He didn’t like hearing any man referred to with such warmth by his woman, but was able to choke back the “caveman” routine in favor of staying on her good side. Not that he was there yet, but he figured a little optimism couldn’t hurt. “I canna stop looking at them,” he rasped, voice gone guttural as the need he constantly carried for this woman began to churn with dark, sharp-edged focus.
His eyes found hers, midnight gaze blazing with desire. “In fact, I’d be willin’ to bet they’ll be playin’ front and center in my mind—’til I replace them with the real thing.”
Her breath sucked in on a sharp stab of arousal, a carnal groan sticking in her throat at the primitive, smoldering look in his eyes. Kieran took a step closer, and she felt her muscles quiver with anticipation.
“Your body is beautiful in these pictures, Té Hayes. Soft and womanly and so sexy it makes me want to come just looking at them—but you know what really gets to me?”
She swallowed, shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak. “It’s those damn pictures of your face, sweetheart—those expressions that make me so bloody hard that I ache, because in every single one of them, you look exactly…exactly how I imagine you will when I’m inside of you.”
“I won’t apologize for them.” Her voice was soft, challenging, as if she honestly expected him to object. “They were my choice and I’m proud of them. I’m proud to have been a part of something so beautiful. Palo is truly an artist. An artist and a wonderful friend.”
His smile was slow and sweet, fingers warm as he tenderly brushed a dark red lock of hair off her forehead. “I didna ask you to, beautiful.”
Té shook her head in a small burst of frustration, honestly not knowing what to make of him—her thoughts a rioting jumble, emotions no better. Needing to find Palo to let him know she’d arrived, not to mention a few moments away from the sexy stud to get her head together, she took a deep breath and said, “How about you take a look around while I go get you a drink and let Palo know we’re here?”
He didn’t like the idea of her going off without him, but figured he had to give her at least a little space, whether he wanted to or not. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he nodded, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a teasing grin. “Just make sure it’s a bloody stiff one.”
She looked back at him with a warm gleam in her luminous eyes. “And here I thought you were already stiff enough.”
He laughed softly beneath his breath, eyeing her the entire way across the room, wanting to kill every single man who stopped to stare. She drew their attention like a flame draws the helpless moth, entrancing them with her stunning, unique appeal.
And he was as snared as the rest of them—if not more so.
Hell, who was he kidding? All she had to do was snap her little fingers and he’d be hers to do with however she damn well pleased—body, heart, and soul.
Beside him, a small group of Americans climbed the carpeted step up into the room, walking from photo to photo, heads bent close in private discussion. Kieran watched them with narrowed eyes, wanting very much to go and throw his body across the black and white photographs like an overly dramatic, lovesick pup. He snorted to himself, not knowing he had such a possessive streak. Of course, it could all be attributed to the headstrong little American turning his entire world on its ass.
Damn, what a startling little bundle of surprises Té Hayes was turning out to be—each one making him fall for her all the harder.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the cultured voice murmured beside him.
“Is that right?” Kieran drawled. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised. Seemed everyone knew what he was thinking these days.
He turned to face the short, stocky man holding out a well-manicured hand. “I’m Palo Daumier. And you must be the man Bronté told me she would be bringing when she phoned this afternoon.”
“Aye,” he replied, reaching out to shake the artist’s cool hand. “Kieran McKendrick.”
Palo gave him a small smile. “Well, I do know what you’re thinking, young man. Aside from dreaming about how you’d like to physically dismantle me piece by piece, you’re wondering how someone as inherently modest as our Bronté can manage to look so sinfully erotic, so painfully enticing—the consummate seductress.”
“Is that right?” he repeated. His voice this time was tighter, the words darker than before, but Palo remained undaunted.
“Oh definitely. It what’s we all think, dear boy.”
A bitter flavor that tasted remarkably like that jealousy she’d accused him of soured his mouth, and he shook his dark head in fascination. Who would have ever thought that after thirty-three years he would finally fall victim to that little green monster? Here he was, a lethal combination of wolf and Warlock, and he was fuckin’ jealous of some gnach photographer. “From the way I heard it, sexy females aren’t quite your thing, Daumier.”
The older man had the grace to blush slightly, looking somewhat guilty in his severe dress black. “Yes, well, you don’t think Ellie and I could have really persuaded that beautiful girl to model for me if she suspected I enjoy a little variety from time to time, do you?”
Kieran’s black eyes glittered from beneath lowered lids, pinning the stylish older man in place. “So you lied to her,” he stated softly.
Despite the rise in his blood pressure, Daumier managed another small smile, though the line of his lips now appeared strained, looking white around the edges. “Through my teeth, if you must know. But for these,” and he swung his arm wide, indicating the array of photos displayed on the wall before them, “I would do it again and again. I can assure you the experience was nothing short of torturous hell, but we artists must often suffer for art’s sake.”
Kieran wasn’t sure whether Daumier was referring to the fact that he’d had to lie to Té about his sexual preference, or the fact that he’d had to keep his attraction to her well hidden that had been such hell. Either way, he found himself reluctantly liking the old guy for his ballsy admission. So long as he stayed the hell away from Té, Kieran figured he could hold off on kicking the guy’s designer ass all the way back to Chicago.
With a dark laugh, he jerked his head toward the wall, indicating the photographs. “I really should beat you senseless, but it’s hard to hold a grudge when I find myself so admiring of the end result.”
The gleam of success burned like a flame in Daumier’s golden eyes. “So am I, Mr. McKendrick. So am I.”
Chapter Ten
Kieran hadn’t planned on kissing her, but it happened before either of them could stop it. The group of Americans, including Palo, had left by the time she returned with his Scotch, leaving them in the relative privacy of the viewing room. They stood close, devouring one another with eyes troubled by mounting lust and the inherent understanding that the other held a vital part of their soul, as strange as it seemed. Then, before he knew it, he’d taken one long sip, set the glass down on one of the low tables arranged with exhibit brochures, and his arms were pulling her to him, her own going eagerly around his broad shoulders, soft body falling into him.
No, he hadn’t planned on kissing her. What he’d planned on doing, every damn time he laid eyes on her, was fucking her so hard and so deep that she’d never again have any doubt just who her sweet little ass belonged to. It’d been that way from the first—a lightning bolt of hunger and recognition the second she walked into that blasted coffee shop.
No, he hadn’t planned on kissing her now, surrounded by an unwelcome crowd of strangers, where he could hardly do all the things his starved body was so adamantly demanding.
And the hell of it was that she was kissing him back. Not just accepting the dominating sweep and thrust of his tongue as he forced his way between those lush, wine-red lips and ate his way inside. No, she was kissing him like she had last night, sucking on his tongue as if she drew nectar from the tip, making his head damn near explode from the sudden steam-capped pressure building inside of him.
&
nbsp; No longer caring that they were in a roomful of friggin’ gnach, Kieran’s big hands found the soft curves of her ass and squeezed hard, claiming possession. With a feral sound of impatience, he pulled her into him, molding her soft body to his until she was groaning at the huge mass of his cock ramming into her belly from behind the strained fly of his dress pants.
It was monstrous—as unbelievably huge as it’d felt the last time it’d been pressed against her. Every feminine cell in her body went hot, liquid and soft, at the thought of having that massive erection thrusting inside of her—of that magnificent cock pounding her apart. Everything about this giant Scot was fierce and dangerous, intoxicatingly so, and Té knew he’d be no different at sex. No, he’d probably stake her out and drive himself into her until she no longer recognized the stars and the moon, or the earth beneath her—but only the pounding of his body into hers. Total and complete possession, while the rest of the world simply fell away.
Without warning, a sharp cry burst from her throat, but he swallowed the raw sound of need, giving a gruff growl in return. She felt that growl against her nipples, the way it rumbled in his chest like a beast—like an animal—and suddenly her vivid imagination was conjuring up all kinds of hot, mind-shattering visions of being taken on her knees, with Kieran behind her, driving his point home with every hard, pounding thrust of his cock into her open, juice-soaked sex.
In her vision, her mouth was open, face flushed as she silently sobbed and screamed and begged for more. Begged him to pull the cheeks of her ass apart—to spread the swollen, ravaged lips of her pussy and fuck her into a heart-stopping orgasm that nearly killed her. The kind that stripped her skin and sanity—leaving nothing but a pulsing, writhing mass of ecstasy in its wake, and all without harming a single hair on her head.
The kind that settled into her blood, burning her alive from the inside out.
The kind that destroyed her.
And all she could moan was one whispered refrain, soft and pleading—
Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…
“Stop it, baby,” he breathed against her neck, just beneath her ear, his lungs working hard for air. “Saephus, you’re killin’ me, lass.”
Oh, God, it hit her like a punch to her trembling belly. She was whispering that wicked refrain out loud—not loud enough to be heard by the curious eyes watching their embrace, slanting them fascinated glances while trying to conceal their attention—but loud enough for Kieran to hear.
She’d been telling him to fuck her.
Begging for it—in the middle of Palo’s freaking exhibit!
She moved to pull away, to put some distance between them, her mind dizzy, thick with desire, but his arms held tight, his hold unbreakable.
“Dinna do that.”
Té stared up at him, not even pretending to misunderstand. She was the one who’d gotten herself into this, and she was going to be damned before she chickened out like a coward. “I’m sorry.”
“Dinna—dinna ever tell me you’re sorry for this.”
His incessant contradictions were driving her crazy. “Then what do you want me to say, Kieran? That I can’t help myself when I’m around you? Well, I can’t, damn it—and I don’t like it. I hate it! Especially when you seem to have no interest in ever taking it any further.”
“No interest?” he snarled. “No interest?” With his back to the roomful of mortals, he grabbed her cool fingers and pressed them against the pulsing ridge of his cock beneath the fine cloth of his pants. “What the fuck do you call this, Té? If this isna interest then I dinna know what the hell is.”
“Yeah, well, you have a funny way of showing it,” she grumbled, still struggling in his grasp, trying to pull her hand away. “And that’s fine, Kieran. Really. I have enough to deal with in my life right now without butting heads with you every five minutes.”
“I’m trying to protect you.” The words were harsh, tortured, forced out between his clenched teeth.
She heard the tiny noise like a deafening blast of sound. The small, significant click inside her head that suddenly sent everything tumbling free. “Damn it, will you stop trying to protect me from what you are? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not running. I’m right here, ready and aching, going outta my freaking mind because I want you. But no—no, you’ve got to protect me, because I’m just some puny little human gnach, huh? Well, fuck you, Kieran. I may be human, I may not have freaking lightning bolts shooting out my friggin’ fingertips, but I have my pride and I’m tired of you stepping all over it.”
She jerked out of his grasp, gaining two steps of freedom before his grip on her arm brought her back around. His nostrils flared with his harsh breathing, hot color burning along his strong cheekbones. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’m hot and horny and if you’re not going to do anything about it, then by God I’ll go find someone who will,” she vowed, rapid breaths setting the soft mounds of her breasts above the strapless neckline trembling. “Someone who isn’t afraid I’ll break at the slightest touch.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were the wrong ones, but there was no way to pull them back. No means of recapturing the threat, the challenge, she’d just thrown at his feet like a gauntlet. And one look at his hard-edged face told her that this time she’d pushed him too far.
God help her, she was finally going to get what she’d been asking for.
One moment they were trapped in a roomful of people, and in the next, she was being pulled along behind his tall form until she found herself utterly alone with him in what must have been the gallery owner’s private office.
Kieran spun her around with more force than he’d ever used with her before, slamming her up against the hardwood of the door the second it clicked shut, the lock clicking into place without the help of his fingers, and she knew he’d used his Magick.
“Is that what you think?” he blasted into her flushed face as she stared up at him, eyes glassy with desire. “You think I’m afraid of fucking you too hard? Saephus, you dinna know the half of it, Té. Yeah, I’m scared shitless of hurting you. In case you’ve failed to notice, you’re so goddamn bloody tiny and I’m built like an effing animal.” More so than you can even imagine. “So yeah, I’m worried about loosing control—giving you too much when I finally get inside of you.”
“You don’t even care that I want it, do you?” she demanded, knowing she was pushing him, yet unable to halt the breathless stream of words.
“Shut up,” he ordered with desperate appeal, long fingers biting into her bare arms. “Just shut up and let me get this said, damn it.”
Her lips pressed together, deep blue eyes suddenly shooting daggers.
“I want you too bad to be gentle or even safe,” he grunted, the words a harsh blast of sound, like the crackling of autumn leaves in the eerie stillness of the night. “I want to take you hard and rough and fuck the memory of every other man you’ve ever known right outta this sweet little head o’ yours. I want to pound it right out with the head of my dick. Shove it past those beautiful lips and shoot my cum down your throat, watching you suck it—fill you so full of it you canna even breathe around my cock stuffing this sexy little mouth. I even want your sweet little ass, Té. Want to pack you full every way there is.
“I want all of it—want to show you again and again, for the rest o’ my life, how much you mean to me. But first…the curse—”
Té wanted to scream with frustration. “God, Kieran, I thought we had this settled. I already know about your curse. So you can turn into a wolf. Enough already, damn it. I get it. It’s crazy, I know, but I get it. I’m not trying to shoot you with a freaking silver bullet, so can’t we just drop it?”
His dark face lowered, black eyes sparking with fire. “And do you know what I’ll do the first time I fuck you? Do you know that I’ll take you like a beithíoch? That I’ll cover you like an animal and sink my fangs into you—fucking bite you—just so I can leave m
y mark on you?”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. God bless her, she looked fascinated and curiously…arousingly intrigued. “So?” she whispered, licking her lips, blinking slowly up at him, blue gaze burning with desire. “And is this the part that’s supposed to send me running, Kieran? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I kinda like the sound of you nibbling on me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers—the agony of wanting her practically killing him. “You dinna really understand what I am, Té. You’re coloring this all in some kind o’ soft, romantic light, when it couldna be farther from the truth. It’s no’ a nibble I want, damn it.”
“Then what, Kieran? How the hell am I supposed to understand if you won’t just spell it out for me?”
“I want your blood.” There it was. Out in the open. A harsh, guttural declaration of intent. Crystal fucking clear.
Hell, he couldn’t have been more blunt if he’d tried.
He raised his head, and with a sudden catch in her breath, she saw that his eyes had bled to the icy silver of a wolf, mesmerizing in their beauty. There was a tiny crease across the bridge of his nose, like when a dog growled, and a low, rumbling vibration in the back of his throat.
It was the warning before the strike. The signal to run, so that the beast could enjoy the exhilarating satisfaction of the chase.
Only Té didn’t want to run. Not anymore. She was so friggin’ sick of it.
No, she wanted something else entirely.
And what she wanted was to be caught.
Trapped.
Taken.
Goddamn it, she wanted to be fucked.
And it looked like she was finally going to get it.
Kieran stared down at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. There was no other name for it. Nor any way to deny what it did to her body, the sharp stab of pleasure beginning to pulse between her thighs, secure in the belief that he would never actually harm her.
A Bite of Magick Page 14