by Julie Leto
“I know my tale sounds unbelievable,” Aiden muttered.
“Not really,” she said wryly. “Okay, overall, yeah, your story sounds like an expert pitch for a supernatural flick, but pared down, this Rogan guy sounds totally believable. There are men who can be very convincing, even to the most suspicious people.”
Aiden shook his head. “None were more suspicious of outsiders than the Romani,” he said. “But Rogan had a way with them. Perhaps it was the magic.”
“Real magic?” she asked, breathless. This was all so overwhelming. Gypsies? Magic? Cursed noblemen?
“I am here, am I not?” Humor lit his eyes for a brief moment, but was gone as quickly as a flash of lightning. He held his emotions close to the vest, Lauren thought. Reminded her of…her.
“I can’t argue with what I see. Or can’t see, as the case may be,” she joked.
The wordplay clearly escaped his attention. Instead his gaze locked on the mirror on the other side of the room. When she looked, she saw only the two of them and while they were a striking pair—her blond hair bright against his darkness, their body types both buff and formidable—she didn’t know why he was so intrigued with how they looked.
“I’d been away for many years,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness as he turned back to her. “I did not witness how Rogan ingratiated himself into the lives of the Romani or into my sister’s heart, but the outcome proved the magic incontrovertible. I touched the sword and was sucked into it. Over all this time, I’ve been only vaguely aware of my surroundings, becoming fully conscious only on the day you wandered into the shop in Dresden and somehow awakened me.”
“That was three years ago,” she said.
“And I’ve wanted you ever since.”
Longing. Pure and simple and clear. The sound wrapped around her like a velvet rope and pulled her to her feet. She was used to men making her the object of their desires, but not like this. In Hollywood, few guys kept their lusty appetites private. Men she’d never met before thought nothing of coming up to her at a movie premiere or a club, or hell, even at the gym after a workout, and telling her precisely where they’d like to stick their tongues or other body parts in relation to her body. Some guys had more finesse, dressing up their base desires with fancy words and glittering gifts, but it was all the same: They wanted to nail the famous actress who portrayed the sensual goddess Athena on the silver screen. They couldn’t wait to add a notch to their bedposts or sell their sordid stories to the celebrity rags.
Or, at the very least, they itched to mold her into a woman they could own, body and soul, until the next blank canvas came along.
But something in Aiden Forsyth’s cadence told her he wasn’t a man who propositioned a woman without consequence. He wasn’t Ross. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever met.
“You only wanted me so I could free you,” she said.
He stood, stepped intimately into her personal space and cupped her elbows gently. “Yes. Because once I was free I would make love to you.”
Rooted, Lauren blinked rapidly, wondering if he would disappear again. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe she’d bonked herself on the head during her workout with the sword. Maybe she’d never even stolen the sword at all, but had tripped and fallen on that loose tile in Ross’s entryway, knocked herself unconscious and was even now waiting for Ross’s snooty butler to call 911. Maybe her overactive imagination cooked up Aiden as a delicious distraction from the fact that she was dying. What better way to go than in the arms of a glorious, sexy soldier from another time and place?
Suddenly his smile turned reticent. He stepped back, breaking the spell that had held her in thrall. “I speak too boldly.”
“No,” she found herself protesting, her hand instinctively pressing to his chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath the rock-hard muscles, lulling her into a calm she hadn’t felt in months. “You’re a guy who’s been trapped in a sword for two hundred and fifty years, give or take. Can’t blame you for wanting to have a little fun once you’re free.”
Her laughter sounded hollow, even to her own ears. As if she were on the brink of a complete breakdown. Very One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Very, very.
He hooked a finger beneath her chin, lifting her eyes to his, all humor gone from his slate gray gaze. She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been staring at the floor. What the hell had come over her? Lauren Cole wasn’t a shy, shrinking violet. She’d lost her virginity at thirteen, and after her marriage to Ross she’d discovered the advantages of being a tigress in the bedroom. But in this sweaty, dusty room, with nothing but torn mats, bad lighting and a wall of mirrors, she felt different. Uncertain, maybe. Vulnerable, definitely. Frightened? Without question.
Aiden traced the angles of her chin and cheeks with his fingers, as if he were a blind man trying to learn an important face. “You speak of fun as if mutual enjoyment is a bad thing.”
“Not bad.” She shook her head softly, hoping not to break from his soft touch.
“You are a woman of great sensuality. I’ve watched you. For so long.”
As he spoke, his face drifted closer and closer. When his lips swiped softly across hers she heard a hiss, as if his holding back caused him physical pain. She’d fisted her hands at her sides, hardly trusting herself not to tear off his clothes and give him what he wanted.
“You’ve watched me?”
Her mind raced. How often had she sneaked into the study fresh from a swim or a shower to take a peek at the weapon she coveted? How often had she found herself drawn into that room in the middle of the night after her sleep had been disrupted by erotic images and sensations? Those were the times, deep in the night, when she’d found herself most enamored of the sword. Just like tonight, when her haunted dreams had pushed her over the edge, spurred her to break into Ross’s house and take what was rightfully hers. Even as she’d slipped on her dark clothes and then driven with her headlights off up Ross’s curved driveway, she’d fantasized about the men of courage and valor who had wielded a sword of such deadly beauty in times past—never imagining one of those men’s souls had been trapped inside the steel.
“Then watch me now, Aiden,” she said, a thrill shooting through her as she switched places with him. “Because there’s something I’ve wanted to show a man like you for a very long time.”
Four
Burying her hands in his shirt, Lauren pressed between his thighs to stare at him eye to eye. Their noses brushed, and, with their lips less than a breath apart, Aiden had to engage all his self-control to keep from capturing her mouth and plundering it with utter disregard for anything but his own pleasure. In his old life he’d not been a patient man, but over the last two and a half centuries he’d learned the value of the virtue. A few minutes of restraint tonight could earn him what he’d sought since the first minute he’d sensed Lauren’s presence in the Dresden shop all those years ago.
Without a word she turned and padded to the door. When her hand skimmed the knob, his breath jammed in his throat, but he relaxed after realizing she was only checking the lock to make sure it was secure. When she cast him a brief but potent smile over her shoulder, lust flooded through him. He could hear his blood rushing through his veins and feel the exquisite tightening of his groin. This woman, this modern woman who had once reminded him so much of a trapped bird, now reveled in a freedom that he—more than any man alive—understood.
At a strange metallic box near the door, she flipped switches until the lights in the room glowed a warm, exotic red. This world was a mystery to him, but long ago he’d learned not to care, not to compare the ways of his past with this strange environment in which he’d awakened. He’d figure out the specifics when necessary. For now he wanted nothing more than to be fully alive. Raw. Unchained.
When she’d achieved the atmosphere that pleased her, she started toward him, her arms softly curved at her sides, her chin dipped, her eyes alight with a desire as strong as his own. He imagined her a
s he’d seen her once, many nights ago, hair mussed from sleep, wearing a delectable confection of silk in a fine sapphire blue that matched her eyes.
Her sharp intake of breath brought him back to the present.
She stood frozen in front of him, no longer dressed in pants, but in the sapphire gown.
“How did you… ?” she managed.
Aiden wondered, then grinned. “I only wished to see you in this gown, and there you are.”
The comer of her mouth tilted in an amazed smile that intensified his desire.
“You really are magic,” she said.
He glanced at the sword and wondered how he’d come to command Rogan’s powers. But when she stepped into his arms, he forgot about the weapon and the curse and the sorcerer who’d trapped him there.
He thought only about the sensation of smoothing his hands around her waist and clutching her tightly from behind, pressing her flush against his body, groaning as need, white-hot as forged steel, shot through him.
“I see your sword isn’t the only thing hard and lethal around here,” she quipped.
He arched a brow. “You are as bold as you are beautiful.”
“I guess in your time period, such talk would make me a shameless hussy.”
“I care not for the past,” he said honestly. “I am here now.”
Their kiss recalled a clash of predators. Tongues collided. Teeth grazed. Lips pressed hard and harder until Aiden feared he might not ever take another breath. The ache in his chest only invigorated him, made him hungrier, thirstier, harder. Her flesh, so soft beneath his ravaging touch, responded instantly. He yanked off his shirt and thrilled to the feel of her hardened nipples grazing his chest.
He slipped his hands beneath the straps of her gown, and seconds later the material fell away. The moment he cupped her breasts she groaned, threw back her head, arched her back and offered him full access, which he took greedily.
Sensations overwhelmed him from everywhere. The stiff responsiveness of her nipples, the hot buoyancy of her flesh, the sweet, scented flavors of her skin, the aria of pleasured moans she sang without hesitancy, without any attempts at modesty. And unlike the women who followed near the soldiers of his regiment to service the men as needed, Lauren’s focus for the moment was on her own pleasure. Not his. And he was perfectly willing to give her whatever she desired.
Pushing himself off the trunks, he dropped to his knees and plied his lips across her belly. When she lifted a leg over his shoulder, giving him access to her sweet mound, he nearly fell backward in ecstasy. Instead, he steadied his hands on her buttocks, tilted her slightly and inhaled.
The scent was intoxicating. Hot. Wet. Crisp, yet musky. Unable to resist, he tasted her, and the flavors on his tongue, coupled with her cry of delight, shot straight to his cock, which pulsed with need. He lapped at her insistently, loving how she gripped his hair tightly, tugging as he found the hard nub within and flicked it until she cooed in pleasured delight.
But he did not want her to come. Not yet. Not until he was buried deep inside her, the sound of her climaxing cries loud in his ear. He shifted her body until he could kiss a path up to her neck, suckling for a moment at the spot where her veins pulsed thickly. She’d skewered her fingers into his hair as she whispered his name over and over in his ear.
“Tell me what more you want, my lady,” he whispered, drawing his tongue around the shell of her ear.
“I want you,” she said simply.
In seconds he was free of the fastenings on his breeches. And yet he could not bear the idea of making love to her without the comforts he hadn’t enjoyed in centuries.
Looking over her shoulder a second later, he smiled as a simple bed materialized. White linen sheets. An array of pillows. All he needed. In a swift move that earned him a yelp of surprise from her, he lifted her into his arms, then moved to the bed, where he laid her amid the sheets, tinged scarlet from the lights above.
He stood above her, suddenly frozen in place.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning up on her elbow.
“What on earth could be wrong?”
She eased back onto the pillow, throwing her arm casually above her head, comfortable with her nudity in ways Aiden had rarely appreciated until now.
“Then what are you doing way up there?” she asked. “If this is all a dream, then I have no idea what we’re waiting for.”
He climbed onto the bed beside her. “Is that what you think this is? A dream?”
“There’s no other explanation.”
“There’s magic,” he offered.
“I can’t believe in magic.”
“Yes, you can,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “You already do. If you did not, you would have run screaming from this chamber by now.”
Her smile rippled with confidence. “I don’t run screaming from anywhere, buddy.”
“A fine policy.”
Suddenly dark, her eyes reflected the frown bowing her delicious lips. “This can’t be real,” she breathed.
He leaned over her, his mouth inches from hers. “You may tell yourself this is a dream if that is what you wish, but I will show you how very real I am.”
“You could,” she said, her eyes suddenly twinkling with a wicked gleam. “But why don’t you let me be the reality tester?”
She slid her hands around him sensually but, in one quick move, flipped him onto his back and pinned him to the mattress. When he shifted to counter her attack, she grabbed his hands and held them above his head.
“You do realize I could unseat you, yes?” he said.
She licked her lips, her gaze raking down his skin with raw appreciation. “Of course you could. You’re bigger and stronger. But honestly, why would you want to?”
Why indeed? When her stare continued to drift hungrily over his body, he immediately gave quarter. She kissed him soundly, shifting until her sweet center pressed hard against him. She didn’t make him wait, but moved until the tip of his head met her stick opening.
He slid neatly inside her, her flesh tight around his, pulsing and hot and needful. He cursed at her restraint, which caused her to laugh, and the vibrations heightened the pleasure building inside him.
“Maybe,” he said, his chest tight, “this is a dream.”
She arched her back, tempting him to near madness.
“Trust me,” she admitted, “it is.”
Releasing his hands, she stretched, her skin glistening under the red lights. Aiden clasped her hips, and together they established a rhythm that was slow and languorous, yet greedy and voracious. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on the feel of their bodies, conscious of every thrill, every sensation, every escalation of need. She braced her hands on him, her right palm just inches from where his heart beat in a wild, building crescendo. When she tugged on the hair peppering his chest, he thought he’d go insane.
“Yes,” she cried, undulating atop him, increasing the maddening tempo of their lovemaking until Aiden lost all track of time and space. It was as if they were floating in midair, nothing to anchor them except each other, nothing to stop them from toppling into blissful oblivion.
When his sex surged and spilled, he cried out in hot abandon, then watched her climax as well. Then, in a move as quick and unexpected as her initial attack, he spun her beneath him and kissed her long and hard and desperately. Only when she pushed on his chest did he stop his assault, panting.
“Slow down, tiger,” she said with a laugh in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but what of me?”
“You planning to leave?” she asked.
He shook his head, his lips aching for hers. “I am not a fool, my lady. But am cursed. This pleasure cannot last.”
***
Lauren knew it was morning only because her stomach growled loudly enough to wake her. Unlike the pampered little starlets who could subsist on a few leaves of lettuce and a snort of blow, Lauren needed real fo
od first thing in the morning. And a comfortable bed, she thought with an ache stabbing between her shoulder blades. What the hell was wrong with her mattress?
She sat up and forced her eyes open. A red light beamed into her eyes, and she rolled over, catching a rather rancid sniff of leathery sweat.
Where was she?
The workout room?
Memories flooded her: powerful images of a magic man and the sword and—Oh God. She realized then that she was naked. But where was the bed? The sexy gown? Hell, where was Aiden?
“Aiden?”
Her voice echoed, hollow in the empty space.
She sat up.
“Aiden!”
He didn’t answer, but just outside she heard the dull thump of hammers and the tinny whine of table saws. Holy crap, she’d spent the night in the workout room next to the soundstage. Had she locked the door? Because if she hadn’t, she was going to provide one hell of a show if someone decided to pop inside.
She found her clothes and threw herself into them as quickly as possible. She hit the lights, and, though momentarily blinded, she rubbed and squinted until her eyes watered and the room came fully into view. No Aiden. No simple bed. No sign that the aches in her body—the delicious, languorous aches—were anything but a powerful dream.
Until a whisper teased across her neck. “Good morning, my lady.”
Only Aiden wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
She glanced at the sword, cradled once again in the cashmere blanket.
“Don’t do that,” she insisted. “Make yourself visible.”
“Alas, I cannot.”
“Are you back in the sword?” she asked.
“If I were, could I do this?”
She gasped as an invisible hand copped a gentle feel of her left breast, followed by the press of moist lips at the center of her breastbone. She reached out and the atmosphere stiffened, but provided no real resistance. He was there, but not there, doing decadent things to her body that no one could see. Not even her.