by Julie Leto
“Rafe?”
Her voice was soft. Concerned. She’d come nearer. Too near. Had the woman no sense? He’d thought her so unlike Irika, yet here she was, looking for him in the dark night when she should be running in the opposite direction.
He took her by the wrist and dragged her to him until their lips smashed together. Instantly his heart lightened. The infusion from her mouth gave him enough self-control to push her away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She’d skidded across the wet ground, but pulled herself to her knees and swiped the back of her arm over her mouth.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of women you hung out with in your century, but I’m not hot for men who manhandle.”
He buried his face in his hands. The kiss had lightened the darkness inside him, but the living shadow still remained. Tied, he suspected, to the magic he’d wrought inside the cabin. He’d wanted only to provide comfortable quarters, but he should have known that using Rogan’s powers came with a bitter price.
As he looked up at her, he dragged his fingers down his face. “I would never force myself on you. It’s the magic. It has infected me.”
“What are you talking about?”
He flew to his feet, took her by the hand and attempted to throw her into the cabin, to remind her of the handiwork that had brought him down this path, but she was ready for him this time and countered his touch, flinging him to the ground. He fell to the sodden dirt with a painful thud, his breath stolen. She’d backed away, but stood at the ready, prepared to battle him again.
“Explain,” she demanded.
He closed his eyes, willed his lungs to obey him and attempted to comply. “The magic that imprisoned me within the stone is evil, and it is at my disposal. When I used it to make the cabin habitable, the darkness overwhelmed me. I feel it now, slogging through my veins like tar. But I know,” he said, looking up and blinking against the rain, “I know that touching you, kissing you, will purge the madness.”
She glanced back into the cabin, where the door remained open and the inside glowed with comfortable warmth. She stepped closer to him, then, shockingly, placed her hands on his shoulders.
“That’s the craziest pickup line I’ve ever heard,” she said. Her tone told him the comment should elicit humor, but he could feel nothing at the moment but the darkness and, thanks to her nearness, the renewed ache of desire.
“You should leave,” he said.
She smirked. “Which one is it? Do you want me to leave or do you want to kiss me?”
He couldn’t answer. The war raging within him between honor and insanity was too much for any mortal man to fight. Only, he wasn’t a mortal man anymore. He was something else—something evil and magical and trapped, and yet free. Mariah’s touch had released him, even as he’d fought against the pull she had awakened.
Swallowing thickly, he looked up into her eyes. The calm amber of her irises spiked his need.
“Kiss me,” he begged.
He saw the hesitation in her eyes, just as he saw the moment when her gaze narrowed in determination. She placed her hands firmly on either side of his cheeks and pulled him close. Their lips met with a clash. He hardly trusted himself to respond, terrified that the magic would force him to take too much, too fast, but she proved as deliberate and strong in intimacy as she was with the attackers who’d attempted to steal the stone.
He fought to give quarter to her hungry lips, to yield to her gentle coaxing. When he opened his mouth to thrust his tongue against hers, she stopped him, rubbing her thumbs along the edges of his lips until he relaxed. Then, slowly, she dipped her tongue into his mouth and, with slow, deliberate swirls, diminished the anger surging within him.
But it wasn’t enough. Concentrated in his center like a single beam from the white-hot sun, his lust did not abate. He mimicked her position, hands splayed across the sweet flesh of her face, and sucked from the kiss all the dizzying light he could take. But even as the darkness receded, his need for her increased. Not because of the magic within him, but because he was a man.
Her flesh was like satin. She tasted of rain and smoke from the fire. He moved his mouth so he could drink in the rivulets of rain flooding down her face, tasting her skin with renewed hunger. His shirt clung to him so tightly he could hardly move, so he ripped it off and allowed the deluge to soak him completely.
She pulled away, but in her eyes now, where there had been both fear and anger, he now saw blatant desire.
“Better?” she asked.
Had he incentive to tell the truth, he might have said they could stop—that her kiss had broken the dark spell. Her wide, round pupils and softly panting breaths convinced him to stay the course.
“Not quite yet,” he replied.
This time, he kissed her. Immediately, she slid her hands down his chest, sighing against his mouth as her fingertips grazed his skin, tangling her fingers in the hairs on his chest and tugging until he groaned in grateful appreciation. She pressed closer, and her nipples, taut with need beneath her blouse, grazed his heated flesh.
The kiss was slow and deliberate and thorough. He licked her lips, prying them open with soft, gentle flicks, working his hands down her back as he progressed to a full mating of mouths. He curved his fingers over her backside, enraptured by the groan of pleasure she pressed from her lips into his. She wanted him as much as he wanted her—and she had no magic to blame.
“We should go inside,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s cold,” he replied, though the chill had utterly surrendered to the heat of their embrace.
“Then let’s get warm.”
***
Mariah took Rafe’s hand in hers and led him to the cabin, unsure about what was happening. Over the course of the last forty-eight hours, she’d gone on the run from her ex-lover, nearly fallen to her death off an isolated cliff, flown back to the States while dreaming of a swarthy man whose kisses made her dizzy, and escaped an attack in her hotel room with the help of that same dark stranger.
She could no more deny that he possessed a real and powerful magic than she could refute the fact that she wanted him with the kind of desperate need she hadn’t felt in years.
That alone had pushed her over the edge into recklessness. Whether or not she believed that the dark magic he’d used to conjure the now beautiful interior of the cabin stoked him to lust no longer mattered. She wanted him. And Mariah was nothing if not indulgent of her desires.
Once inside, the storm shut out by the locked door, Mariah silently stripped out of her clothes. She neared the fire, loving how the heat evaporated the wet chill clinging to her skin, wondering how far Rafe would go to warm her through and through.
When she turned, her backside growing hot so near the fireplace, she was surprised to see him still standing by the door.
“I thought you wanted to make love?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out until after he’d cleared his throat. “You are...beautiful.”
She attempted a smile, afraid her jaded attitude might have turned the genuine curve into more of a smirk. “You say that as if you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”
“It has been centuries,” he admitted.
Mariah brushed aside the weight of his confession. “But you haven’t forgotten how this works, have you?”
His stride made the cabin seem instantly minuscule. He took her hands and, as he dropped to his knees, tugged her to the ground with him. “I have not forgotten?”
She glanced down at his pants and boots. “You sure?”
An instant later, they were gone. She had only a split second to register the aroused length of him when his mouth descended on hers. The magic seemed to fire his lust, and as her mind swirled with the intense pleasure of his lips on hers, she decided the aftereffect was a definite perk.
His hands played across her flesh with a gentle urgency that reminded Mariah how long it had been since
she’d had a lover. That was, she surmised, the reason she’d given in so easily. Never one to guard her sexuality, she indulged her needs whenever the mood struck her. And damn, but the vibes were slapping her hard now.
She learned his body with her palms and fingers, marveling at the power in the musculature of a man who claimed to be a ghost. And he was responsive to her touch, groaning with pleasure as she ran her fingers down his spine, rounded them over his strong backside and teased the crevice between his buttocks. He responded in kind, though he tugged her forward so that his full erection pressed against her belly.
Her sex quivered and wept with anticipation. When he skimmed around her belly and then stretched his thumbs upward to tease her breasts, she nearly cried out.
“You are...” he started, but he dropped his lips to her neck, and whatever words he’d begun to say died as his mouth found more delicious pursuits.
“I am hot to feel your mouth all over me,” she said, filling in the blanks for him.
He stopped long enough to look her in the eye.
“All over?” he asked.
She licked her lips. “English hasn’t changed that much over two hundred years, has it?”
“No,” he said with a grin, “but women have.”
“It’s all for the better,” she assured him.
“Undeniably.”
Locking her hands around his neck, she tugged him down so that her back was nestled in the warmth of the furry bearskin and her chest was pressed against his. She speared her fingers into his hair as he restarted his downward exploration. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, nipping at her shoulders with just enough pressure to spawn a raging wildfire of gooseflesh across her skin. When he swiped his tongue across her nipple, she felt sure she’d combust from the inside out.
“Yes,” she goaded. “Right there. Just like—”
He needed no more instruction, plying her sensitive flesh with lips and tongue and teeth until she nearly came undone. As he stroked and laved and teased, he murmured foreign words against her skin that fired her further. By the time he licked around the edge of her belly button, she was convinced she was losing her mind.
When his breath teased the soft curls at the base of her thighs, she tensed, anticipating the feel of his tongue parting her pulsing flesh. But he stopped.
She pushed hungrily against his cheeks. “Please, Rafe.”
He dipped his nose against her and inhaled deeply. “The temptation is great.”
She chuckled, not so subtly scooting beneath him so that his mouth was closer to her sex. “Then why stop?”
His eyes darkened, not from the magic, she was certain, but from what she wanted him to do. Had he never? She racked her desire-fuddled brain for some explanation, but remembered that he’d been married in his past. Surely he and his wife had explored all manner of sensual pleasures.
“Try it,” she encouraged. “I’ll like it.”
He shifted lower. She widened her legs. He did not move.
“Give me your hand,” she instructed.
He did so. She took his fingers in hers and guided him around her vulva, smearing the natural moisture of her arousal against his hand. She pointed him to her clit, cooing when he found the tiny trigger to her orgasm. “Do that with your hand,” she told him. “With your tongue. It’s a pleasure you’ve never—”
His mouth stopped whatever thoughts she might have had after that. He took her at her word and feasted on her until she orgasmed. But even then, he did not stop. He’d developed a taste for her, and he continued to lap and suckle until she teetered again on the edge between desire and utter madness. She held on to the side of his face, unsure whether she could stand any more.
He took the choice from her, kissing a hot and desperate path up her body. The minute his mouth met hers, the flavor of her need clinging to his lips, he pressed inside her.
The thickness of his arousal stretched her to glorious limits. Unable to stem the tide he’d so skillfully stirred, she wrapped her legs around his waist and let him ride her to the brink. He pushed up on one arm, and the muscles in his biceps strained under his weight. She wanted to ply her teeth to the rigid tendons, but he increased his tempo until she could think of nothing more than following him to complete ecstasy.
Once spent, he collapsed atop her. She slid her hands into his dark locks and suddenly remembered how much she loved men who wore their hair past their shoulders. She explored the angles and curves of his shoulders while he pulled in great gulps of air, attempting to regain his ability to breathe.
“So,” she asked, wanting to break what was becoming an odd silence. “How do you find sex in the twenty-first century?”
He pulled back and looked surprised to find her smiling. “Confusing. And wonderful. And intriguing. And—”
She placed two fingers across his lips. “Enough adjectives. Suffice it to say you’re feeling better?”
He scooted away from her, stopping only when she wrapped her hand around his wrist.
“I took advantage of you,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But believe me, I got something out of the deal, too.”
His smile barely curved his lips. “I am glad you experienced pleasure, Mariah, but I must make one thing clear.” Any trace of humor disappeared. “I cannot use Rogan’s magic ever again.”
“That could be a problem,” she replied.
10
Rafe had never met a more confounding woman, though considering the circumstances, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Centuries of time had wrought many changes to the world, and he’d only begun to scratch the surface of the differences between his time and hers.
But they’d found common ground in their lovemaking. His body still thrummed from the aftereffects. So many times, he’d wondered about the flavor of a woman, about the pleasurable effects of exploring every crevice and sweet, soft curve of his wife’s body, but his traditions waylaid him. Perhaps if they’d had more time? He and Irika had experienced great joy in their marriage bed, but he’d never fully delved into his deep, instinctual needs as he had with this woman he hardly knew and surely did not love. Irika had been shy about what pleased her and timid about discovering what pleased him. Mariah, on the other hand, had shown him precisely what to do.
In the deluge of such sexual elation, the repercussions of using Rogan’s magic had ebbed completely. Rafe was himself again. He had no more excuses for wanting Mariah, for using her body to sate his needs. And yet, the familiar thrum of arousal sizzled over and through his skin.
“I see no problem,” Rafe insisted, ignoring how his nostrils flared in search of her scent. “Your world already contains flying machines and nameless torches. The magic imposed on me may bring fleeting comfort, but the price is steep. You need not this evil thing that lives within me.”
“How do you know it’s evil?”
He pulled himself into a sitting position, which she did as well. With the firelight dancing across her skin and dappling her burnished brown hair with sparks of ruby fire, he was nearly too overwhelmed by her easy sensuality to form a response. She’d folded herself into a position that shielded her naked body, but her modesty did little to slake his desire. Her curves evoked fantasies he had no business entertaining when they’d just indulged in such sweet reality. He wanted Mariah again. Not because of unbidden lust brought on by Rogan’s curse, but for himself.
“Lord Rogan was evil,” he explained, denying his selfish instincts. “This magic that brought us together is his.”
“Maybe,” she said, somewhat doubtfully. “But the magic is in you now. You aren’t evil. Or were you? Back then? When Rogan trapped you?”
Rafe possessed a fair amount of shortcomings, but wickedness had not been his sin. Not until tonight.
“I was but a simple Romani man hoping to find happiness and peace for my family.”
“Tell me about them. Tell me about her.” She laid her cheek against her knee, and Rafe was struck by the genti
lity of her voice.
He stood, and though he risked reawakening the intense consequences of utilizing Rogan’s magic, he conjured clean, dry clothes. She tsked in disappointment.
“The past no longer matters,” he said, unwilling to dredge up the memories. He’d been plagued by flashes of bloody images from his last night among the living since his reawakening. To share the details of his previous life now would result in more darkness for his soul than Rogan could ever have forced on him.
Mariah frowned. “The past might be the key to freeing you from the stone.”
“I am free,” he insisted.
“Only during the night, right?” She patted the rug beside her. He considered the risk of sitting beside her while she remained unclothed and scented with their lovemaking and decided instead to sit upon the couch.
“Yes,” he concurred. “During the daylight hours, I am naught but a spirit.”
“A phantom,” she decided.
“A what?”
She sat up and twisted so that her bare breasts taunted him mercilessly. “A phantom. It’s a being...”
Rafe closed his eyes and wished Mariah did not torture him so. When she yelped, he opened his eyes. She was now swathed in a pale silk robe.
“Hey!” she protested.
“You could catch your death,” he warned.
She smirked, but thrust herself to her feet and joined him on the sofa. “Is it safe for me to sit beside you now that I’m not naked?”
“Safe enough,” he replied, though he wondered. The storm within him had abated just as the squall had outside, and yet, the sexual connection he shared with Mariah had strengthened. Now that he knew the intensity of making love to her, he could not imagine denying himself the experience again, should the chance arise. He supposed he’d simply have to ensure that the opportunity did not present itself.
He scooted a few inches to the side.
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said. “Back to phantoms. Thanks to my mother, I know a great deal about the legends and lore of the magical and paranormal.”