“Thomas, what happened?” Hurrying to his side, she sat on the edge of the mattress. Before she could even reach for the quilt to pull it aside, he flung it off and threw himself at her. Startled, she folded him into a hug, rocked side to side. “Shh. It’s just a dream.”
“He’s going to take me away,” he sobbed into her shoulder.
Isolde smoothed a hand down his back and tightened her embrace. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to take you away.” Except for his father, who insisted boarding school was the best choice. Damn Angus. She clenched her jaw.
“Yes he is. He’s going to take me away. But you can stop him.” His arms gripped her with twice the strength an eight-year-old boy should possess. He shook like a leaf caught in a violent gale.
His fear tore at her heart. Wishing she could absorb it into herself, she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the top of his head. “No, no, sweetie. It was just a dream. I promise—”
The door she’d left open only a crack banged into the wall a second before Angus barged inside. His white linen shirt hung on his shoulders, unbuttoned. Her gaze skipped down the unexpected, breathtaking glimpse of smooth bronzed skin, noting defined pecs, chiseled abs, and a fine line of dark hair that disappeared beneath his half-buttoned fly. As misplaced desire fluttered in her belly, she looked back to his face. Beneath dark rumpled hair, worry registered in his white-washed expression and widened eyes. But as that darting gaze registered on her, it narrowed. Fury sparked in the next heartbeat.
She didn’t need him to speak to know what that glare meant. He faulted her. He’d warned her about Thomas’s nightmares, and although Thomas had said nothing about Camille, Angus placed the blame squarely on Isolde.
As he approached the bed, she stiffened.
“I’ve got this, Isolde.” Angus settled a hand on Thomas’s shoulders and tugged.
“No!” Thomas clung tighter, his short nails digging into the small of her back. “Isolde!”
Every instinct she possessed ordered her to not to let go. To hold onto the terrified little boy until his tears subsided no matter how angry Angus was. But it wasn’t her place. Angus was his father, and the way he was prying Thomas out of her arms made it clear she was unwelcome.
“It’s your father, Thomas,” she soothed as she plucked his tiny hand off her waist.
“No, no!” Scrambling to free himself from Angus’s grasp, Thomas reached for her.
If Angus couldn’t see the damage his decision to send Thomas to boarding school would cause, he was more foolish than she’d ever believed possible. Tomorrow, she’d have it out with him. If he insisted on this unacceptable idea, she’d leave. She couldn’t sit back and watch him torture his son this way.
She ignored the violent twist to her heart and gently urged Thomas into Angus’s arms. “Go on, sweetie. Go to your father.”
Another heart-rending sob tore off Thomas’s lips as he stopped fighting and allowed Angus to pull him onto his lap.
“Easy, son. You were dreaming.” His gaze flicked to Isolde, and if it were possible, the fury in his green eyes intensified.
Enough to warn Isolde she didn’t dare linger. With an affectionate pat to Thomas’s head, she reluctantly backed away. If Angus weren’t being such an ignorant ass, she might have found the scene touching. Might have paid attention to the flip of her heart as he brushed a kiss against the top of Thomas’s head. But as it was, the knowledge that Thomas’s nightmare stemmed from Angus’s ridiculous decisions, the picture of father and son filled her with disgust.
Hypocritical jerk.
Turning her back on the pair, she left the room and returned to hers. The moment she shut the door, the earlier awareness of her sire’s presence smacked into her. A finger of foreboding raced down her spine, spreading goose bumps over her skin. He should not be so close.
As worry gripped her, she crossed the room and picked up her cell phone. She hated to disturb her brother Fintan so soon after his fiancée finalized her move, but putting him on alert couldn’t hurt. He was the only one close enough to make a difference if she needed help. With Brigid now a virtual prisoner to a demonologist, Fintan didn’t need to stay in Scotland and watch over her either.
She thumbed a text message in: Any word on Taran’s whereabouts? Something’s not right here at Hatherly. Drandar’s close.
Not expecting her brother to be up so late, she jumped as the phone vibrated in her hand. But before she could glance at the screen, her bedroom door thumped open. Isolde dropped the phone on the desk and turned.
Angus filled up the doorway, his expression tight with restrained anger. He kicked the door shut with his heel and took two purposeful strides inside that made the lapels on his unbuttoned shirt flutter. Isolde resisted the trip of her heart as she once again experienced the perfection he hid behind his tailored expensive suits.
He stopped three feet away. Well away from her personal space, but she felt the furious current rolling off him as if he’d entered it anyway. “I told you that showing him those things would lead to this.”
“Is he asleep?”
“No thanks to you.” He slapped an open palm against the side of her wardrobe. “Damn it, Isolde! Four years, we’ve gone without these terrors. Couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”
“Me?” Her voice rose in indignation. “In case you didn’t notice, he didn’t mention a word about Camille. He was wailing about you taking him away. Now get out. I’ve had it up to my ears with your ridiculousness. I haven’t argued this much in years.” Centuries if she wanted to be truthful. The last time she’d fought like this had been when she and Taran were forced to share the same living space. She’d been sixteen, and he ten. Even then, their polarized births on opposite sabots had them at constant odds. When she’d moved further south the following year, she’d known peace for the first time.
She moved to the door, prepared to open it for him, but Angus stepped in front of her and blocked her path. The muscles in his chest bunched as he folded his arms. “I’m not leaving until you swear you’ll drop the subject of his mother.”
Isolde gritted her teeth against a chain of angry curses, defiantly holding his gaze. Slowly she exhaled and forced her body to relax. The pent up tension only made it more difficult to reign in her darker spirit.
Several silent seconds passed. Angus remained just as immobile as Isolde was silent. When she realized he truly had no intention of leaving, she asked, “What are you so afraid of, Angus? That if Thomas remembers Camille; you won’t be able to forget her? Or are you afraid if you don’t send him away, he’ll see your weakness?”
****
Once again, Isolde’s words drove a heavy fist into Angus’s midsection. The resulting stab of pain was enough his shoulders broke their rigid set. She couldn’t be closer to the truth. He turned away to escape the penetrating light of her silvery stare and gripped the bedpost with one hand.
“Why are you turning on me, Angus? For God’s sake, you might as well have ordered me out of his bedroom, and he was asking for me. What’s wrong with you?”
He didn’t know how to explain. Didn’t know the words that would justify how hearing Thomas call for Isolde only drove the truth home that Thomas knew Angus couldn’t make the nightmares go away. His son should have been calling for him, should have seen his father as a place of security.
“Angus.” Isolde’s voice rang quieter, concern replacing the hard notes of anger. “What’s going on? This isn’t like you.”
He stiffened as her hand fell on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Isolde,” he whispered, not daring to turn and confront her.
A heartbeat of heavy quiet passed. Then, as the silence became awkward, she dropped her hand. “You’ve a very odd way of showing it.”
Slowly, Angus released his grip on the post and turned. “When I saw you with Thomas…” Words clogged the back of his throat as that moment in time where everything had ground to a halt and he’d seen, really seen, the way Isolde cared f
or Thomas leapt to his mind. Even though fury had hit with the next heartbeat, for a fraction of time, true beauty existed.
He stroked the side of her cheek with the back of his knuckles. At the feel of her silken skin, he could no longer remember why he was angry. Why he’d barged in here like the hounds of hell were on his tail. Wide silver eyes stared up at him, pulling him down, drowning him in a tide of sensation.
He didn’t know who breached the fraction of space that separated them. Couldn’t process whether Isolde lifted to her toes or whether he dipped his head. But her lips met his, soft, warm, and inviting. His free hand shook as he brought it to her face as well, barely touching, holding her in place all the same. The hesitant brush of her tongue opened a hollow cavern behind his ribs, and sweet pain engulfed him.
On a quiet groan, he slanted his mouth across hers, deepening the kiss.
Isolde’s body swayed into his, as if she too experienced the fierce rush of sweltering emotion. Her breath dusted his cheek. The faint scent of her perfume inflamed his senses. How he needed this. How he needed her.
As he fought the tightening of his lungs that made it impossible to breathe, he dropped one hand to her slender shoulder, trailed it down the length of her arm, and splayed his fingers across the small of her back, drawing her closer. Her belly flattened against his and cotton scraped against his skin. Despite the looseness of his fly, his cock swelled uncomfortably.
And yet, Angus didn’t move, though every nerve-ending screamed for him to angle his hips into hers. He remained perfectly still, hypnotized by the stroke of her tongue. Caught by the magic of everything this defiant, passionate woman provoked.
Isolde’s hand slipped between their bodies and flattened against his bare chest. As her palm glided over his pectoral, the warmth in her inquisitive touch snapped desire through his veins. He drew a shuddering breath through his nose and curled his fingers into her back. A whole new torment possessed him. He didn’t want to move and destroy this timeless moment, and yet, he ached for more.
Permission came as her hand slid down his chest to the rigid muscles of his abdomen. One lone fingertip dipped beneath his loose waistband a hairsbreadth away from the tip of his erection. Angus broke the kiss. He gazed into her eyes as the heavy rasp of their breathing filled his ears.
He gave her time to draw away. Time to change her mind and force him out the door. If she did, he’d regret it a lifetime.
Instead, she tangled her free hand into the panel of his shirt, and at his waist, those taunting fingers slipped around his hardened length. She held his gaze as she gave a firm squeeze.
Angus’s world bottomed out. A tremor raced down his spine to his toes. With a gasp, he fought a sudden bout of dizzy splendor. Then, as his body accepted the shock of her electrifying grip, he bit down on the inside of his cheek to temper ecstasy. Dropping his other hand to her waist, he gathered her cotton gown in his fingers, pulling it up her lean legs.
When every long inch bunched at her waist, Isolde released him and stepped back. She lifted her arms, allowing him to pull the nightgown over her head. He tossed it aside, unable to tear his gaze off the flesh he bared, the body she made no attempt to hide.
He’d imagined a hundred times what Isolde might look like beneath her sharp clothes. But nothing his imagination produced came close to the tantalizing curves that defined a narrow waist, the faint slope of hips, and breasts that were not overlarge, but pert and perfectly suited for the contours of his palm. He ran a fingertip from the rise of soft flesh to one nipple, enchanted by the way her skin tightened and the dusky bud hardened.
Isolde shivered.
On a hungry groan, Angus threaded a hand into her long hair and dragged her mouth to his.
Chapter Eight
Isolde knew this was wrong, knew that giving in to what she most wanted with Angus would only leave her hurting, and yet, no amount of sense could work its way past the sensation blistering through her veins. She clung to Angus, wanting, needing¸ every bit of contact she could claim.
Beneath the demanding assault of his kiss, whiskers he wouldn’t shave until morning scraped pleasantly. His warm skin drew her in, urging her closer until her breasts were flush against his chest. And still it wasn’t close enough. Frustrated, she pushed at his shirt lapels.
Angus’s hand left her hair, giving her freedom to push that annoying scrap of fabric off his broad shoulders. But as she dragged it down his arms, her darker spirit stirred, and Isolde bit Angus’s bottom lip. Hard.
He drew back with a hiss that quickly dissolved into a chuckle.
Mortified, Isolde’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Damn Drandar—she had to remember she couldn’t completely let go, no matter how badly she yearned.
“Don’t be.” He drew his thumb over her mouth. “Let me help.”
As she struggled to reign in the half of her soul that craved pain not pleasure, Angus shucked his clothes and reached behind him to turn off the low-burning lamp on her nightstand. Moonlight illuminated the room, bathing his powerful frame with faint light. But that snap of instantaneous darkness also pulled regret through her. This might be the only time she would know Angus this way. She wanted to remember every vivid detail.
She turned the lamp back on. “Leave it on.”
His green eyes sparked. A smile curved one corner of his mouth. He said nothing, merely clasped her by the hand and led her to the bed where he sat on the mattress’s edge. Strong fingers fitted around her hips, guiding her into the space between his knees. His thighs enveloped her as his hands glided up her bare back and urged her to lean forward.
She went willingly into his embrace. But where she’d expected his mouth to capture hers, those lips latched onto her nipple. Shock launched through her. Blissful, yet staggering all the same. She clutched at Angus’s shoulders to keep from stumbling. He suckled, and she felt the pull all the way down to her womb. By the sacred ancestors, she’d never be able to keep an iota of distance between them this way. And she needed that distance, because with each flick of his tongue, each graze of his teeth, her body lit with flames that sent her dark spirit into a frenzied dance. It wanted Angus as much as her lighter half did, though for two entirely different reasons.
With a shake of her head to curb the tearing of her soul, Isolde pushed at Angus’s shoulders. She could not get lost in him. She could indulge, but she must retain a degree of control.
At the curious upturn of his eyebrows, she settled herself in his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. Angus’s erection pulsed against her center. The shift of that hard length made her bite her lower lip to silence a whimper.
His lips dusted across her shoulder. “You’re going to make it impossible for me to last.”
She gave him a coy smile and ran her palm down his chest. “I don’t want you to last.” The more they drew this out, the higher feeling rose, the more danger she exposed them both to. Wild and wanton wasn’t part of her composure, and she was already too close to that destructive place.
His fingertips pressed into her back as his hips angled forward, pushing his hardened shaft through her intimate folds. “God, Isolde…” He closed his eyes, and his shudder vibrated into her.
Bliss tripped down to Isolde’s toes. She tipped her head back, indulging in the teasing intimacy. Her body formed the words she didn’t know and moved against his slow thrust. Countering the stroke, yet denying them both the completion of fitting completely together. A heated wave of pleasure stole across her skin.
But Angus refused to let her set the pace and maintain emotional distance. His hands slid beneath her buttocks, lifting her into his body. Before she could consciously connect with his intent, the tip of his erection pressed against her opening, awakening the need she tried so hard to ignore. He arched his hips, inching inside her, and she let out a sharp, blissful cry.
An oath tore past Angus’s lips before his mouth found hers. His kiss was hard and demanding, as if something inside him had spli
ntered as well. Her dark half stormed to life, urging her to surrender, goading her with the false promise that satisfying Drandar’s curse would bring even more bliss. She fought against the rising chaos, fought for dominance over Angus’s mastering thrusts and struggled to rise to her knees.
He forbade her by holding one leg in place with his hand and twisting to guide her onto her back. When she lay beneath him, his weight comfortably pressing her into the bed, Isolde tumbled into the desire that burned behind his bright green eyes. With that bright glow came a fleeting glimpse of tender emotion. The last of her defenses shattered.
“Angus,” she whispered as she lifted her head in search of his mouth.
As his lips caught hers, he moved inside her. Slowly. Heavenly. Like the ancestors had conspired to design him for her exclusive pleasure. He stretched her just right, knew exactly how to stroke her. Her body opened to bliss, and she wrapped one leg around his waist, taking him deeper.
His breathing hardened. Where his elbows met the mattress near her shoulders, a tremor settled into his arms. The tangible evidence that he was holding himself back from the same tragic ecstasy she resisted sent Isolde plummeting over the edge. With his next thrust, pleasure broke through her veins. Painful and glorious all at once. All-consuming.
A bright beacon on the damning path to emotional freedom.
She cried out against it the division of her soul, against the enormity of feeling that engulfed her. He was everything she wanted, everything she could never have.
Dimly, she recognized the tightening of his body. Heard the distant hoarseness of his voice as he called her name.
The slide of his hand as he smoothed her hair away from her face was a far more tangible thing. Breathless and panting, she lifted her lashes to gaze into his eyes. Though his chest heaved along with hers, his expression spoke tenderness she dared not consider, though she knew the words. She cared too much for Angus Shaw.
He dropped a soft kiss to her lips, then rubbed his cheek against hers. “Incredible,” he whispered.
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