The revelation of the existence of magickal beings didn’t scare her as much as her intense attraction and absolute connection with Ian. How could she not have a deep connection when she’d been in his head and heart? No way to deny he touched her more deeply than any other man.
Falling in love would be useless. With only five more days together, they’d both have to return to the real world. Well, at least for her; the magick would continue for him. She sighed to relieve the heaviness in her chest. Until then, if he still wanted her, she’d enjoy the magick they kindled.
As if he read her thoughts, he snuggled closer and stroked his shaft against her butt. “You’re thinking so hard, you woke me up.”
She drew a moan from him with a wiggle of her hips. “You know you don’t owe me for helping you.”
He froze. “You think we made love because I’m grateful?”
While she couldn’t see him, she could not mistake the hurt in his words.
“Well....”
He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple. She sucked in a breath from the shock of need that shot through her. He flexed his hips, sliding his erection into the gap between her thighs. Wetness flowed from her well-used body.
With his lips nuzzled against her neck, alternatively licking and kissing, he said, “I’ll admit the first time may have had a tiny bit to do with gratitude. But the second, third, and fourth times were absolutely for pleasure. Completely because I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”
His hand kneaded her breast and she bit back a moan but it came out as a whimper. Pleasure? She’d never experienced such intense pleasure.
“Wait. We didn’t have sex four times.” Her body responded to his like they’d always been lovers. Her hips matched his rhythm, and she arched her head back to expose more of her neck to his plundering mouth.
“One, we didn’t have sex. We made love.” He moved his hand from her breast to her thigh and hooked his elbow under her knee, opening her up. “Two, this is round four.” He shifted and thrust into her in one smooth action.
“Oh, God, Ian.”
He filled her so perfectly, she couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Her mind clouded, all sounds faded to background noise for the drumming of her heart. She willingly submitted to his spell. His motion ebbed and flowed much more smoothly this morning. He was calmer, more relaxed. Last night, she’d fed his passion; this morning, he fed her soul.
She didn’t care, she wanted him. Only him.
More, deeper, she undulated her body to please him. Her heart pumped harder every time he moaned.
He lowered her leg, his hot steely shaft still sheathed inside her body. She waited. He’d taught her positions from the Kama Sutra last night. Turned out he was a yoga master. Which one would he employ for her pleasure this morning?
“Slowly, move onto all fours then lower your chest to the bed.”
Ah, some variation of doggie style.
“This is called the elephant.”
When she complied, her cheek pressed to the sheet, he leaned forward, his chest to her back, his mouth on her shoulder.
“With you, it’s more like the goddess.”
She felt like a goddess with him. With him, she forgot her inhibitions.
His arms hooked under hers and grasped her shoulders. He surrounded her. There was nowhere he didn’t touch her. He filled her, wrapped around her. Where did she end and he begin? Like yin and yang, they entwined, two parts of one whole.
For what seemed like hours, he held her close, the embrace sacred, intimate, loving.
Someone had once said reality was overrated. In this case, she agreed. If this week turned out to be a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.
With a tiny flex of his hips, he snapped her out of her reverie. Instantly, she lived in the moment and nothing mattered but the slide of his body on hers.
He held her tightly, rotating his hips so his thrusts were short and shallow. Last night, he’d overwhelmed her with a full-on attack. His hands and mouth ignited a wildfire that burned hot and out of control. This morning, he initiated a surgical strike—a deliberate spark and controlled rate of consumption. He would consume her, of that she was sure. As sure she would savor every sensation.
“Becca, you are so damn incredible.”
He set another spark with his open-mouthed kisses on the back of her neck. Electric shock zapped her inner muscles. They clenched and her hips jerked. His teeth sank into her skin, incurring another involuntary reaction. His hips jolted hard into her and she gasped. “By the gods, Becca, you make me wild.”
Her breath rasping as she dragged it in and panted it out, she uttered one word. “Good.”
His control snapped with a gasp. Strong fingers dug into her shoulders; his hips drove forward in one hard thrust.
“I wanted, I needed this time to be for you.” His voice low and husky, he grunted the words and punctuated each with a feral thrust.
If he said anything else, it was lost on her as her world collapsed to the hurricane roaring in her ears. His body crashed into hers, wave after intense wave. She panted with each impact. He tightened his embrace, his compromise to releasing his wild lust.
Every muscle tensed, every glide of his hair and skin on her sending jolts of pleasure. Her muscles coiled tighter and harder. So much tension, she couldn’t stand more.
The pressure built, compressed until she imploded with a scream ripped from her soul. Her body froze in place while muscles spasmed. Her skin tingled all over. One mighty thrust, one echoing yell, and he fell forward on her.
“Becca, darling, are you all right?”
No man had given her such ecstasy. No man ever treated her with such care. She gave in to her overflowing heart and fell flat in love.
Swallowing her sorrow for the new ill-fated love she’d found and would ultimately lose, she lied.
“I’m fine.” She would use the days to discover what she could from the scroll and spend the nights in the arms of the only man who would ever fill her romantic heart.
***
“You’re amazing.”
Becca marveled at the ease with which Ian translated the scroll. Written in ancient Welsh, only a few scholars in the world had the knowledge necessary to read it. Fate had smiled on her when she met him.
She still wondered at his claim of ownership, and she would get to the bottom of his assertion after she’d gotten her answers. Better to move toward her goal than argue about ownership of a scroll. Her dream of finding out her father’s identity took precedence. He might still be alive. She might have more family. Even one distant cousin would be better than being alone.
Her mission seemed simple, but the man next to her filled her heart and set her free. During breakfast, at a secluded table in the corner, he’d opened his world to her, quietly pointing out the paranormal guests. She’d nodded, enthralled by the knowledge that so many extraordinary people lived secretly among humans. Unwilling to disturb the status quo, she asked no questions. If she did, he might lock away the part he’d shared so openly.
“Look here,” he said, pointing to a part of the text near the top of the parchment. “A spell for ridding a man of lice. I needed this a couple of years ago when Allan got a nasty case of the buggers.”
“Allan?”
With a smile, he turned to look at her. “My six-year-old. He’s what keeps me going.”
“Oh.” A son? Was there a Mrs. Sorcerer back home?
“Yes, he’s finally coming out of his shell. He’s bonded with Cassidy, sees her as a mother figure.”
“Mmm hmm.” Who was Cassidy? Housekeeper? Nanny? Or girlfriend?
“Sweetheart, Cassidy is Allan’s teacher. And I’m a widower.”
After a moment, when he didn’t supply any more information, she sighed. She’d never get the chance to meet his little boy, see them together. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she refocused on the scroll. Somewh
ere in this document clues to her own family lay hidden. Remaining true to her goal took precedence. Right?
“These spells don’t help me, Ian.”
He sat back and chuckled. “I know, darling. I know. It’s just this is an ancient spell book. It’s exciting to me.” He patted her hand. “You can go take a nap, if you want. I’ll work on this and let you know if there’s anything relevant.”
Something in his voice wasn’t right. Why was he trying to get rid of her?
“No. In fact, it might save time for you to translate it aloud and I’ll write it down. That way I can refer to it later.”
His brows drew together. He didn’t want her to know everything in the text. Why?
“Sure. Sounds like a great idea. Do you have a notebook?”
Her stomach twisted because he was holding something back from her. “I’ll just go get it. Be right back.”
She gave him a tight smile and ground her teeth on the way to the door.
The door opened, startling her for the second day in the exact same way, though with a different man. Cyrus Rowan entered and nodded cordially to her.
“Good morning, Becca.” His gaze swept to Ian. Silent communication occurred. Most people would have missed it, but she’d made people-watching her hobby. She had to hurry.
Why did everyone seem to know more than she did?
“Chairman.”
Ian ignored the spark of irritation when Cyrus addressed him with his title. He wouldn’t have come without a purpose.
“Cyrus. How are you?”
The dark brother shrugged. “As long as I stay out of Sarka’s way, I’ll be fine. She’s still pissed about the werewolf attacking you and Ms. Jones. She raked Rekkus over the coals.”
“Good thing he’s got a thick skin. How is the pup?”
“Had to deal with Rekkus so he’s a little cowed at the moment.” Cyrus glanced at the parchment held open with a couple of crystal paperweights. “This yours?”
“No,” he said unnecessarily. Cyrus knew the scroll belonged to Becca.
“I had a conversation with your friend. You may want to know—”
Ian raised his hand to stop Cyrus. “Don’t worry, Cyrus. I have everything under control.”
Cyrus’s dark eyebrow cocked as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“As you wish.”
The big man rolled his eyes and muttered as he stalked to the door. He passed Becca in the doorway as she hurried in with her notebook and pen. Ian’s heart jerked and jealousy clawed in his belly when Cyrus gave his woman an overly thorough appraisal.
His woman.
Damn it. Whether he liked it or not, the fates had chosen this woman as his mate. He didn’t want another mate, didn’t want the pain of losing another part of his heart. Any proclaimed mate of the council was a prime target.
He smiled at her as she approached. Thankfully, his balance had returned following the ritual on the beach. Calmer, he could shield his thoughts and emotions though sharing his entire being with her called to his heart. Only his chosen mate could fulfill all his needs, make him whole. Duty and honor refused to put her in harm’s way.
Her irritation showed in the jut of her chin and the tightness of her jaw. No reason to hold anything back from the translation. No reason to hold anything back from her at all. After the spell, she’d forget everything. Even him.
He shoved down the bitterness rising in his throat. Letting her go would be a knife to his heart, but she’d never be safe with him. Given the choice, she would take the leap of faith and go with him. She trusted him; she’d shown her absolute faith last night when the werewolf attacked. He refused to lose another person. Allan’s foiled abduction proved how desperate the rebel factions were. He shuddered to think what they’d do to sweet Becca.
Now seated next to him, she watched him with a furrowed brow. Had she asked him a question?
He focused on the scroll. “How did this come into your possession?”
She leaned back in the chair. “When my grandmother died, this was in her safe deposit box.” She raised her right hand and twisted the ring on her finger. “This, too.”
He took her hand in his to better see the ring. A cabochon ruby winked in an antique copper scrolled setting, the kind he’d seen on members of his own family. The ring spun freely on her middle finger, indicating it had been made for a man’s hand.
“How did they come to your grandmother?”
“I believe they belonged to my father.”
“What was your father’s name?” Maybe the man had been a thief or con man, not that he’d tell her that.
“I don’t know.” Her quiet answer expressed more confusion and disappointment than the actual words. Pieces fell into place. Not all of them, but enough to explain her lack of self-confidence.
“Your mother’s and grandmother’s last name is Jones?”
“Yes. Was.”
She impressed him as she battled back tears. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was only three. It’s strange, though. I feel like she’s near me.”
“She is, Becca. Our loved ones watch over us.”
A soul-deep sigh escaped her. “I just want to know who my father is. Maybe he’s alive. Maybe he doesn’t know I exist.”
She was lost and needed to find her home. His heart broke a little.
Perhaps the scroll could provide clues, but would her father be an honorable man? Or a para who might hurt her? Or worse, be a member of the Mundus Novus or another faction? This scroll had been lost for centuries; one of her ancestors could have been a witch or a sorcerer who’d forsaken their oath to do no harm. Power corrupts.
Only one task remained: translate the scroll.
Two hours later, Ian had gained insight into his forefather but hadn’t found anything to help Becca with her quest. Her drumming fingers and frequent sighs didn’t diminish his delight in his ancestor’s words.
“Healing potions and scrying spells. This is no more helpful than a cookbook.”
Becca banged the pen down on the open notebook and rested her forehead on the table. After a couple of breaths, she sat up with a jerk and a frown. “I’m sorry, Ian. That must sound really disrespectful to you. Sacrilegious. I don’t mean any harm.”
I don’t mean any harm. If she had a paranormal ancestor, at least she already had the right mind-set.
A shiver ran up his spine. Fearful certainty that she’d be in peril as his mate lodged firmly in his throat. Her safety was his paramount concern. Sharp pain seared his heart. In three short days, she’d branded her name on his soul. No way he could deny her as his mate. She fit him body, heart, and soul. Letting her go would cut him off at the knees. Seeing her hurt would kill him.
No perfect answer came to him. He would handle it the best he could.
“Sweetheart, I know you were hoping for a clue. Maybe there’s one deeper in the scroll.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve been at this for a while. Let’s take a break. Take a walk. You’ll feel better.”
Walking away from the scroll was hard. These writings sprang from Myrddin’s head, flowed from his fingers, uttered from his very lips. He’d have all the time in the world to translate the incantations after he returned home. Once Becca returned to her home, safe and sound, he’d grieve the loss of his heart and soul over the ancient document.
Until the time to let her go, he would make memories to tuck away. Later, alone in the wee hours of the night, he’d take them out and hold them tight and try to remember why he’d let his soul mate go.
Chapter Six
How can there be so many psychics and so few answers?
“Ian, we didn’t find anything,” Becca said as he led her to a quiet table in the dining room.
People stared at them. Ian clearly hadn’t told her everything. More than once staff members had almost called him something that st
arted with “ch.” It didn’t matter if he were a prince or a pauper. Every minute of their time together would be treasured. She pushed aside the nagging voice insinuating he should trust her implicitly with every secret. It wasn’t as if they were planning a lifetime together.
He pulled out her chair, ever the consummate gentleman, ever controlled. After she eased into her seat and he’d relaxed into his own, she released a heavy sigh.
She’d hoped to find at least a sign to her path, some crumb to follow to her father’s history.
Tears threatened. Time was running out. Three days of translating the scroll yielded no clues to her parentage. Ian tried to hide his excitement, but she could see how much the scroll meant to him. When she left the island, she would give it to him. He loved the old moldering parchment text; to her, it represented a means to an end.
She gritted her teeth because she used Ian, too. He translated the text so she could find a clue to her father’s identity. Even though she loved him, she used him for his knowledge and skill. While the scroll intrigued him, she had no doubt he helped her because he liked her, lusted for her. He never mentioned the other “l” word. Undeniably, their relationship was temporary.
She would take him with her in her heart.
His son needed him. He’d told her about how Allan shut down after losing his mother. Ian had not spoken of his own grief about her death, but she’d sensed his guilt. Something about his job had put her in jeopardy, and Allan had witnessed his mother’s death.
She wanted to take Ian in her arms to comfort him. She wished to meet Allan and get to know him, but he had his path and she had hers. Her heart ached at the thought of going home without him. She would go on. Finding the truth about her father might soothe the pain.
“Becca, I can help you. My way.”
She smiled. “That’s okay, Ian. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have.”
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