By this time they'd reached the public carrier plinth for the vehicle heading into Noble Country. "You are tired from working."
"Boating accident this evening. I have several patients who will need continuing care."
Must have been bad to have tired her so. "I'll see you home," he stated.
"That's what a gallant would do," she murmured.
Keep real, she didn't like actors, but, damn, he kept exposing himself tonight, and that sure left him vulnerable to her hurting him. Hell, he was supposed to be a tough guy, right? He could handle it. "I'd be—" he stopped. If he said, "honored" it sounded more flowery and actor-like. Be real. "I'd like being your gallant."
Her glance slid in his direction, and, yes, he could feel the pumping and pulsing of his blood.
"That's moving fast," she said in a quiet voice.
He didn't reply, and she lifted her hand up to touch his fingers where they curved around her arm.
"You gonna let me accompany you home?" he asked gruffly.
She sighed, then the public carrier pulled up and they both got on, showing their passes to the driver. They sat on a twoseat bench and when she leaned against him, he felt the true exhaustion of her energy. The fact she had so little shocked him. So he did what any friend, friendly acquaintance, gallant, would. As soon as she dropped into a doze next to him, he sifted energy to her from himself. He'd gained plenty from the success of the play that night, the gift sent with applause as well as ambient stuff that just floated through the theater after the play ended.
As the carrier proceeded through the darkness, Johns enjoyed simply being with Giniana. Throughout the day, he'd thought of her often, and never would have expected to be happy simply sitting next to her while she slept. But contentment filled him. She'd come to the play, had watched him, told him she appreciated him as an actor. And she hadn't brought a gallant. Didn't have a steady lover in her life. She wasn't the kind of person to take favors from one guy while seeing or sexing with another.
He also received the impression from her that she stuck strictly to heterosexual relationships, as he did.
He woke her at the first stop in Noble Country, the one closest to T'Spindle's estate. She she seemed groggier than he'd expected since he’d slipped her energy to support her own. But perhaps their energies clashed instead of merging well. A depressing thought.
CHAPTER 7
BY THE TIME they went through the wall door and along the path toward her cottage, Johns noted that Giniana moved with her usual grace.
He stopped below the stoop of her small house, placed his hands on her waist and swung her up to the small permacrete square. Now she looked him in the eyes.
Lifting his hand, he trailed his fingers down her cheek, touched the corner of her straight mouth and smiled at her, waited until her own lips curved before leaning in, close, until their breaths sighed together. A brush of his lips against hers. Then slightly more pressure, testing their softness, how their mouths matched.
She withdrew. "Don't kiss me like you did the woman onstage."
He felt a corner of his mouth lift. "That wasn't me. That was Icos Phytolac, Fire Mage, the firewalker."
Her brows dipped and she put her hands on his shoulders. He liked the spurt of warmth that filtered through his body at her touch. "I've never really understood such a concept."
He raised his brows in contrast to her frown. "No?"
"You are who you are. You spend time refining yourself until you know who you are, then strive to be the best you can."
"That's a philosophy," he murmured, and while she frowned, he bent and took her mouth. Softer lips than they looked. Quite fabulous taste, light and peachy and with that deeper note. Before he could define it, desire punched through him. He wrapped his arm around her, curved a hand on her butt, tested the firm muscles….
No, not any actress or play kiss, not any other woman in his life felt like this in his arms. Only primal need drove him and he kissed her, sweeping his tongue over her lips, then gliding between them, demanding she open for him so he could draw her taste into himself, soak it up. Remember it forever.
Yes, the light outer scent taste of Ostara, of spring itself coated her lips, peach blossom but something darker, earthier, in the depths of her mouth. He probed inside and all the moist smoothness, finally identified the taste, saffron. An herb associated with actors.
A very expensive herb that he didn't taste often in food, but now he knew he adored. His sex hardened and rose and he needed to surge inside her, experience all her textures, everywhere of her with everywhere of him. He stepped up, lifting her, keeping her against him. One pace and they pressed against the plastered wall of the cottage. Good enough.
But he had to break the kiss to breathe and opened his eyes that had closed to the sight of her own wide eyes, the flush against pale skin in her cheeks. Her swollen mouth seemed more bruised by his kiss than plush with passion.
Dammit! He was not an uncontrolled stup, a man with no finesse, no matter how he looked and the manner he donned.
Breathing heavily, he stepped back and lowered her to the porch. He would not take her physically, move fast and hard like he wanted to. "We should wait—"
She hissed, then scowled up at him. "You—actors—are all show, all pretense, you change your aspects and feelings and values in an instant, pivoting from love to hate in a breath." Harsh emotion broke from her in cracked words on her jagged breath.
Gently, he set his hands on her shoulders, enveloped them. "No," he whispered. "No." He dipped low with his knees so he could try and meet her downcast gaze. He would not tilt her head up to force her to look at him.
Tears filmed her eyes, her mouth drooped.
Lord and Lady, he'd—they'd—screwed up a simple kiss. No, it hadn't been simple, not for either of them and that's why this was so important. "I could swear I was—am—an honest man," he said roughly, lifting a palm out to her. She could take it or slap it away.
"But that doesn't mean you'd believe me. I can only prove it with my actions. But, believe me, that kiss I gave you I could never manage on stage because it wasn't acting."
She sniffed and took out a softleaf from her sleeve, not shrugging away his fingers, and he released his hand on her shoulder, slowly straightened. After wiping her eyes, her gaze followed him up.
"There's been an attraction between us—at least for you and significant on my end—since we met. I want to act on that." Since his throat had tightened, he went ahead and cleared it, not a defensive action he'd usually do. "I really wanted to, uh, move to the next level of intimacy when I had my hands on you."
"Best you ended the kiss then." She cleansed her softleaf with a Word, folded it and tucked it back in her long sleeve pocket. "I like to go slowly with relationships."
Too bad. He wanted to race to her bed with her. But she hadn't pushed him off the stoop.
He quirked a smile despite the fact she'd hurt him, this time touched her chin with a finger and she met his gaze as he'd wished.
"You kissed me just like your character kissed your leading lady," she stated.
"No. Earlier, during the play, that was a stage kiss of two lovers who are fictional characters performed by excellent actors. This is a real theatrical kiss."
With wide, dramatic gestures, he swooped upon her, one arm behind her shoulders, the other at her waist, and in this position he truly felt how feminine, how lovely her body was formed. He dipped her, chuckled at her hands grasping his shoulders, her wide eyes, her slightly opened mouth. He pressed his lips to hers, did not take advantage of her parted lips to touch his tongue to hers. All the same her floral underlayed by saffron flavor filled his mouth with her sighed breath.
No tongues in this kiss, he sent her the amused thought telepathically, unless both want it. And he yearned for a longer and deeper sampling of her flavors. Keep his head, keep the kiss light. This was the first dramatic kiss I learned, we all learned as apprentice actors.
Yes, she
stiffened in his arms, and he sensed that she'd seen her parents kiss like this—each other and other actors—and now doubted the honesty between them even more.
Distract her! We practice on everyone. I've even kissed Raz Cherry like this! He let a bubble of amusement rise through him, impinge upon her. The man really DID taste like cherry. Then Johns swept his tongue over her lips, did not dip inside again as he yearned to, though she still hadn't closed her mouth. With every moment of closeness, his sex hardened until his body craved being inside her wet heat.
He would not lose control.
Never, and absolutely not with this tender woman.
His physical voice would crack if he said words aloud, but he endeavored to keep the mental ones smooth. I have ever and only been attracted to women. He let his tone whisper, become more feeling than words. Strong, honest women like you.
A gurgle escaped her, she was definitely thinking more than feeling, and in this moment, that was fine. They'd both stepped back from quick sexual intimacy. She tapped his arm and he raised her, and doing so said a spell he hadn't used since his adolescence to erase lust.
Passion gone, he felt the connection to her more, liked the warmth, the mutual respect.
Standing, she gasped and laughed, waved a hand. "A real theatrical kiss, all right." Her gaze shadowed as if with memories, but she looked directly into his eyes. "Thank you for the kiss and the explanation."
He angled his chin. "You're always welcome. And a kiss is always available for you."
"Yes?"
"Yeah."
She swept a look over him and he got the idea she'd scanned with Healer's eyes and actually noticed the diminishment of his erection. Healer, she'd be able to read his body very easily. Something he hadn't realized before. She'd absolutely know when he mimed passion, or reached the edge of his control, or banished lust as he just had.
With a slow smile, she traced her fingertips along his cheek, the line of his jaw. He sank into his balance so his inner trembling from the hum of her touch didn't show.
"Kiss me, Johns," she whispered and stood as if seeing what kind of kiss he'd give her…the one she thought she remembered from his character in the play, the fierce one he'd laid on her in the beginning, or the fake theatrical one he'd demonstrated.
So this time, he made the kiss a tender, gentle press of his lips on hers. When her mouth opened, he didn't delve, but slid his tongue in barely behind her teeth, and when her tongue touched his, he retreated after catching only a rare taste of her. He let his lips graze the delicacy of her jaw, enjoyed the softness of her skin, glide down to the pulse of her neck and feel the throb of her life against his mouth.
She relaxed in his arms, giving herself up to him, and he held her like he'd never let her fall.
Very nice kiss, actor, the cool cat voice seeped into his head like winter chill, kicking his mind back to thinking. Hell.
My FamWoman likes YOUR taste, too, Thrisca sounded slyly amused.
He liked hearing that.
And your body readies to mate. I am inside on Giniana's bed. You wish me to go outside and sleep on the bird bath and give you some privacy?
A couple of quick kisses on her mouth, another to taste her throat pulse, then below her ear, as kept his arm behind her waist. And he drew away.
Once more he cherished the sight of a dazed Giniana, her lips parted sipping breaths, eyes dilated so he'd be blurred to her vision, beautiful breasts rising and falling rapidly. Oh-yeah.
He panted himself, all too aware of his semi-erection that had revved to full and hard with passion until that damn cat had interrupted a fantastic kiss.
On a rough breath, he said, "Yeah, we'll take it as slow as you like. I'll leave now. Can I see you tomorrow?"
Shaking her head, but putting out a hand to touch him on his chest—checking his heartbeat? the link between them for honesty?—she said, "You confuse me."
All right, he used his best slow smile, hoping for the effect it usually had. "Good."
She blinked.
"When can I see you tomorrow?"
"Ah—"
Before he could press the question, her scry pebble rolled out a snappy tune from her sleeve pocket. Her hand fisted on his chest, her face paled.
"Sorry, work," Giniana said to Johns as she grabbed her pebble from her pocket, flicked it on.
Johns recognized Lark Holly's voice and image against the background of AllClass HealingHall. The woman appeared distracted. "Can you finish up a two septhour shift for Myrrh? She's taken sick with the flill sickness going around." Then Lark narrowed her eyes. "Are you all right?"
Giniana straightened her spine, Johns saw her dredge up energy from her core, as she glowed a serene smile at the Healer. "I'm fine. I'll be glad to take the shift. I must check on Thrisca and I'll be there shortly."
A frowning Lark studied her in the scry. "Very well, and since you've already put in so many septhours here, you'll be paid overtime." The Healer signed off.
I am fine. Go, Thrisca projected loud enough for Johns to hear the FamCat.
Opening her bag, Giniana drew out an orange tablet, tapped the energy surge spell and murmured the word to activate the pill, and swallowed it down.
Dammit. He thought she'd gotten some sizzling energy from their kiss, and he'd given her some on the ride here, but she thought she still needed more? "How often do you do that?" he demanded roughly.
Her lips twitched up in a smile. "Not very often."
He stopped himself from commenting further. She'd know more than he about the downside of taking the vitalizer.
"What's going on?" he asked, trying to keep his tone easy, requesting facts.
She gazed at him.
He put his hands in his pockets, but didn't move. Not going anywhere until she answered him. He figured he'd opened up enough to her that she should reciprocate.
A quick smile formed on her lips, then her mouth straightened. "The short explanation is that Danith D'Ash, the animal Healer, can't Heal Thrisca and she is … fading."
I am fine, Thrisca added, but Johns sensed she coughed.
"So we've decided to try one of D'Willow's time procedures to cure her cough and the underlying disease and give her many more years. I need to work harder in the short term to afford the new treatment."
He blinked, trying to comprehend the statement along with all the intense emotions ladening her words.
"Can you go inside and make sure Thrisca eats?" she asked, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. The zip of desire surged through him again, continuing to muddle his mind. "I need to get to work," she ended.
He grasped her fingers before she could slip away. "You need to take care of yourself as well as Thrisca."
Giniana's brows dipped. "It's only for the short term."
More echoes of raw emotions that he didn't have time to process, especially since his body reacted to the sight of her in a patch of twinmoonslight, appearing more like a fantasy woman who stopped his breath than a real, flesh and blood female.
Wait, the real flesh and blood woman affected his own flesh and blood, made thought drain out of his head. He opened his mouth, grunted—not what he wanted this time—saw her tilt her head attentively.
"You take care of yourself," he managed to repeat and scowled at her to emphasize his instruction.
Her lips curved only slightly, the shadows around her eyes seemed to gather with haunted thoughts. "I'll be home in under three septhours." She tugged at her fingers.
He lifted them to his lips. "I want to see you tomorrow, I'll scry you late in the morning."
"Sure." Dismissive tone. When she pulled at her hand again, he let her go. He would never constrain her against her will.
He heard her inhale a deep breath, as if counting down for a teleportation.
"I'll check on Thrisca," Johns found himself offering.
I don't need checking on, Thrisca objected.
A brilliant smile from Giniana melded the ethereal fantasy woman wi
th the real human sexy one, then she vanished.
He turned and considered the cottage. Well designed and built a couple of centuries ago, he believed, though he thought the Spindles had hired a construction mage, had no Family member with such Flair fabricate it. Johns would have felt that, the resonance of a Spindle builder, since he did have such Flair. What he considered his secondary Flair. He liked raising small buildings, had several tree houses and playhouses on his land that he'd constructed at various times in his life.
Move his feet and carry out his promise. Johns stepped up to the door. He hadn't seen Giniana unlock it, but he tried the latch and it opened, yet he felt some wards still up as if she shielded a private place or two. Fair enough.
A small area, the whole front of her cottage, mainspace, kitchen, hallway to the bedroom could fit in his home's ResidenceDen. Cozy, tidy, and smelling like Giniana, he felt comfortable immediately.
Until Thrisca appeared at the end of the short hall moving from the bedroom toward the kitchen. Johns felt her low growl more than heard it, discovered resignedly that he had a link with this Fam, too.
She sauntered to him, and now that he studied her in good light, she appeared even older, thinner than a cat should be, and damned arrogant.
She lifted the top of her muzzle, showing long fangs. I do not need 'checking on.' She glanced toward the back of the house. I do not want you here. Go away.
Raising his hands, he said, "You look fine to me. Just say you'll eat some food and I'll go." Naturally, he trusted no cat's word, but he didn't care about the thing, either.
She showed long, yellowed fangs. I will eat.
"I'm sure Giniana knows exactly how much of your food is in the no-time and will see whether you eat or not," he pointed out.
You call her by her given name.
"She gave me leave."
A rough sigh that caught on a cough. You are an actor and smell like My old Family, but you are not.
From what Johns had heard, her old Family, at least Giniana's actor parents, weren't that nice so he took no offense. "You said you'd eat. I believe you." He gave her a false smile. "Leaving now."
Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Page 7