Did he imagine it, or did her touch on his shoulders linger an instant longer than necessary?
She moved away from him, though, leaving him to bring the blanket and picnic basket. Carrying them to the grassy bank of the pond, he set them beneath a large live oak and spread the blanket. Wendi had gone down the bank to the edge of the pond.
“Are you tired?” he asked, firmly refusing to join her down there. “You can sit down and rest up here.”
She came back up the bank. “I’m not tired, but I would like to sit down. Only if you join me, though.”
She sat on the blanket, folding her legs to the side and arranging her skirts. Funny. He hardly ever noticed what she wore, but today he did. The dress was neat and clean, but long out of fashion, and the faded material had probably gone through hundreds of washings. Still, on Wendi it was more than just a faded rag--at least in his eyes.
Pink. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that women with reddish hair couldn’t wear pink? It suited Wendi, and her blue eyes stood out delightfully, the long golden lashes and arched brows clearly defined.
He’d never seen her wear anything other than capped sleeves in the heat, and the neckline draped low, still covering her breasts. Because he knew what the material covered, it was more enticing that way than if she’d bared the curves of her breasts. The skirt draped past hips a perfect fit to a man’s hands and on down slender legs.
“Have you changed your mind about talking?” she asked, making him realize how he’d been standing there staring at her, eyes hooded to near slits. “Would you like to return to the manor house?”
“No. No, please.” He joined her on the blanket, glad he’d brought one large enough for both of them to sit on without touching--wishing immediately that he hadn’t.
“I’d normally allow a lady to have her say first,” he said, interrupting Wendi when he realized she was going to speak. “But I’d like to say something. If you’ll listen.”
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it, Nick? To talk to each other?”
She avoided his gaze, and he noticed a handkerchief she must have taken from her skirt pocket in her hands. When she twisted it around her fingers, the knuckles whitened with strain.
“Would you rather talk before me?” he offered.
Anger flashed in her eyes, but she gripped the handkerchief even tighter and took a deep breath. “This is ridiculous! We can’t even decide who will speak first.”
Before he could stop her, she got to her feet and headed for the buggy. Over her shoulder, she said, “I want to go back. There’s no use pursuing this.”
“No!” He scrambled up and limped after her, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. “Damn it, you’re not the only one who’s got a temper! You sit your ass back down over there and let’s get on with this!”
If he thought he’d see fear in her eyes, he was wrong. The small tilt to her lips indicated he’d walked right into whatever manipulation she had in mind for him.
“And if I don’t?”
He didn’t answer in words. Instead, he swooped her into his arms and headed back to the blanket. His leg protested even her slight extra weight, but he gritted his teeth and made it to the blanket. Still, he was glad he’d caught her before she’d gone very far. Trying to cover up his relief, he put her down, then loomed over her.
“Don’t you even think about trying to leave again until I have my say,” he warned.
“My magic’s back, you know,” she said, slipping a calculating look from beneath her lashes. “I could just disappear on you.”
He groaned and sat down. “Please don’t,” he whispered.
Her face changed, and she looked at him fully for the first time that morning. “I won’t,” she said. “And I’m sorry I’m acting like such a child again. I promised myself this morning that I wouldn’t do that again, but when I get around you, I act very foolishly at times.”
“Me, too,” he admitted.
“I tried to make you lose your temper a minute ago,” she said. “You’re always so stoic and cold, Nick. I know you’re fighting pain, but--”
“The last time I lost my temper,” he said in a flat voice, “your mother died.”
Wendi gasped, then reached out a hand, laying it on his arm. “I wasn’t sure what I believed, even after what my scrying speculum said that day. I know you now, though, Nick. There’s no way you could have killed my mother, either in a calculating way or in a fit or rage.”
“Sure,” he snarled. “And pig’s fly.”
“I can make them do that.”
It took a minute for her words to sneak through his guarded mind, but then a laugh exploded. Full blown and belly shaking. God, it felt good.
She smiled tolerantly until his laughter died and he shook his head. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, where she snuggled against his chest. But when he tried to lie down, taking her with him, he winced in pain.
Wendi pushed back. “You lie down,” she said. “Let me give you a massage while we talk.”
The brief protest was gone before it even had a chance to put down a tentative root in his mind. “Could you conjure up some of that liniment and salve to use?”
Eyes twinkling, she held out one palm and snapped her fingers on the other hand, murmuring something about love and pain and healing. He was more interested in the way her lips moved than the actual words. With a little poof, two jars appeared on her palm, one small and round and the other one taller and filled with liquid.
“Lie down on your stomach,” she ordered, “but first pull your trousers down.”
His mouth went dry, but hell, what had he expected? He’d known he’d need to bare the area of the wound for the massage. Or. . .maybe that had been his intention all along.
“We will talk while I work, Nick,” she said in a mixed tone of warning and mischievousness. “Only talk.”
He shrugged in feigned nonchalance. “Of course. If you can do it, so can I.”
His barb hit home, and she giggled, the delight dancing in her eyes and warming him as much as the liniment soon would. Keeping his gazed fixed on hers, he reached for his trouser buttons and started opening the fly by touch alone. To give her credit, her eyes only flickered downward briefly at one point, then quickly back to his face.
Shifting, he leaned a little toward the side of his good leg in order to slide his trousers down, and Wendi swallowed audibly. But she kept a bright, waiting look on her face. He wondered--
He licked his lips very slowly, an action which on her could turn him to mush. Her blue eyes went from sparkling to a dark and stormy pre-thunder shower indigo, and a flush stained her neck. He dropped his gaze in time to see her nipples peak and harden.
“Only talk, that’s all,” he reminded her in a voice he hardly recognized as his own. Deep and gravelly, it crawled through him like a prelude to sex.
She did herself proud. The only other sign of her tension was when the two jars on her palm trembled and hit together, the glass tinkling. She didn’t answer him, so maybe her throat was as tight around words as his, but she clenched her fingers and the tinkling died. The resulting silence only enhanced the lack of noise.
“Lie down now?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow and trying to force her to speak.
She only nodded.
“Do I need to remove my under drawers, too, or can you work around them?”
She shook her head negatively in response that time, and he said, “Which? Remove them or let you work around them?”
She flicked an index finger in a circular motion, and suddenly Nick found himself face down on the blanket. Rather than anger him, he laughed again, knowing the action was a defense on her part. He pillowed his cheek on his arm and waited.
“You know,” he said as she set the salve jar down and poured some liniment into one palm, “that was sort of fun--when you tossed me around like that. Think maybe you could take me flying some day? I’ve always wanted to know what the world looked like from up in
the air.”
She rubbed her palms together, then placed them on his thigh. Good thing he was lying on his stomach--well, maybe not. His erection was as uncomfortable to lie on as a rock.
“. . . do that yet,” Wendi said.
“Hmmmmm?” he asked. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening.
She worked magic in another way right now, with her palms and fingers and the warmth of the liniment. The massage soothed the pain into nothingness--or maybe it was the masseuse.
“. . . yet.”
“Hmmmmm? Sorry, I wasn’t listening again.”
She leaned over and spoke in his ear, her breast pressing against his arm and her warm breath sending a cascade of longing through him. No, not speak. She shouted.
“My magic’s not developed enough to take someone with me when I fly yet!” she yelled.
Nick flinched, then roared with laughter. He’d asked for that by being too distracted to listen to her words. She sat up, a smirk on those pretty lips, which beckoned him to kiss it away. She reached for his thigh again--
He flipped over and captured her, pulling her onto his stomach. Although he hadn’t actually planned that part of it, she ended up situated exactly right over his erection, her skirt being the only thing separating that part of him from what it wanted. The material didn’t keep the heat of their need from penetrating, though.
If he thought she would be embarrassed, he quickly realized he had lots to learn yet about Wendi Chastain. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed her upper body away from him, which snuggled her lower body more tightly against his. Then she stretched languidly, as though trying to find a more comfortable position.
Nick groaned, deep and needy. “You win,” he managed. “Do with me what you will.”
She wiggled those delectable hips, is what she did. Oh, God, he was going to explode like a randy teen. She ceased just in time, and he opened eyes he hadn’t even realized were shut. He shouldn’t have. The sensual, you’re-in-my-power look on her face was nearly his undoing again.
“Say something,” he pleaded.
“Ummmmm,” she replied, licking her lips and lowering her head to his.
When he tried to grab her, she jerked back and shook her finger at him. That finger that shot fire in more ways than one.
“No, no, no.” She twitched the index finger back and forth like a pendulum. “Hands at your side and no touching on your part. I’m supposed to be giving you a massage, remember?”
He laid his hands down, clenching his fists to resist ignoring her orders. “You’re supposed to be massaging my wound.”
“If that’s what you want--” She started to roll off him.
“No!” She quirked a brow, secret satisfaction in her eyes and the tilt of her lips. Damn it, he didn’t care if she was the one in control right now.
“Witch,” he whispered. “Have your way.”
She kissed him, softly and lingeringly at first, then responding to the unspoken plea of his lips--hard, deep and with all the lip and tongue he could ask for. That quickly, they both caught fire and the wanting need changed to irresistible longing. She didn’t protest when he started pulling on her dress, getting it over her head somehow at about the same time she got his shirt open. Her palms rubbed his muscles, leaving behind a highly erotic tingle from the traces of liniment still on them.
God, he hoped she didn’t reach downward with her hands. Liniment wasn’t something he particularly wanted on that part of him, burning that sensitive skin. But he couldn’t have stopped her if she tried. He was too busy yanking on her chemise in between the kisses she laved on his nipples.
When he got the chemise off, he gathered her breasts between his hands and pushed them together, close enough so he could suckle one nipple, then the other, with the least wasted motion.
“Nick!” she cried.
She opened her legs and straddled him, and he had just enough sense left to grab her thrashing hand when she reached to put him inside her himself. She moaned in frustration, but it turned to a purr when he slid in her, sheathing himself in the place that fulfilled his need for more than just sex. Filled his need for love--a home--a refuge from all the pain in his life. Fulfilled his need for this woman, who was all that to him.
His need for Wendi.
They reached that nirvana they’d found before in seconds, and Nick held her tight as he emptied himself inside her, never, ever wanting it to end.
Chapter 23
“We were going to talk.”
“So, talk,” Nick said, rubbing his chin against the top of her hair.
“I’m all sweaty. Would you like to wash off with me?”
“Only if you’ll let me do the honors.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
He kissed her lightly, heaved a sigh and loosened his arms. Without shame--he’d seen and touched every bit of her since the first time they made love--she stood and waited for him to join her, carefully checking his face for pain. He winced, but only a little, and she unfocused her eyes to check his aura. No blackness today, only a light blue of healing and harmony.
And brown. She giggled.
“What?” he asked. “What are you laughing at?”
“Not laughing,” she denied. “Snickering. I was looking at your aura, and there’s brown there.”
“And?”
“Brown means, among other things, sensuality. I have to say I agree with that reflection.”
He blushed. He actually blushed, and she giggled again.
“I’d think red would be for sensuality,” he growled.
“No. No, red’s anger and frustration. You’re a long way from frustrated right now.”
She read his movement in his eyes a second before he lunged, slipping away and half-stumbling down the bank to the water. She ran full tilt into it, high-stepping and sending geysers of water flinging into the air with her feet. She didn’t turn to see if he was behind her until after she plunged deeper and pushed off, swimming toward the middle. When she did turn, she screamed. He was right there, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“I want you to know that my wound doesn’t bother me the least little bit when I’m in the water,” he said, curling his lip in a mock threatening gesture. “I can swim and dive like a porpoise.”
And he showed her how true that was by upending and diving right in front of her. She gaped for a second, barely having time to shut her mouth, let alone take a breath, when he grabbed her feet and dragged her down with him. They drifted back to the surface amid cascades of bubbles, and Nick pulled her into his arms and kissed her. They floated downward again.
Once back on the surface, Nick guided them toward the shallower water, halting where he could touch the bottom but she couldn’t. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he growled when her breasts bobbed in the water right in front of his mouth. Then did what any normal man would--what any normal woman would want him to do. He sucked one nipple into his mouth.
Wendi gasped, desire so strong she vaguely wondered why the water didn’t turn to steam filling her. She wrapped her legs around Nick’s waist, rubbing against the hardness there waiting for her. He guided the tip right to her entrance, then paused and looked into her eyes.
“Are you brown now?” he asked.
“I’m damned near as dark as mud,” she replied, catching her heels behind his back and taking care of the rest of it herself. When they both reached their peaks together, Nick managed to stand steady for only a couple seconds before he fell backwards. Laughing wildly, the two of them scrambled nearer shore and collapsed on their backs, bodies still in the water but heads on the sandy bank. Their hands reached for each others as they got their strength back.
Nick turned his head to look at her. “Will you believe me this time when I tell you I love you?”
With a quicksilver twist of emotion, tears filled Wendi’s eyes. She blinked them back and sniffed. “I want to,” she admitted. “But we haven’t had that talk yet.”
His eyes darke
ned in disappointment, and Wendi explained, “To me, love is special. When you find it, it means sharing your life with that person.”
“I offered you marriage,” he said in a puzzled voice.
Anger flashed. At times, he was so darned obtuse. But Wendi reminded herself that an argument wouldn’t help them work things out--in fact, would muddle them worse. Sighing, she sat up and pulled her knees to her, laying her chin on them and gazing out over the water.
“Nick, why are you so afraid of commitment? When I say sharing, I mean living together. I don’t want a husband who’s clear across the continent.” She let herself look at him to gauge his reaction to her next comment. “Love not nurtured can die. And I might find someone else down the road, someone who wasn’t afraid to live with me.”
He wrenched his gaze from hers, but not before she saw the deep pain of jealousy there.
“You’re damned sure right about love dying,” he growled. “I’m sure at one time my father loved my mother. At least from what I remember from my younger years, he did. But I wasn’t very old at all when I saw things changing. So who the hell can promise another person that their love will last forever?”
“Dominic loved your mother desperately, Nick.” This time she was the perplexed one. “That’s how all this started.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Sucking in her bottom lip, Wendi chewed on it contemplatively. She wasn’t afraid of Nick--really, she wasn’t. But they two of them were out here alone--far from any help should she need it. With a convenient pond there, and no one to know whether or not she could swim.
“Goddamn it, Wendi, get that scared look off your face! Do you think I’m going to kill you, like I did your mother?”
Anger won this time, chasing away any fear from her mind. “Well, goddamn you, too, Nick Bardou!” she snarled. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t believe you killed my mother?”
He got to his feet and headed for the blanket without answering. By the time she joined him, he was putting on his trousers over wet legs, tugging and muttering in frustration. She picked up her chemise and saw it was beyond repair, although she didn’t remember him tearing it. Throwing it on top of the picnic basket, she pulled on her underdrawers and slipped her dress over her head.
Spellbound Page 22