by L. A. Banks
"And in your skin," she said quietly.
"And in your thoughts."
She nodded. "In your touch."
He traced her jaw. "You still want to go home?"
She smiled. "That was what you wanted."
"Did I?"
She chuckled. "Uhmmm-hmmm."
"My bad." He looked at her, allowing his finger to trace her collarbone under the moonlight. She was right. His thoughts were hers and hers had become his in the sensual transfer, the sharing of her pulse. Now the throb burned somewhere else.
"See how synched up we are?"
He smiled, tracing her arm with the flat of his palm. "Want me to show you another way to synch up?"
"My wish came true," she murmured with a smile, breaking the three-knotted bracelet around her wrist that a child in Salvador had given her, then tossed it over the cliff into the sea.
He nodded. "Just local superstition, baby."
She looked at this man who'd been willing to give his soul for her, and twice she'd almost lost him to forces so dark that it made her shudder. She let her eyes leave his to trail down his chest and settle on the brand. No, he was hers, marked, and she wasn't about to let go of him without a fight. She would claim him for herself, as well as for her side… just like Marlene had said to, with authority.
"Yeah… might be a silly superstition, but it may be good luck, anyway. Who knows?" She looked up at him, captured by his intense, sensual stare. "You want me to leave you?"
He shook his head. "Naahhh, we've still got time."