The Shadow Behind Her Smile

by Janene Wood

  The way his hand enveloped her more delicate one as he led her from the bar into the crush of gyrating bodies was a painful reminder of what was missing in her life. He was so strong and sure of himself, and she really, really loved that sense of security he exuded so effortlessly. There was no harm in the world, no demon or witch or even serial killer he couldn’t protect her from, as long as they were together. And there’s the rub: there was no possible way for them to be together. Which is why she had to enjoy this night and then cut him out of her life; excise him like a cyst from under her skin. Turning to face him, she smiled and said something glib so he wouldn’t see the direction her thoughts had taken. When the time came, it would be better if he didn’t see it coming; a clean break was best for both of them.

  His eyes were bottomless pools of quicksand and she felt herself being pulled under by the forcefulness of his gaze. Knowing he would see the truth if he looked too long, she closed her eyes and allowed her other senses to carry her away on a wave of sensuality. The tiny measure of vigra she had held onto since healing his wounds allowed her to feel his every breath and heartbeat; to hear the faint whoosh of blood as it rushed through his veins. And when she inhaled, his ripe, masculine scent flooded her mind and scattered her thoughts to the four winds. When she returned his gaze once more, her eyes were almost black, with only a narrow ring of violet around each pupil. Her thoughts might be safely hidden, but her desire was clear as day.

  As always, the deep, resonating beat of the music touched something primal inside her and she soon lost track of time and space and why exactly she had to keep her distance from him. It seemed to affect him in the same way, except he’d never had reason to stay away in the first place and clearly had no intention of doing so now. The space between them gradually shrank until her arms were around his neck and his hands were on her hips. His breath was warm on her cheek as their bodies pressed closer together, burning hot like the sun. Immersed in a bubble of long suppressed longing, they moved together in a slow, synchronous rhythm, totally disconnected from their surroundings.

  Marc and the Music: her two favourite things in the world, together at last; forever melded in her mind.

  How many times had she stood on this very dance floor and wished he was here like this, with his arms around her? Not consciously, of course; that would have been futile and self-destructive, but deep down, that’s what she’d wanted. Dancing wasn’t going to satisfy her tonight, though.

  Placing her hands on either side of his jaw, she drew his face down until their lips touched. She smiled at the surprise on his face, but could tell he liked her initiative. He began to say something but she hushed him softly, earning her an amused smile. At first their kisses were feather-light and playful, as they took their time, savouring the long delayed moment, but when she parted her lips, inviting him to delve deeper and taste her properly, all restraint vanished and hunger took over. The crush of his mouth and the scrape of his beard sent sparks of desire straight to her core and she clung to him even tighter, wanting, needing more. Her body remembered him, that much was clear, but even so, her physical reaction shocked her. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth and they stood like an island in the middle of the ocean, making out like a pair of hormonal teenagers.

  Later, she had only a vague memory of taking his hand and leading him through the club, through the unmarked door and down the stairs to Jonathon’s private domain. Jono was away for a few days and she had a key. What happened next was not only logical but inevitable, as if the universe planned it that way. She wasn’t drunk, not on alcohol, though an argument could be made for the intoxicating effects of lust and pheromones; certainly, at the time, it all made perfect sense. One minute they were on the dance floor, the next, they were tearing each other’s clothes off in Jonathon’s living room, barely waiting until the door was closed behind them.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” said Marc, brushing the hair off her face and taking a moment just to look at her.

  Pausing in her efforts to undo his belt, Kate smiled at him. “Less talking and more action, please. I’m not getting any younger here.”

  “And romantic as ever,” he teased, resuming his deft unbuttoning of her shirt. He pushed the fabric over her shoulders and down her arms, before laying a trail of hot kisses from the top of one shoulder to the nape of her neck.

  Giggling at the touch of his beard on her bare skin, she reached up to examine his face. “You know, I’m not sure I like all this hair,” she remarked thoughtfully. “It covers way too much of your gorgeous face.”

  “Who’s talking too much now?” he remonstrated, expertly unzipping her jeans and pushing them over her hips. Stepping out of them, she kicked them away while he removed his trousers. He pulled his shirt over his head without bothering to unbutton it, dropping it on the floor while Kate unashamedly ogled the ripple and flex of his muscles.

  “Wow. I thought you were somewhat attractive before,” she grinned as she moved closer, placing her hands on his chest, stroking his firm flesh, and possessively running her fingers up and down his arms. “But now you’re every woman’s fantasy, not just mine.”

  “I guess bodhi has changed me,” reflected Marc a little sheepishly as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. The kiss took her breath away, and even though her curiosity was aroused and she wanted to know more about this “bodhi”, she couldn’t form the words. And then his hands began working on her bra clasp, completely derailing her train of thought.

  He slipped the straps off her shoulders and she impatiently tugged it free so they could be flesh against flesh, with nothing between them but skin. Her breath was quick and light as his hands found her breasts and she kissed him harder, moaning deep in her throat. When he pulled his mouth away at last, she opened her eyes and met his gaze unflinchingly. The look that passed between them was more meaningful than words and she was grateful he didn’t attempt to speak them.

  Having reached the point of no return, she took his hand and led him down the hallway to the spare bedroom, which was as tastefully appointed as the rest of the apartment, filled with expensive one-of-a-kind items collected over the years or passed down by generations of Jonathon’s well-to-do family. Using this place for a tryst was a definite presumption, but when she explained the circumstances to Jono, she was certain he would approve. He, of all people, wouldn’t begrudge her a quick, no-strings-attached roll in the hay, nor would he judge her, which was possibly the thing she liked most about him. This was far from a typical one-night stand, but she planned to spin it that way, even to herself.

  Marc barely gave the room a glance before pulling her into his arms and murmuring, “I think you’re a little overdressed.” Hooking his fingers over the top of her lacy panties, he pulled them ever so slowly over her buttocks, taking the time to give her bottom a proprietary squeeze, before kneeling and dragging them all the way to the floor. Eyes now level with her navel, he kissed her belly, so flat and firm, yet soft and smooth, slowly making his way lower and sending tingles of desire from her groin to her core. Lingering at the cleft between her legs, he inhaled deeply of her fecund heat, eliciting a deep, low moan that left her breathless. She felt his smile of satisfaction on her inner thigh as he kissed and nibbled, and felt she might melt from the fire coursing through her body. Stretching languidly, she arched her back, murmuring, “Oh, God, Marc, I've dreamed of this for so long.”

  Gliding his hands up over her thighs and hips, he slowly rose until he stood before her, naked and splendid. “You’ll be my downfall, Kate McDermott,” he murmured huskily, “to my dying day.”

  “And you, mine,” she whispered back, pressing her hands against him and feeling a heat that matched her own. Her fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, so much thicker than she remembered. He kissed and nuzzled her neck and she closed her eyes to savour the sensation. Their lips came together once more and she lost herself in the sweetness of their kiss.

  Taking a step backward, she
pulled him onto the bed with her and laughing at his efforts to avoid crushing her. She rolled toward him, edging closer so they were lying face to face, both of them flushed and breathing fast. His hand moved from the curve of her shoulder to cup her breast. “Kate, I want you to know–”

  “Don’t,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t say anything. Just… show me.”

  Maintaining eye contact, he rolled her onto her back and knelt between her knees as she parted her legs in invitation. “You're so beautiful, Kate,” he murmured as he lowered himself, covering her with his body. “So very beautiful.”

  A cry of exaltation escaped her lips as, at long last, he joined himself to her. Clinging to him like a life buoy, they moved together, slowly at first, in a well-practiced rhythm. The consummate dance of love. The small part of her mind not completely given over to pleasure was struck by the wonderful familiarity of his body and the way he filled her so completely, with such joy and belonging. She had never thought to have this again, this intimacy of body and soul. From the very first time they made love, all those years and miles ago, she knew no one else would ever be enough, no matter how long she lived or how far she searched.

  And she was right. Marc was her one and only.

  She dozed afterward in the shelter of his arms, sated, content, and dreaming only of him.

  ****

  And finally...

  Thank you for reading the first instalment of Kate's story. I hope you enjoyed it enough to join me again on the remainder of her journey. Please consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads.

  My own Kate was born without many of the blessings we all take for granted, and was the inspiration for this labour of love. Since her life is so narrow and restrictive, I decided to write a modern fairy tale where she could be the heroine. In this frame of reference, Kate can do all the things she longs to do but can't: to live an independent life full of deep and meaningful conversations with her friends; to fall in and out of love, or to say to hell with romance, I don't need it!; to follow her dreams wherever they might lead her; and to be able to discover the infinite joy of God's love and grace.

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  [Janene Wo1]Short for Suriel - one spelling for the Archangel Sariel

  [jwood2]Romanian for “sweetheart: