The Fairy Queen laughed, the noise akin to the tinkle of a sweet bell, but her eyes, sober and searching were on Owain.
“Has your obstinacy over the mortal woman not caused enough trouble between us?” Rhiannon said and reached out to brush one slim hand across the dusting of hair that covered his chest.
Owain did not dare meet his fair cousin’s blue-eyed gaze and cursed when his body remembered for him. Though their affair was a thing of the past, Fairy time worked differently then mortal time, which passed much slower than the water flowing down the Conwy.
He considered the fact that she was casting a spell around him, though he couldn’t detect one. Whatever the cause, the proximity of her lithesome body and her slim hand on his chest created a sexual tension that snapped between them like the sting of an electric eel. Sharp, painful and yet it made one feel alive.
“I thought,” she continued, when he refused to answer, “I made my position quite plain, as is the code that governs our interaction with the mortal realm and those who live in it. And yet it appears you’ve heeded me not at all. Your actions are unseemly, cousin.”
Owain couldn’t tell if her voice was filled with pity or displeasure. “She is coming here,” he said. “To see me. I would ask a boon that the curse might be broken.”
The slightest quiver of her left wing told Owain that Rhiannon was deeply affected by his announcement.
“I should let Arawn deal with you,” she said, her tone resentful.
Owain’s heart thumped loudly at the sound of that fearsome name. She must be bitter indeed if she was willing to call on the King of the Underworld and ruler of all the Fairies as final arbitrator.
“If I could, I would deny your request,” Rhiannon continued when he refused to back down. “It is bad enough she’s spent years living in fear of you. I won’t let you ruin another mortal’s life.”
Owain shook his head, ridding himself of the bad memory. And the partial truths behind his cousin’s words. He met Rhys’s sharp gaze.
“It is done,” he said simply.
“Have the last one hundred and seventy years taught you nothing about the fickleness of a mortal woman’s heart?”
Rhys’s voice was deadly soft and yet Owain detected a note of genuine curiosity. Unlike some of his other so-called friends, Rhys had stood by him, willingly entering the mortal realm to visit him and keep their friendship alive. Loyalty on Rhys’s part demanded that Owain give him some sort of explanation.
“No, not where Megan is concerned.”
“And if you fail to win her declaration of love, freely given?”
A grim smile passed across Owain’s lips. He reached out and grasped the Pendragon’s forearm in an ancient sign of friendship. And of thanks. Whatever the outcome, this was goodbye.
“Then I will have forfeited my ability to be either mortal or fairy.” And instead he’d live thereafter as the creature of Megan’s nightmares.
A soft breeze warmed the night air and stars twinkled through the trees. Alone at last Owain wandered around the small farm enclosure, seeing the dilapidated buildings for what they were—a testament to his own existence. Condemned to shift forms as easily as he moved between the fairy and mortal realms, he’d never bothered to make much of a place for himself in either.
And now, in less than three days, the choice would be made.
Unable to bring himself to enter the sorry excuse of a cottage, he slumped against the wall of the stable and slid to the ground. His hands shook slightly and he clenched his fists to stop the tremors. This time ’twas mortal weariness such as he’d never experienced before and not the shift between human and equine forms that affected his body. It had taken all his reserves to keep from revealing his all too human frailties to Rhys, though he didn’t doubt the Pendragon had had his suspicions, which is why he hadn’t lingered to chat. Owain would need to find his bed soon if he was to keep his promise to meet Megan the next morn.
Tipping his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes. This night he’d held Megan Jones in his arms. She’d been a feast for his senses. Satin smooth skin the color of ivory, long limbs and lush curves—in a word, perfection. But it was her hair and eyes that truly fascinated him. Unlike the blue-eyed Tylwyth Teg, who were either fair as sunshine or, like him, dark as night, Megan’s hair and eyes were the color of rich earth.
She was everything his visits to her dreams had promised. And more. More vibrant and alive and yet just as sensual as the shadow-self he encountered in her dreams. In person, she also bore a striking physical resemblance to Margaret. He hadn’t expected that, even though he’d always been aware of the familial connection between the two.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the stars.
Megan was not what mortals referred to as a reincarnation of Margaret, now long dead. But his wild alter-ego had been irrevocably drawn to her—or at least to a part of Margaret inside her that still yearned for him. From their first meeting in Megan’s dreams, he’d recognized that thread of Margaret’s energy running through her and realized what it meant.
Finding Megan Jones had been the promise of a second chance. One he was more than willing to gamble for, because ’twas Megan he wanted now and not Margaret.
Dead tired, Owain stumbled to his feet a smile on his face. Surprised though she’d been this eve to meet him face-to-face at The Sheep’s Tail, Megan had responded to him with the same abandon she always did. There was no mistaking her hunger for him or the hope reflected in her eyes that he was as real as she.
For the brief span it took a moth’s wing to flutter, he wished he had the time to court her. She deserved no less, yet he had not the days. So he’d best get himself to bed.
He would rise with the dawn. Skilled though she was, the Fairy Queen had been unable to strip him of all his powers. So, he’d use what little ability he still had to transform his abode into a place worthy of his woman. Then he’d visit the pub and collect provisions for a picnic. Thus prepared, he would set about persuading her to join him here where he would show her what they could have together.
And if all went well, she would never have to know what he was because he would have done all he could to protect her. And then he would spend the rest of his life keeping her safe.
Chapter Four
True to his word, Owain appeared on Mrs. Smith’s front door step precisely at ten o’clock.
Following a dreamless—at least as far as visits from Owain were concerned—night, the unsteady flutter of her stomach the next morning robbed Megan of an appetite at breakfast. The sight of him standing in the bright morning sunlight stopped her in her tracks. He was dressed all in black, which only intensified the vivid blue of his eyes. He carried an old-fashioned picnic basket in his hand and a red plaid blanket hung over his arm.
My God, last night wasn’t a dream. He is real.
She slipped past Mrs. Smith, who’d answered the door, with a quick “goodbye”, and followed Owain down the short walkway. At the sidewalk, he reached out and pulled her to a stop then glanced back at the B&B.
“I do not think she approves,” he said.
“Who, Mrs. Smith? Nah, she’s just curious.” Friendly busybody was more like it. “She was concerned because she thought I picked you up at the pub last night.” Megan winked at him. “I told her we met online and I’d come over to check you out.”
Instead of smiling back like a co-conspirator, Owain’s intense blue eyes bore into her. She was equally aware of his warm hand wrapped around her bare arm.
“She has a right to be protective. I feel the same way.”
It was an oddly tender thing to say. It also confirmed the decision she’d made earlier this morning. In the light of a new day, her euphoria over coming face-to-face with Owain last night hadn’t dimmed. Prepared to look up church records and search graveyards, his invitation was an unexpected chance to realize the absurd fantasy she’d rarely admitted to about dating the man in her dreams.
“Megan?�
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She looked up. “Yes?”
“You told Mrs. Smith we met online?” He sounded both puzzled and curious about her white lie.
“Yes, well.” She smoothed a hand across his cotton tee. “I could hardly tell her the truth, now could I?”
But she’d finally accepted it herself. An opportunity to spend a day getting to know the real Owain seemed infinitely more important than questioning his connection to the man portrayed in the locket. She hadn’t forgotten her investigation so much as postponed it, tucking the heirloom into her purse for safekeeping. She would show it to Owain after their date.
“You rented a car, right?” he asked. “Do you mind driving?”
“Um, sure. Okay.”
Had he walked all the way from his farm? She’d assumed he’d driven to the B&B to pick her up, but then, if he had, wouldn’t he have left the picnic supplies in his car? Then again, given the haphazard parking practices and limited spaces, maybe he’d simply been practical.
When they reached her car, she unconsciously headed straight for the passenger side, her brain still geared to North American standards. He made a production of gently steering her around to the driver’s door and opening it for her. But, before she could get into the car, he pulled her close for a quick kiss. She closed her eyes against the heady infusion of his masculine scent and the hard press of his lips against hers.
A little dazed, she slid into the driver’s seat and waited while he stowed the picnic basket and blanket in the back seat and settled himself in the passenger’s bucket seat. She fumbled with the seatbelt, keenly aware of him watching her every move. As soon as the mechanism clicked into place, he buckled himself in and then reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. Heat immediately radiated through the thin piece of denim.
“I like what you’re wearing this morning.”
In a moment of girly insanity, she’d chosen a calf-length denim skirt with a crocheted belt of many colors and a crisp blue-green, short-sleeved shirt.
“Thanks,” she said, unable to shift the automatic transmission into drive because his fingers were busy gathering denim. The material inched higher and higher up her leg, making it impossible for her to think left, let alone straight.
“Only it’s way too long.”
She had trouble suppressing the urge to laugh at his tone of exasperation. Then she had trouble finding her voice and was forced to clear her throat when his index finger traced a pattern across her kneecap.
“I think it’s only fair to tell you,” she said, “that I have a small problem remembering which side of the road to stay on.” During her entire drive the day before, she’d silently chanted the mantra “think left.”
His hand stilled. “You do?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll investigate later,” he said and let go.
The denim slipped into place, once again covering her leg. She wished her ragged breathing and erratic emotions were so easily smoothed over.
After repeating her mantra to make sure she exited her parking spot correctly, she followed Owain’s directions easily enough. They headed north out of town. Not far past the spa, an iron-rich spring originally discovered by the Romans, he directed her to turn left into a rough lane.
“The river is on the other side of the main road, isn’t it?” She might be directionally challenged on this side of the Atlantic, but the Conwy River was a pretty big landmark to misplace.
“Yes, there’s a path just across the road, through the trees. You can park here and we’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“I can’t park in the middle of the lane.”
The side of the road was overgrown with waist-high grass and plants, leaving no obvious place to pull over.
“It’s all right, it leads to my farm. No one else uses it.”
She couldn’t detect any innuendo behind this latest piece of personal information. Only that he’d offered it without her asking, which pleased her. She was here on a mission to find the real Owain and she was as hungry for details about his life as she was for the man himself.
The sun was warm on her face once they left the tree line and set out along a grassy track toward the river. Owain carried the picnic basket and blanket in one hand. He held her hand with the other, lacing his fingers through hers. The hike was an easy one, but Megan was glad she’d worn a sensible pair of canvas runners.
She estimated it took them about half an hour to reach the river. She’d left her watch at the B&B. She wasn’t on a schedule or clocking hours for a client. Today, time didn’t matter.
When they reached the river, Owain chose a spot under the protective cover of a few trees and spread out the blanket. Feeling as lazy as the soft breeze that teased her hair, Megan toed off her shoes, dumped her purse beside them, and settled down on a corner of the red plaid.
“This is a lovely spot,” she said gazing across the river toward the opposite bank. At this point the river widened marginally as its path curved like the upper part of an s.
“Do you think so?” Owain still stood beside the blanket, gazing out at the water. There was a peculiar tone to his voice, as if he didn’t quite believe her.
“Yes, it’s—” she paused, searching for the right word. “Enchanting.”
Rising to her knees, she reached out and curled her fingers around his hand and pulled. He readily sat down beside her.
“Hey,” she said, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. “This is the perfect spot, we’re all alone.”
He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reached for her and she didn’t resist when he tumbled her back onto the blanket. He wrapped his arms around her to gentle the fall. His torso effectively pinned her down, but left her hands free to roam across his chest. She immediately set to work tugging the hem of his T-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. The corner of his mouth quirked then he sat up and pulled the tee over his head, tossing it to the far side of the blanket.
“My turn,” he said with a wolfish grin.
One by one the buttons on her blouse came undone. Through hooded eyes, she watched him take his sweet time. Her breath caught in her throat whenever the back of his hand brushed against her skin, which was often. He radiated heat with an astonishing intensity, something she’d never realized during their misty encounters in her dreams. Unable to resist, she reached up to explore the fine dusting of hair on his chest that arrowed down beneath the waistband of his pants. Her hand had just settled on his belt when his fingers skimmed across her belly. Ticklish, she laughed and tried to shy away.
“You need to take a few clothes off, sweetheart.”
“Owain.” She had no intention of denying him. It just awed her to see his tousled black hair and bronze-skinned body, attesting to his work out of doors on his farm, framed by tree branches and the blue sky beyond.
He leaned closer. “I want you, Megan. More than food. More than anything else in the world. I want you out here under the sky where the sunlight heats your skin. Where I can finally see you, touch you, not your shadow-self.”
She shivered at the passion lacing his words. Shadow-self, yes, that was a good way to describe Owain when he visited her dreams. She stroked his cheek, noticing for the first time the tiny lines that bracketed his eyes. Her fingers trailed down his blunt jaw, smooth from his morning shave. Simple details she had never been aware of before, but treasured now.
Before she could answer, her stomach rumbled under his hand. A smile quirked her lips. “All right,” she said. “But you still have to feed me.”
“With pleasure.” Yet he paused to trace the edge of lace that cupped her breast. The tip of his finger burned a trail of fire across her skin, heating her blood. She didn’t need the sun. His body heat was potent enough to warm her from the inside out.
Flames still licked her skin when, in one fluid movement, he rolled away and pushed himself onto his feet. Pleasantly boneless, she watched the ripple of muscle play across his back as he walked a
way. Not far, only to the picnic basket, where he hunkered down and opened the lid. The black denim of his jeans hugged his lean frame, curving tight across his derrière.
She bit her lip. In a few minutes his body would be hers to touch and play with. Eagerly, she sat up and shrugged out of her shirt and unhooked her bra then unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it. After a moment’s hesitation, her panties followed. She’d just lain back on the blanket, after setting the pile of clothes beside her shoes and purse, when he turned.
He crouched, transfixed, his blue eyes glowing with unbridled longing. Despite the different venue, that shadow-self of hers he’d mentioned was too used to being bared for his perusal for her to feel embarrassed or shy. No matter what a mirror told her, in his eyes she always felt beautiful.
“Oh, sweetheart, am I going to have fun with you.”
At the promise in his words, her nipples tightened and her womb clenched. She flashed him what she hoped was a saucy smile, in spite of the tremble of anticipation running through her veins.
“Does it involve food?”
Without a word, he placed a bunch of red grapes nestled in a paper napkin on the blanket by her shoulder. Then he stood and began to unbuckle his jeans.
She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d seen him naked countless times over the years. As she watched him unsnap his pants, she had the distinct feeling that the real Owain was going to prove far more potent than the most erotic dreams they’d shared. She was so attuned to his movements that she heard the rasp of the zipper as it slid down. And then, my, oh, my.
He wasn’t wearing briefs or boxers. And his penis, finally free of its confines, jutted proudly out from a thatch of black hair.
Her smile turned into a wicked grin. Her hands skimmed up her ribcage and cupped her breasts, taunting him with promises of her own. She stretched lazily. Her arms over her head, her legs slightly apart, and her hips canted upward—her body on display for him.
The Man of Her Dreams: A Sexy Shifter story. Page 3