw a woman with slightly swollen lips, a warmed complexion, very mussed hair, and a perplexed expression. She hardly recognized her own reflection.
Her gaze dropped—how could it not—to the photo of her and Billy. It was an eight-by-ten close-up of them smiling at the camera. She picked it up and held it next to her face to compare the two women in the mirror.
No, to compare the girl and the woman.
The eighteen-year-old girl had lighter blond hair, the same shape and color eyes, a slightly thinner face. The woman had a few lines—more of stress, she feared, than laughter—and knew how to apply makeup more subtly. The girl had a carefree smile and appeared totally happy. The woman was definitely confused. Or was she resigned? Why wasn’t she happy?
Johanna hugged the photo to her chest and gazed straight into her own thirty-five-year-old eyes.
She had made a decision without even realizing it until the words were out of her mouth.
Or had she already made the decision in her heart, and her head was finally catching up?
When she told him, We’re going to make a great team, she’d acknowledged the fact they were soul mates. She knew it, and he knew it.
She said the words out loud. “Saxt and I are soul mates.”
Her confusion faded. Acceptance replaced it. Her center hummed, a vibration that tickled slightly, as if coaxing her to laugh. She tried a tentative smile, which slowly became a genuine one of pleasure.
Johanna Mahler and Saxton Falkner were soul mates. They had each other now. The bone-deep loneliness she suffered on long winter nights would vanish, replaced by companionship, someone to share life with. Someone to love and be loved by.
Her magic center hummed harder and danced around with a syncopated rhythm that made her grin.
Getting to know him better was going to be interesting. What were his politics? What did he like to read? She wanted to learn more about his business. How he did it, how he found companies to invest in. Where did he like to go on vacation? Was he a stay-at-home sort, or did he like to go out? He did like sports, even if his choice of teams was unfortunate. If they were home together, would he leave her alone to paint?
They were already on the same wave length magically. Their discussion about Swords and the protective instinct proved that. Saxt was smart, and reasonable, and correct. They were going to be able to deal with each other’s Sword duties. Though, like he said, they would drive each other crazy while they adjusted to the situation.
She expected she’d never truly enjoy watching him in a pentagon, but she’d keep her anxiety to herself. She hoped he could do the same. Neither needed any distractions when they held a blade drawn against evil.
Would they, could they be on the same team? She’d never even heard of a Sword-Sword combination of soul mates. Surely several must have existed in the long history of the Defenders. Weren’t there some in legends? On the other hand, being team mates and soul mates probably wasn’t a good idea—if something went wrong, you wouldn’t want both mates in a family injured. She and Saxt would have to discuss the possibilities.
Oh, they had soooo much to talk about—attitudes, values, approaches to problems, his schedule, her schedule, living accommodations, blending two lives.
And children? How did he feel about children?
She hadn’t told her parents about Saxt yet, either. Okay, she could do that at their regular call on Sunday. By then she and Saxt would have it all worked out—she hoped.
She hoped she had herself “all worked out” as well.
Johanna studied the photo again. Billy had been such a good-looking young man. She had loved him very much—with the first love of a teenager living the dream of a fairy tale. No cares, no worries, no real thoughts about what the future might hold except more of the same.
Had he been jealous of her? What would have happened to them if he hadn’t died?
Growing up, all you ever heard about soul mates was that they lived happily ever after. She’d never doubted she and Billy would have a wonderful life together. At age thirty-five, she had to wonder. Was the idea a fable or one big wish?
Practitioners were people, after all, with all the quirks, foibles, and neuroses of everybody else. As a teacher dealing with ages ten up to adults, she had seen all kinds of families, all sorts of dysfunctional situations, soul mates or not. Chuck Ogden and his parents were only the latest example.
Practitioners recognized the strains and difficulties working magic caused and the need for stable personalities. They took care of their own. Their counseling programs and psychiatrists and psychologists were the best around. Assuming, that is, those in need recognized the
ir problems and asked for help in the first place. Would she and Billy have ended up in counseling? She simply didn’t know.
Maybe, using counselors or not, soul mates were able to work out their problems based on the bond forged in the first mating. Maybe the bond held the man and woman together, gave them that bedrock basis of love that weathered all difficulties. Children, of course, could be another matter. God knew, teenagers were sometimes from another planet.
Oh, for pity’s sake, she was woolgathering and totally off the subject—which was Billy. And Saxt. And her refusal to look at and accept reality. Or, she had accepted but not realized it—as proved by Billy’s absence in the photos downstairs and her ignoring the one she held in her hands. In the here and now, Billy had been gone a long time. She and Saxt were alive and single, and the soul-mate phenomenon brought them together as mates.
Deep in her heart, she knew Saxt was the man for her and she the woman for him. She didn’t know if she loved him yet. Not that it mattered. Given the soul-mate phenomenon, she was certain love—deep, abiding, adult love—would come.
It wouldn’t, however, unless she let go of the past. Maybe it was time to do that consciously, irrevocably.
Johanna gazed at the face of her young lover and, because she needed to hear the spoken words, said aloud, “I love you, Billy, I’ll always love you. I’ll always hold a place in my heart for you. But I’m alive, and I need to put the past behind me and look forward to the future. You’ve been gone for seventeen years. That’s long enough to mourn.”
She knelt down and pulled out the bottom drawer, where she kept odds-and-ends, especially things she couldn’t bear to part with. Carefully, she placed the framed photo in it and closed the drawer.
The air of finality about the gesture made her catch her breath for a moment. At the same time, an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders, leaving a sensation of light-headedness behind. With a deep sigh, she rose carefully and walked into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.