He glanced at Nolan. “You ready?”
“If she can do it, I’ll be ready.”
Rory spoke up. “Fifty bucks she gets it on the first try.”
“One hundred she doesn’t do it at all,” Nolan countered.
“You guys are betting on me? That’s sick,” Morgan said, shaking her head.
Bastian pressed his mouth against her ear and reveled in the way she sucked in a sharp breath. He whispered, “You can do this. I know you can.”
She muttered something that sounded a lot like, “No pressure. Thanks, guys.”
“Hey! Bastian’s cheating,” Rory demanded. “What did you whisper in her ear?”
He grinned. “I am not cheating. I didn’t place a bet. Morgan, do your worst. You don’t have anything to lose but your pride.”
Two hours later, Morgan dropped to the ground. Her teeth chattered, and the blue tinge to her lips wasn’t fading. She looked up at the rising sun and panted. “No more. I think there are ice picks in my skull.”
Bastian stood above her and watched her eyes flutter shut. He grinned like an idiot. She’d not only managed to get the basics of all three spells, but she’d also projected a very weak version of the Withering Touch a few feet.
Nolan walked over, looked at him and then down at Morgan. “You did good, kid.”
Rory nudged her with his boot. “You owe me fifty bucks, brat.”
Bastian crouched and caressed her cheek. At his touch, her eyes opened and she looked at him. He put his palm to her forehead, used just a touch of magic on her, enough to clear the sludge from her head.
She sighed and pressed into his hand. “That’s nice.”
His chest tightened. “We showed you some offensive spells. Do you want to see defensive?”
She moaned. “I can’t do anymore.”
He helped her up, and when she teetered, he steadied her. Spreading her arms out, he nodded to Rory, who put on her jackets for her. “Go sit over there by the trees and watch.”
His gaze focused solely on her, he watched her walk in a jagged line across the clearing.
“I’ll admit,” Nolan said conversationally, “she does have a nice ass.”
Turning, Bastian glared at him. “Don’t look at her ass.”
His brother backed away with a swagger and put his arms up in the air. “What are you going to do about it?”
Bastian grinned. There was a lightness inside him, something he hadn’t felt in decades. “I’m going to kick your ass.”
Beside him, Rory bounced on his heels, his excitement contagious. “Nolan’s going to mop the floor with you, Bastian, and when he’s done, I’ll wring you out and hang you up to dry.”
His laughter rang out. “Big words, little brother.”
Nolan struck first. He threw his hand out, and Bastian saw the indigo streaks of magic spiraling toward him. Gathering his magic, he held it in the palm of his hand before letting it fly. The two energies collided, ice crystals falling to the dirt.
Bastian rolled and threw a blast at Rory. All at once, the darkness exploded with color as his brothers joined wholeheartedly in the mock fight. Nolan, a rare grin on his face, threw his head back and laughed. The blue, purple, and yellow streams of magic he and his brothers created streamed through the air like low-lying firecrackers painting the night. The ghosts hovering in the distance darted away from wayward spells with horrified expressions on their faces.
Bastian, Nolan, and Rory moved, jumped, and threw spell after spell at one another as the sky gradually lightened into dawn. Laughing, Nolan ran and sacked Bastian to the ground. He landed with a thump in the damp grass. The air whooshed from his lungs. Any breath he’d managed to save vanished when Rory leaped onto the pile.
“Assholes,” Bastian grunted. He shoved them both off and swiped Nolan’s legs out from underneath him.
Bastian lifted off the ground, ready to pounce, only to have Rory push him to the grass. They wrestled, mixing magic with brute strength and any other dirty trick they could manage. In the background, the sound of Morgan’s laughter filled him. He met her gaze. Amusement and what he guessed was a touch of affection colored her eyes.
Smash. The impact came at him from the side. Bastian flew forward and smacked his face on the ground. Nolan grabbed his arm and pinned it behind him against the base of his spine before yanking. Bastian twisted, using Nolan’s hold against him, and managed to roll his brother beneath him.
“All right, all right, you win,” Nolan muttered when Bastian dug his elbow into his brother’s stomach.
Rory, wearing a grin so huge it threatened to split his face, sat down beside him. Bastian looked between them and laughed. They were all sweaty, bruised, and a little bloody.
“We haven’t done that in…” Nolan said.
“Decades,” Rory finished.
After a long moment, the three of them got to their feet, and when Bastian stumbled, Morgan snuck under his arm and looked up at him with a grin. “You guys are nuts.”
“Maybe.”
The car ride home, a complete one-eighty from the one they’d shared on the way to the graveyard, was filled with laughter and smiles. Work was work, and Bastian wasn’t going to stress about it. Roberts would spend the next several weeks chasing his tail on his double homicide as the case grew colder and colder.
Once back at the bar, he waved off his brothers and rested his palm against the middle of Morgan’s back to steer her in the direction of his apartment. After the door closed, Morgan grabbed his hand and drew him to the couch. She turned and delicately pressed her fingers against his swelling eye.
“You’ve got a shiner,” she said.
“Rory’s elbow.”
She stroked the bruise, and her touch made the sting fade away.
“Why don’t you try to heal it?” he suggested.
Morgan leaned in close. The heat from her breath caressed his lips, thawing them. “I’d hate to screw up and ruin this pretty face of yours.” She searched his gaze and brushed her fingers through his hair. Slowly, hesitantly, she pressed her lips against the corner of his eye.
His chest went tight with the sensations hammering at him. He wanted her. Wanted to see the magic dancing in her eyes when he fucked her.
Pulling back, she smiled down at him. “Better?”
Before he could stop himself, he threaded his fingers through the silky strands of her hair. He cupped the back of her head. The smile on her face faded as her lips parted. He bumped his nose against hers. Closing his eyes, he drew in a breath of cinnamon and sugar.
“Bastian.” She ran her hand from his shoulder up to his neck, her touch igniting heat where cold lived.
He opened his eyes and gripped her nape until she gasped. Using his body, he laid her onto the couch and settled his weight over her. “Tonight you’re mine,” he growled and took possession of her mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
Bastian tilted her head and traced his tongue along her upper lip. When her mouth parted on a soft moan, he moved inside. At the first hot, wet slide of her tongue against his, he groaned.
Morgan flattened her hand on his chest and spread her fingers over his thundering heart. Before he had a chance to protest, she glided her palms up his chest and curved around his shoulders. A line of molten desire shot straight to his rock-hard cock. She angled her head into the kiss, deepened the penetration, and stole his breath. When she scratched her nails up the back of his neck to his nape, the all-over tightening of his skin made him shiver. Her legs fell open, and he fitted his hips between them. He clutched her tighter.
Their mouths melted into one, and when he demanded more, she was there to give it. Tongues entwined, they stroked each other into a fevered pitch. His desire spun out of control. He released the fist he held in her hair and pulled back enough to work the jackets from her arms.
Never breaking their kiss, he threw the discarded clothing to the ground and reached for the button on her jeans. Magic flared around them, his or
hers, he couldn’t tell. The cold press of energy was almost as addicting as Morgan’s tongue dancing with his. She curled her fingers into his hair and held him against her mouth. The hot slide of her tongue against his was addictive. She broke from their kiss, dragged a little of his lip with her. The sting teased, and he chased forward for more.
The world around him faded. Ronan, the haunting memories from his past converging on his present, and any other coherent thought disappeared. He registered one thing: the woman in his arms. She was soft, warm, and eager. From the back of her neck to the indent of her spine, he slid his hands along her body with a single goal. He wanted to feel all of her at once. He cupped her ass and brought her pelvis against his cock. At the intimate contact, she moaned her approval and wrapped her legs tight around his waist.
Morgan scratched her nails up the back of his neck, over his scalp until she buried both of her hands in his hair. She tilted his head and explored his mouth with vigor. A potent rush of desire and magic punched him in the gut. His cock jerked, and he cursed the layer of clothing between them.
The stretchy denim of her jeans was smooth, thin enough for the heat of her skin to seep into his palms. He trailed a hand from her ass to her thigh and then to the curve of her knee. He didn’t stop until he found her calf. Reversing direction, he stroked the path he’d just taken. Over and across, back and forth, he glided one hand up and down the leg wrapped around his waist, the other traversed her back, neck, found its way into her silky tresses.
“God, that feels good,” she whispered. “More.”
As if she was just as restless, out of control as he, Morgan moved her palm from his hair to his shoulders, back up to his nape. The cold press of her magic sent a tingle of ice down to his toes and undid his self-control. Whatever hold he had on his magic snapped. The air around them frosted, and a trail of goose bumps raised the hair on his arms. He pulled Morgan’s head back, dragged his lips down her chin, and stopped to nip the underside of her jaw. In a wet, openmouthed kiss, he devoured her throat.
She sucked in a breath and arched to meet him. The tips of his fingers found their way under her shirt, against hot, satin skin. He sucked on her neck, nibbled, soothed with his tongue. She tasted of honey and cinnamon. He needed all of her. He wanted to carry her to the bedroom and strip off her clothes. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin and hold her close. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and taste her. But he wouldn’t do that because that was too close to making love. He fucked. End of story.
Morgan moaned. “I’m so hot.”
Agreed.
“And at the same time,” she continued, “so cold.”
“It’s the magic. Body heat. Lust. Hell if I know, but I like it.” He pulled her earlobe into his mouth.
She reached between them and grabbed the bottom of her tank top. As she tugged up, her knuckles brushed the ridge of his erection straining against his jeans. Fuck. The teasing caress tightened his balls and forced a ragged growl from his throat. Hands fumbling against hers, Bastian helped in her quest to get unclothed as quickly as possible. He lifted her shirt and drew it over her head. This desperate, consuming, driving need to get her naked and beneath him terrified him. One touch wasn’t enough. One kiss would never sate the raging hunger.
Morgan was right there with him, though. Her need matched his and sent the ice-hot flames between them spiraling out of control. He tossed her shirt to the ground, stared at her bared breasts. Tight nipples strained and begged for his touch, his mouth.
“This just makes things hotter,” he growled and cupped one petite mound.
Bastian bent before sating his hunger by tracing the dark areola with his tongue and then sucking her fully into his mouth. Three rapid knocks against the front door drowned out her breathy cry. He pulled away from her breast with a curse and pressed a quick kiss against her lips. Unsatisfied, he kissed her again. He sampled, tasted, licked, delved deeper until they were both breathless. His hand, obviously having a mind of its own, glided down the front of her unfastened jeans until he felt the lace of her panties.
The sound came again. Knock. Knock. Knock.
“They’ll go away,” Bastian panted against her mouth and cupped her dripping pussy under the fabric of silk.
“Oh God, Bastian,” she moaned and arched her hips, her body begging him to enter.
He slid his fingers through her slick arousal and circled the hard nub of her clit until he had her panting. Using two fingers, he parted her sex and pushed deep inside at the same time he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her pussy was tight and so goddamned hot. She dug her nails into his scalp and rocked her hips against him in time to his invading fingers. He honed in on her G-spot, and her sharp cry told him he’d found it without effort. Two minutes, tops, and he’d have her coming hard enough to see stars. Then, he’d flip her over and fuck her from behind until they both passed out.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Fuck.” He withdrew his hand from her panties.
He brought his forehead to hers and pulled in a calming breath steeped with cinnamon and sandalwood. Around them purple ice, a combination of their necromancy, coated the living room. Hell, if there’d been anything dead close by, he and Morgan might have wreaked havoc. He’d never seen anything like the bilayered ice before, and wasn’t sure if he should share this little tidbit with Nolan or not. He didn’t know it was possible to merge magic with another person.
Morgan locked her ankles behind his back. “It’s probably just one of your brothers. Tell them we’re busy.”
She licked his bottom lip. She slid her palm down his stomach and flicked her gaze up to his. He sucked in a sharp breath, a reaction from both the impending eruption from his erection and the naked lust in her eyes. He caught her wrist before she palmed his cock.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Between eager kisses, he managed to mutter, “Rory or Nolan wouldn’t knock. And as much as I want to fuck your sweet little pussy, I’m not going to have whoever is on the other side of that door hear you come.”
Morgan closed her eyes on a moan. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
Resigned to the fact their make-out session was over, Morgan moved the hand buried in his hair to his chest. Unhooking her legs, she gently pushed him back until she had enough room to sit and fasten her jeans. With a playful tug on his shirt, she looked up at him. Her sexy half smile turned him on more than feeling the sweet petals of sex quivering at his touch. All right, maybe not more, but the look was heady.
“Bastian, are you home? Rory told me come up,” a familiar voice asked from the other side of the closed door.
Bastian shook his head and tried to think. Hell, he could barely remember his own name.
“Coming!” he yelled.
He stroked her nape and leaned in close for another hard kiss. The brief contact wasn’t enough, would never be enough, but it would have to do. Not looking away from her, he licked the sweet nectar of her arousal from his fingers. She tasted decadent and potent.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she whispered and squeezed her legs together.
Grinning, he zipped his pants and walked in reverse to the door. His gaze lingered on her red, kiss-swollen lips and the tangled strands of her hair. Her eyes were slumberous, the amber shade smoky—a sexy combination with the flush coloring the tops of her breasts and cheeks. He eyed her tits and licked his lips, the taste of her lingering on his tongue.
She picked up her tank from the floor and pulled it over her head. What a shame.
Bastian wiped his mouth on the back of his hand to remove any remaining moisture. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to make it appear as if he hadn’t been necking like a teenager. Glancing at Morgan one last time before he answered the door, he watched her fingers disappear into the dark locks of her hair. She shook out the strands, settling them into place. Once Bastian and Morgan were as presentable as they were going to get, he opened the front door. D
espite his annoyance at being interrupted, he couldn’t help but grin at the white-haired man leaning against a simple, worn cane.
Father Xavier returned Bastian’s smile with a wide one of his own. When the old man grinned, it was easy to picture him as the little blond-haired boy who’d saved Bastian’s life almost eighty years ago. Bastian shook off the creeping memory and brought himself back to the present. Xavier was a priest now, had been for close to sixty years.
The old man was dressed in traditional attire—a black ankle-length cassock. The material stretched tight around a stomach Bastian didn’t remember being quite so round. Beneath the white tab of his collar, a row of buttons ran down the single-breasted robe. Simple. Classic.
“Father Xavier, this is a surprise.” Bastian stepped back from the door and gestured him inside. “You should have called. I would have met you downstairs so you didn’t have to climb the stairs.”
His guest cupped his belly and then patted it. “Exercise is good for the heart. At least that’s what my niece keeps telling me.”
Xavier looked around the apartment. He shook his head at the mess. When Xavier’s focus landed on Morgan and the rumpled couch, his grin stretched wide enough to vanquish a few wrinkles. Behind the wire-framed glasses resting low on his red-tipped, bulbous nose, his blue eyes twinkled with both old age and happiness.
While Morgan’s finger combing had fixed her hair, it had done nothing for the color on her cheeks or the shirt she’d pulled on inside out. Lust scented the air, stirring Bastian’s desire all over again. His gaze caressed her neck, pink from the stubble on his jaw. He looked lower, to the breasts he imagined himself sucking on. Damn it. He had to get control of his hormones.
“You have company. Perhaps I should come back,” Xavier said with a knowing grin.
“It’s fine.” Not really. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you some tea. Morgan, this is Father Xavier. Xavier, this is Morgan Cross. And she isn’t company. She lives here.”
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