She'd seen him light candles with a thought, pluck a white rose out of the air, and once-in one of his rare foolish moods-he'd whisked her clothes away with no more than a grin.
It amazed and delighted her. Thrilled her. But she could admit here, alone, in her deepest thoughts, that part of her feared it as well.
He had such powers. Over the elements, and over her.
He'll never use them to harm you.
The voice in her head made her jolt so that her sketchpad slapped facedown on the forest floor. Even as she pressed a hand to her jumping heart she saw the silver owl swoop down. He watched her from the low branch of a tree out of unblinking eyes of sharp green. Gold glinted against the silver of his breast.
Another page from the fairy tale, she thought giddily and managed to get to her feet. "Hello." It came out as a croak, forcing her to clear her throat. "I'm Rowan."
She bit back a shriek as the owl spread his regal wings, soared down from the tree and with a ripple of silver light, became a man.
"I know well enough who you are, girl." There was music and magic in his voice, and the echo of green hills and misty valleys.
Her nerves were forgotten in sheer pleasure. "You're Liam's father."
"So I am." The stern expression on his face softened into a smile. He moved toward her, footsteps silent in soft brown boots. And taking her hand, lifted it gallantly to kiss. "It is a pleasure to be meeting you, young Rowan. Why do you sit here alone, worrying?"
"I like to sit alone sometimes. And worrying's one of my best things."
He shook his head, gave a quick snap of his fingers and had her sketchpad fluttering up into his hand. "No, this is." He sat comfortably on the fallen tree, cocking his head so that his hair flowed like liquid silver to his shoulders. "You've a gift here, and a charming one." He gave the space beside him an absent pat. "Sit yourself," he said when she didn't move. "I'll not eat you."
"It's all so- dumbfounding."
His gaze shifted to hers with honest puzzlement lighting the green. "Why?"
"Why?" She was sitting on a tree in the woods beside a witch, the second she'd met so far. "You'd be used to it, but it's just a little surprising to a mere mortal."
His eyes narrowed, and if Rowan had been able to read his mind she'd have been stunned to read his quick and annoyed thoughts aimed at his son. The stubborn whelp hasn't told her yet. What is he waiting far?
Finn had to remind himself it was Liam's place and not his own and smiled at Rowan again.
"You've read stories, haven't you? Heard legends and songs that speak of us?"
"Yes, of course, but-"
"And where, young Rowan, do you think stories and legends and songs come from if not from grains of truth?" He gave her hand a fatherly pat. "Not that truth doesn't all too often become stretched and twisted. There you have witches tormenting innocent young children, popping them into ovens for dinner. Do you think we're after baking you up for a feast?"
The amusement in his voice was contagious. "No, of course not."
"Well then, stop your fretting." Dismissing her concerns he paged through her sketches. "You'll do well here. You do well here." His grin flashed as he came to one with faerie eyes peeking through a thick flood of flowers. "Well and fine here, girl. Why is it you don't use colors?"
"I'm no good with paints," she began. "But I thought I might get some chalks. I haven't done much with pastels and thought it might be fun."
He made a sound of approval and continued to flip pages. When he came to one of Liam standing spread-legged and arrogant on the cliffs, he grinned like a boy. And there was pride in his eyes, in his voice. "Oh, this is like him, isn't it? You've got him."
"Have I?" she murmured, then flushed when that green gaze rested on her face again.
"Every woman has power, Rowan. She's only to learn to use it. Ask him for something."
"For what?"
"What pleases you." Then he tapped a finger on the page. "Will you give me this? For his mother."
"Yes, of course." But when she started to tear the page out, it vanished.
"She misses him," Finn said simply. "Good day to you, Rowan of the O'Mearas."
"Oh, but won't you-" He was gone before she could ask him to walk to Liam's with her. "'There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio,' " she murmured, and rising, walked to Liam's alone.
He wasn't waiting for her. That's what he told himself. He had a great deal to occupy his mind and fill his time. He certainly wasn't roaming aimlessly around the house waiting for a woman. Wishing for her.
Hadn't he told her he didn't intend to work that day? Hadn't he said that specifically, so they'd each have a little time apart? They both required their little pieces of solitude, didn't they?
So where the devil was she? he wondered as he roamed aimlessly around the house.
He could have looked, but it would be too undeniable an admission that he wanted her there. And she had been very clear about her expectations of privacy. No one knew or respected the need for privacy more.
And he was giving it to her, wasn't he? He didn't follow the urge just to take a quick glance into the glass and see, or skim lightly into her thoughts.
Damn it.
He could call her. He stopped his restless pacing and considered. A quiet murmur of her name on the air. It was hardly an intrusion, and she was free to ignore it if she wished. Tempted, sorely tempted, he moved to the door, opened it to step out into the balmy air.
But she wouldn't ignore it, he thought. She was too generous, too giving. If he asked, she'd come. And if he asked, it would be like an admission of weakness for her.
It was only a physical need yet, he assured himself. Just a longing for the taste of her, the shape, the scent. If it was sharper than was comfortable it was likely due to his own restraint.
He'd been gentle with her, always. No matter how his blood burned, he'd treated her carefully. When every instinct clawed at him to take more, he'd held back.
She was tender, he reminded himself. It was his responsibility to control the tone of their lovemaking, to yank back the fury of it less he frighten her.
But he wanted more, craved it.
Why shouldn't he have it? Liam jammed his hands into his pockets and strode up and down the porch. Why the devil shouldn't he do as he pleased with her? If he decided-and it was still his decision to make-to accept her as a mate, she would have to accept him as well. All aspects of him.
He'd had enough of waiting around while she was off somewhere ignoring him. As he paced, his temper and the passion stirring to life beneath grew more fierce and more restless. And he'd had enough of minding his step with her.
It was time she knew what she was dealing with-in him and in herself.
"Rowan Murray," he muttered, and his eyes seared the air. "You'd best be ready for the likes of me."
He flung up his arms. The flash of light that snapped out, simmered to a glow as he reformed on her porch.
And knew immediately she wasn't there.
He snarled, cursed, furious with himself, not only for the act that had demonstrated his need for her, but with her for not being exactly where he expected her to be.
By the goddess, he could fix that, couldn't he?
Rowan smiled as she stepped out of the trees. She could hardly wait to tell Liam she'd met his father. She imagined they would settle down in the kitchen where he would tell her stories about his family. He had such a marvelous way of telling stories. She could listen to that musical rise and fall of his voice for hours.
And now that she'd met his father, there might be a way to ask him if she could meet other members of his family. He'd mentioned cousins from time to time, so-
She stopped, staggered with the sudden realization. Belinda. For heaven's sake, he'd told her that first day that he and Belinda were related. Didn't that mean Belinda was-
"Oh!" With a laugh Rowan turned in a circle. "Life is just astonishing."
As she said it, a
s her laughter rose up, the air shook. The pad fell out of her hands for the second time that day as she raised her hands to her throat. Earthquake? she thought with a dim, dizzy panic.
She felt herself spin, the wind gallop. Light, bright and blinding, flashed in front of her eyes. She tried to call out for Liam, but the words stuck in her throat.
Then she was crushed against him, lights still whirling, wind still rushing as his mouth ravaged hers.
She couldn't get her breath, couldn't find a single coherent thought. Her heart boomed in her chest, in her head as she struggled for both. Suddenly her feet were dangling in the air as he yanked her off them with a strength that was both casual and terrifying.
His mouth was brutal on hers, hard and greedy as it swallowed her gasps. He was in her mind as well, tangled in her thoughts, ruthlessly seducing it as he ruthlessly seduced her body. Unable to separate the two, she began to shake.
"Liam, wait-"
"Take what I give you." He dragged her head back by the hair so that she had one terrifying glimpse of the fire in his eyes. "Want what I am."
He savaged her throat, spurred on by each helpless whimper. And with his mind drove her violently to peak. When she cried out, he fell with her onto the bed. Her hair tumbled free as he liked it best, spread out around her head like a gleaming lake. Her eyes were wide, the passion that rode with the fear turning them midnight-dark.
"Give me what I need."
When her mind whispered yes, he took it.
Heat came in floods, sensations struck like fists. All was a confused mass of wrenching feelings as he drove her beyond the civilized. He was the wolf now, she thought, as he tore at her clothes. If not in form, in temperament. Savage and wild. She heard the growl sound in his throat as he bared her breast to his mouth.
Then she heard her own scream. And it was one of glory.
No time to float or to sigh. Only to race and to moan with every nerve inside her scraped raw and sparking. Her breath heaved out of tortured lungs, her body arched and twisted, energized by every new outrageous demand.
His hands bruised her, his teeth nipped and each separate, small pain was the darkest of pleasures.
And somewhere inside her came the answering call for more.
He yanked her up so that they knelt on the bed, torso to torso, and his hands could find more. Take more. Freed, the animal inside him devoured, and it ravaged. And still it hunted.
Hands slipped over flesh slick with sex. Mouths met like thunder. They rolled over the bed, locked and lost together. Desire had fangs, and a voice that howled like a beast.
He drove her up again, hard and fast so that she wept out his name, so that her body shuddered and her nails clawed at him. She gasped for air, felt it sear her throat and struggled to find some steady ground.
Then he found her with his mouth.
She went wild beneath him, bucking, arching. Her head whipped from side to side as she clawed at the bedclothes, his hair, his back. With tongue and teeth he drove both of them mad, shuddering himself when the orgasm ripped through her, when her body rose up with it like a flame, then melted, slow and soft as candle wax.
"You'll come with me." He panted it out as he moved up her body with hot, greedy kisses over still-quivering flesh. With one jerk, he lifted her hips, opened her to him.
Then plunged.
Hot, hard, fast, their bodies and minds climbed together. He buried himself deep, locking his teeth on her shoulder as he drove into her with savage thrusts. Mindlessly she locked around him, hungering for each dark and dangerous thrill. Energy pumped through her, wild and sweet, so her movements and demands were as fierce as his.
Blood called to blood and heart to heart. With one last violent stroke, with one low feral cry he emptied into her. And she willingly let herself come apart.
He was too appalled to speak, too stunned to move. He knew he weighed heavily on her, could feel the quick, hard trembles that shook her beneath him. Her breath sounded short and harsh in his ear and shamed him.
He'd used her without control.
Deliberately, purposefully, selfishly.
It was perfectly clear that he'd allowed himself to rationalize it for his own needs, and giving her no choice had taken her like a beast rutting in the woods.
He'd sacrificed compassion for passion, kindness for a momentarily physical release.
Now he had to face the consequences: her fear of him and his own discarding of his most sacred vow.
He rolled aside, not quite ready to look at her face. He imagined it would be pale, her eyes glazed with fright.
"Rowan-" He cursed himself again. Every apology he could think of had less substance than air.
"Liam." She sighed it. When she shifted to curl against him, he pulled away abruptly, then rose to go to the window.
"Do you want water?"
"No." Her body continued to glow as she sat up. She didn't think to pull the sheets up as she usually did, but sat with them tangled around her legs. As she studied his stiff back, the glow began to fade. Doubts moved in.
"What did I do wrong?"
"What?" He glanced back. Her hair was a tangled mass of rich and gleaming brown around her shoulders, her body, so smooth and white, showed the marks of his hands, of the stubble he'd neglected to shave.
"I thought-well, but obviously I wasn't- I don't have any experience with what just happened here," she said with a faint edge to her voice. "If I did something wrong, or didn't do something you were expecting, the least you can do is tell me." He could only stare. "Are you out of your mind?"
"I'm perfectly rational." So much so she wanted to bury her head in the pillow, pound her fists on the bed and weep. And scream. "Maybe I don't know a great deal about sex in practice, but I do know that without communication and honesty, that aspect of a relationship, as any other, is bound to fail."
"The woman's giving me a lecture," he murmured, dragging both hands through his hair. "At such a time she's giving me a lecture."
"Fine. Don't listen." Insulted, mortally wounded, she climbed out of bed. "You just stay there brooding out the window and I'll go home."
"You are home." He was nearly amused. "It's your cabin, your bedroom and your bed I just savaged you in."
"But-" Confused, and with the tattered remains of her shirt dangling from her hand, she focused. It was her bedroom, she realized. The big canopy bed stood between them, her lace curtains fluttered at the window where Liam stood, naked and irritable.
"Well then." She clutched her shirt and what was left of dignity. "You can go."
"You've a right to be angry."
"I certainly do." And she wasn't about to stand there having a crisis without any clothes on. She marched to the armoir and dragged out a robe.
"I'll apologize, Rowan, but it seems weightless after what I did to you. You had my word I wouldn't hurt you, and I broke it."
Unsure, she turned back, lifting the robe to her breasts rather than slipping it on. "Hurt me?"
"I wanted you, and I didn't think beyond that. Deliberately didn't think beyond it. I took what I pleased and I hurt you."
It wasn't annoyance in his eyes, she realized. It was guilt. And just one more wonder. "You didn't hurt me, Liam."
"There are marks on you I put there. You've tender flesh, Rowan, and I bruised it with carelessness. That I can fix easily enough, but-"
"Wait a minute, just a minute." She held up a hand as he started forward. He stopped immediately, winced before he could prevent it.
"I don't mean to touch you but to take the bruises away."
"Just leave my bruises where they are." To give herself time to sort it out, she turned away and slipped on the robe. "You're upset because you wanted me."
"Because I wanted you enough to forget myself."
"Really?" She was smiling when she turned back and was thrilled to see his eyes narrow in what had to be confusion. "Well, I'm delighted. No one's ever wanted me enough for that. In my life no one's ever wa
nted me like that. I never imagined they could. My imagination isn't that- expansive," she decided.
It was she who stepped to him. "Now I don't have to imagine, because I know."
He combed his fingers through her hair before he realized he wanted to. Needed to. "I took your thoughts after you asked me not to."
"And gave me yours. Under these particular circumstances, I'm not complaining." She cupped her elbows, refused to be shy now. "What happened just now was thrilling. It was wonderful. You made me feel desired. Outrageously desired. The only thing that would hurt me is if you're sorry for it."
She was more than he'd understood, he realized. And her needs perhaps less- delicate. "Then I'm not a bit sorry." Still he took her hand, slid up the sleeve of her robe. "Let me take the bruises away. I don't want marks on you, Rowan. It matters to me."
He kissed her fingers, sending her heart into a long, slow flip. Then her lips, making it settle. As his lips rubbed gently on hers she felt the cool slide of something over her skin. The tiny aches she'd hardly noticed faded away.
"Will I get used to it, do you think?"
"To what?"
"Magic."
He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. "I don't know." You would know, a voice murmured in his head, if you looked.
"I've had a very magical day." She smiled. "I was going to see you when you- changed venues. I wanted to tell you that I met your father."
The finger in her hair stilled as his eyes whipped to hers. "My father?"
"I was sketching in the woods, and there he was. Well, the owl first, but I think I realized almost at once. I've seen him before," she added. "Once as an eagle. He wears a gold pendant always around his neck."
"Aye, he does." One that Liam had to accept or refuse.
"Then he-well, changed, and we talked. He's very handsome and very kind."
More than a little uneasy, Liam turned away to dress. "What did you speak of?"
"My sketches for the most part. He wanted one I'd done of you for your mother. I hope she likes it."
"That she will. She's partial to me."
She heard the affection in his voice and smiled. "He says she misses you-but I think he was speaking as much of himself. Actually I thought he might come to see you." Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she glanced at the tangled sheets of the bed. "It's a good thing he didn't, ah, drop in."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 303