Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  He gobbled his whipped-creamed-topped chocolate mousse dessert then watched her like a hawk about to pounce on its dinner. She spooned the last bite of mousse into her mouth like a Popsicle, sliding the spoon in and out as she slowly tongued the sweet dessert.

  “You don’t make it easy, hon,” Harry said. “You say you want to take it slow, but what you’re doing doesn’t match your words.”

  “I want it both ways, Harry. Slow, yet now.” As she licked the last bit of the creamy confection off the cold spoon, she swirled her tongue around the metal bowl, knowing full well what kind of image she was sending him. But she couldn’t stop herself.

  She loved the way he reacted to her. Reveled in the tenting motion of his trousers. Felt elated at the power she held over him. The smoldering awareness of all these emotions pushed her to places she wouldn’t normally go. Places that stoked flames and fear in her at the same time. Places she was reluctant to approach. Places she was eager to reach.

  What in heaven’s name was happening to her? For the briefest of seconds, she wondered if Lila’s dress was enchanted. Slip it on and act like a wanton? She’d never done this with, or to, a man before. It was scary and exhilarating and consuming. No wonder Lila had chided her about not living life to the fullest.

  The tip of his tongue slid over his upper lip. Hungry, primal desire radiated from him. “Delaney,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re playing with fire.”

  Rotating on the couch, she tucked her leg under her and leaned forward, giving him a clear view of her cleavage as she set the empty dish on the coffee table. The spoon clinked against the crystal, sending a tiny ping into to the air, like a miniature starting bell. “I know,” she murmured.

  He groaned and reached for her. She slid across the leather couch toward him, her dress bunching with the motion. He brushed his hand over her bared thigh, his fingers moving closer and closer with each stroke to the throbbing center between her legs. “I hope you’re prepared,” he said, nuzzling her shoulder. “Now.”

  She shuddered. “Now? No foreplay?”

  “You’re not ready? You’ve nearly foreplayed me into a frenzy. What do you need me to do?”

  She thought about his question. Her seduction of Harry had her entire body smoldering with an intensity that threatened to combust. But he hadn’t kissed her yet. His lips on her would light her fire.

  “Kiss me first, Harry. I need your kisses to fan the flames.”

  Growling, he lifted her onto his lap. As she straddled him, her skirt pushed to her hips, the bulge in his pants throbbing against her. He kissed her lips, and her cheeks, then worked his way down. Delaney arched against him, giving him full access to her body.

  Delaney awoke lying in her bed, her heart swelling at the memory of last night. Harry had been everything she’d hoped for, physically and emotionally. I did it, Lila. I let this one in. I think you’ll like him. He’s strong and handsome and honest. The kind of man who would make a good husband and father. Too bad she hadn’t met him years ago.

  Stretching out her arms, she searched for him. She was alone. A rock dropped into her stomach. Had he left already? The smell of freshly roasting coffee and the rattle of pans and dishes coming from the kitchen melted the rock away. Harry was fixing breakfast?

  She rose onto one elbow and noticed the indented pillow on the other side of the bed where he had slept. He must have carried her into the bedroom, because she didn’t remember walking in. A sense of security at his strength and ability to carry her, flooded her. Anxious to see him, she hurried to shower and dress.

  In the kitchen he stood at the stove, an apron tied high on his chest.

  “Morning,” she said as she came in. In spite of all they shared last night, uncertain, morning-after jitters danced in her tummy.

  Upon hearing her voice, he glanced over his shoulder. “I found eggs and bacon in the fridge. Figured that was good for breakfast.” He scooped food out of the pans on the stove, set the serving platter on the table between the plates, and handed her a cup of coffee.

  She cupped the mug and studied him.

  “What?” Harry asked, when he saw her smiling.

  “It’s nice to have company for breakfast. Been a long time.”

  “It was nice to sleep over,” he said. He moved closer and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “I enjoyed last night.”

  “About that,” she said.

  He backed away, his face clouding over. “Not the answer I was hoping for.”

  “Oh, no! Don’t take that wrong.” The last thing she wanted to do was make him think she was sorry. “I was wondering how we got in the bed.”

  “You were down for the count.” He grinned. “Guess I’ve still got it.”

  “Is that a hint that I haven’t?” she asked playfully.

  “Oh, absolutely not. My butt stuck to the leather like a roll of duct tape. Kinda hard to sleep soundly when your rear makes sucking sounds every time you shift. Not a very romantic, or comfortable, way to spend the rest of the night with you. I practically had to peel myself off the sofa.” He rubbed his hip. “I think I’ve even got some chaffing.”

  “Chaffing? Duct tape?” The image of Harry peeling his butt off the couch sent her into fits of laughter. She added funny to his list of good qualities. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He undid his belt. “You don’t believe me? See for yourself.”

  She grabbed his hand and stopped him. “Probably not a good idea. We both have to get to work this morning.”

  “You’re right.” He slipped the tongue of his belt into the buckle, his eyes serious. “What now?”

  The question she’d been dreading. Were they a couple? Friends with benefits? Or did he only want a one-night stand?

  “What do you want?” she asked him.

  “You.”

  She felt the same about him. Putting the horse back in the barn once you let him out was hard. But she wanted more than sex. “What a vague answer, Harry.”

  He raked his hands through his crew cut. “Okay. I want you, in the bed next to me. I want to do what we did last night every night. Clear enough?” She sighed and stepped backward, and he continued. “What do you want?”

  “The same, but more.” She stared at the floor, afraid to see his reaction to the last part of her sentence. Was it going to end now because all he wanted was sex?

  He tipped her head toward him. “That answer is vaguer than mine, Delaney.”

  Okay, she deserved that. His eyes overflowed with tenderness and passion. He wanted to know how she felt. He opened the door. All she had to do was be strong enough to walk through.

  Taking a deep breath, she replied, “I’m tired of being alone, Harry, but I don’t want to settle only for sex. Don’t get me wrong, last night was great, but I want more. I want someone I can trust. Someone who will be there when I come home at night. Someone who I.” The word caught in her throat. She couldn’t say love. It was way too early, but she felt the stirrings deep inside.

  “Who loves you?” he asked softly.

  Embarrassed and elated he’d guessed, she tucked her chin.

  “I can’t promise, Laney,” he said as he hugged her. “But if we find it, I’d be happy.” Placing his index finger under her chin, he lifted it again. “I’m willing to give love a chance if you are.”

  “I’m in,” she whispered. She looped her arms around his neck and her palm brushed the top of her Turning Stone ring, reminding her she could never be one-hundred percent in with a non-shifter. There would always be one part of her he could never have or never know about. One part she had to protect at all costs.

  Dread crept through her because she suspected Harry Williams was an all-or-nothing kind of guy.

  A warning she chose to ignore.

  Chapter 15

 
Sylvia placed the copy of Alexi’s death certificate she’d printed from her cell phone picture on Falhman’s desk. “Satisfied?” she asked as he perused the page.

  “It’s a start.”

  “Start? What more do you want, Falhman?”

  “A picture of the body in the casket would be nice.”

  “That’s morbid, and impossible to get without arousing suspicion.”

  “I have faith in you, my dear. When you’ve accomplished that little job, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of a surprise from him. “I hope it won’t be similar to the one you gave me with Owen.”

  Falhman threw back his head and laughed. “You’ll appreciate this. A perfect job for someone of your talents.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “Have you heard of the Spinning Turban?”

  “The shape shifter bar in Afghanistan?”

  “The same. I had to close it due to some problems. Too many U.S. soldiers wandering around creating havoc. I moved operations here to Cleveland to a hole in the wall I named Rogueman’s Bar. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I’ve been there a couple of times. But what’s it got to do with me?”

  “If you can complete my request about the picture, I’m thinking of passing the management of the establishment over to you. I’ve had to replace my most recent manager. He got too greedy.”

  His emphasis on the word replace told her volumes.

  “I could use someone with your talents, Sylvia. Someone who knows how to rule with an iron fist in a velvet glove.” He swept his gaze over her. “I find this quality very attractive, like you.”

  Her body responded to his gaze and she cursed her loose morals. Screwing Falhman wasn’t in the plans, at least not while she had a chance to take over using Roc. “I’m taken at the moment,” she said evenly.

  “I could fix that.”

  “Not unless you care to kill your Promised One.”

  He raked his gaze over her again, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Not woman enough to take care of us both?”

  She laughed. “I’m woman enough, but if you make me divide my attention I won’t be able to mentor your Promised One like you want. I need all my energies for him.” She paused, stared him straight in the eyes, then let her gaze travel below his waist. “Roc’s a pretty big handful.”

  Falhman shifted in his seat, her provocative double entendre obviously affecting him.

  “Besides,” she continued. “I don’t need your wife on my case.” Her reference to his wife caused him to shrivel before her eyes.

  “No need to worry about her,” he said in clipped tones. “She’ll do what I say.”

  “Humm,” Sylvia said softly.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” She changed the subject before he could probe any further. “When would I get control of the bar?”

  “Management, Sylvia. I control. Don’t forget.”

  She inclined her head toward him in a subservient manner. “Of course. That’s what I meant.”

  “As soon as you bring me the picture.”

  Things were working out better than she could have hoped. Control over the shifter bar. Skim a bit here. Convert a few lower ranking rogues there. Between her and Roc, they’d have Falhman out of the picture in no time. “Consider it done,” she said with a smile.

  Once out the door, she dialed Roc on her cell phone. “I’m coming by to get you,” she told him when he answered the phone in a sleep-laden voice. “Get up.”

  “What time is it?”

  “The middle of the morning. What are you doing still in bed?”

  “I had a late night with your son.”

  “What are you doing with Owen?”

  “Following orders.”

  “Not mine,” she said irritably.

  “Do I have to remind you? Again? You’re not in charge.”

  “Don’t lead him on. Owen doesn’t like people playing him. When your persuasion wears off there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Relax, Sylvia. I actually like the guy. He’s a refreshing change from all the people in my life who only want to control me.”

  She heard the barb in his voice. “I hope you’re not including me in that group. I don’t want to control. I want to rule with you, Roc.”

  “I know.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  She needed to be more forceful about the emotional aspect of this relationship and less on the power play. Falling for such a gorgeous, powerful man wasn’t hard. Qualities she loved in a man. “On second thought, don’t bother to get dressed.”

  “Oh?” His voice dropped into a deeper timber sending an anticipatory shiver scrambling across her spine. “You got something in mind?”

  “Oh, yeah. And, Roc, I hope you’re not wearing any pajamas.”

  A low laugh rumbled through the phone. “I never do. Hurry.”

  Roc hung up the phone and stretched languorously. Pleasure before business. Nice. Running his hand over the stubble on his chin, he glanced at the clock. Did he have enough time for a shave and a shower? He rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. Shave now. Save the shower for foreplay.

  When he opened the door Sylvia’s gaze raked over him appreciatively. She hooked her index finger in the towel wrapped around his waist and tugged.

  “No pajamas,” he said. “Waiting around in the buff got chilly.” He closed the door and leaned her against the wood. “Since you’re here, things will get hot.”

  Entwining his hands in her black, silky hair, he tipped her head to the side and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, nipping her lips with his teeth.

  She moaned and snaked her arms around his head, returning each nip and thrust with an urgency that matched his. Without removing his lips from hers, he urged her toward the bathroom, stripping her clothes off with each step. Body heat rose between them as her clothing fell to the floor, skin searing skin wherever their bodies touched. As the last piece of her clothes came off, she pressed herself against him so furiously he nearly lost his balance.

  Opening one eye, he checked her aura. Clear red passion pulsed the auric rings, and he relaxed. She wasn’t trying to con him about how she felt. He turned her on as much as she did him. Loosening his hold on his ardor, he let it flow over him.

  Doing this hadn’t felt this good since his last time with his fiancée. A quick flash of their last night together surged through his memory, and he stiffened.

  She must have noticed the change because she murmured against his lips, “You okay?”

  When he opened his mouth to answer, she thrust her tongue in so deep all he could do was moan. This wasn’t his fiancée. No love here. Nothing here but pure lust. He would never lose himself in love’s dark fire again. Ever.

  Stumbling into the bathroom, he maneuvered them to the shower. The cold tile floor on his feet sent shocks through his raging, hot body. He fumbled for the handles and turned on the water. When the steam moistened his skin, he lifted Sylvia and stepped over the shower opening. Warm water sluiced down his back. He angled sideways until the water hit them both, then he grabbed the soap and pushed the lather over Sylvia, rubbing his hands on every inch of her body. She strained closer at his touch, reaching for the soap in his hand, and returned each stroke touch for touch. Rich notes of shea butter and vanilla scented soap enveloped them as they writhed against each other, all friction gone.

  Roc lifted Sylvia out of the shower and lowered her to the thick bathmat, readying himself to claim her body. She opened her eyes and trailed her hand down his chest. His body throbbed so hard it hurt. “Now, Roc,” she pleaded. “Hurry!”

  The words struck a chord in him. Fear tazered his spine
. His fiancée had said the same thing the night he— Shoving the thought aside, he concentrated on the dark-haired woman beneath him.