by Sharon Wray
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“I’m overtired. I can’t shut off my mind.”
“I feel the same way.”
His arm tightened, and she couldn’t help but rub his wrist and forearm. The hair on his arms felt so…masculine. Then there was his smell. That intoxicating scent of bay rum. She closed her eyes and relaxed, amazed at how well his larger angles fit against her smaller curves.
As she listened to his breathing and the logs crackling and the dog purring and the AC humming, she felt his hand move. The slightest pressure against her stomach. She held her breath and, just as she released it, felt his hand again.
His breathing in her ear sped up. Slowly, his hand edged down until his fingers found the waistband of her pj’s. He paused for a moment. When she didn’t move, he slipped his hand inside…until he stopped. He must have realized she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Allison.” He whispered her name. “If you want me to stop, you need to say something. Now.”
“Don’t stop, Zack. Please.”
He pressed his lips against her shoulder at the same time his hand reached her most sensitive center.
She bucked at the unexpected pleasure. Heat spiraled low, contracting her lower stomach, and she arched her back.
His other arm reached beneath her body and his hand found her breast. Her nipples tightened, and he moaned against her shoulder. “Can you feel what you do to me?”
Yes. His erection pressed into her back and his fingers between her legs caressed and teased, building a tension she wasn’t sure she’d survive. His body clenched around hers, and although they were both on their sides, he forced her legs apart. When one finger reached inside her, she shoved her face into the pillow to hide her moans.
The building pressure was almost too much to bear.
He increased the speed and forcefulness of his movements, always tender yet demanding a response—a response she couldn’t help but offer. When the tension became too much, she reached down and covered his hand with her smaller one. He paused for half a second until she taught him the rhythm, a perfect blend of hard and fast that brought her to a climax far more quickly than she expected.
Before she was even finished with her last wave of the most intense pleasure, he used the arm around her waist to draw her up higher against his body. A moment later, he entered her from behind.
She gasped at the intrusion. Not because it was unwanted, but because he filled her to a point where she wondered if he’d even fit. She squeezed her legs together, and he began a driving motion that pushed the breath out of her body. He held her almost completely immobile, one arm around her breasts, the other around her waist, and had complete control of both of their movements. He kept hers small and tight while he drilled, as if making sure she knew he was offering her everything he had to give.
His thumb teased a nipple and she raised her free arm to hold his head. With her head against his shoulder, and his face buried in her neck, he increased the speed until they were both gasping. Without warning, he reached down to press his fingers against her core. He held her body between his palm and his erection and whispered, “Come for me, Allison. I need you to.”
She released his head because she’d no strength left in her arm. But she could lower her hand until her fingers covered his, forcing him to press into her harder. “Faster.”
Zack took her request seriously and gave her three more strokes that sent her shattering like a thousand shards of light cracking open the night sky. Her body stiffened and her toes curled. She arched her back and cried out, “Zack.”
* * *
Zack tightened his arms around Allison, one hand holding her breast and the other buried deep in her sex. He had no control over his body; his hips drilled and his balls constricted until the pain/pleasure was too much. He exploded inside her, stroke after stroke, draining himself and filling her. He arched his neck, keeping her within his arms, and let out a raw, guttural growl.
Daaaaamn.
Thank goodness breathing was part of the autonomic nervous system because otherwise he would’ve stopped that as well.
Holding her close, he rolled onto his back. That left her sprawled on top of him.
“Zack.” She squirmed until he used his strength to keep her still, his hands still in place. “What more do you want from me?”
“I’ve been dreaming of this night my entire adult life. I’ve fantasized about making love to you in every position possible, in every situation possible.”
Her sharp intake of breath eased the constriction in his chest.
She hadn’t been ready earlier when they’d made love in the garden. Her body had been ready—her body had wept for his—but she hadn’t been emotionally prepared. Yet despite knowing that, he’d been unable to stop. Then when she’d broken down in the master bedroom, he’d understood the depth of her loneliness, the weight of that secret, and how sad she must’ve been despite her outward appearance of happy wife.
When he’d come back into her bedroom, he’d been determined to give her time and space. But as soon as he’d held her in his arms, smelled her jasmine scent, and felt the softness of her skin, all resolve melted away. He was, no kidding, the biggest ass in the world.
“Zack?” She squirmed. “What are you—”
“Shh. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Before she could argue with him, he began to move his fingers between her legs again.
He had nothing to offer her other than this. He had no home, no real job, no security. And so far, he’d done a shitty job of protecting her and figuring out what the hell was going on. But this? He slipped two fingers inside her while his thumb found her most sensitive part. This was what he had, so this was what he was going to do.
And never again would they make love without her finishing with him. He was an ass, but he wasn’t a selfish bastard.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Really. I’m tired.”
He gently bit her earlobe. “I believe in you.”
She laughed and when she shivered, he caressed one breast while he made love to her with his fingers. The more she squirmed, the harder he held her. Her ass moving over his hips was just a penance he’d have to suffer if he was going to offer her this gift.
He loved her little moans and kissed her shoulder. She tasted sweet, like sugar cookies and cinnamon. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
A few moments later, she stiffened and her hand tightened on his, pressing him in deeper. He felt the vibrations roll through her body, felt her core tighten around his fingers, felt each breath as they got shorter and shorter until she stopped breathing altogether.
When he knew she was finished, he just held her. He didn’t want to remove his hands. Didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want this moment to end. But like all moments, a few passed and she shivered again.
He rolled her off yet arranged her so she was curled up around him, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his lower stomach. Sure, he had a raging hard-on. But he’d been in far worse physically painful situations.
She smiled, nuzzled against his shoulder, and met his gaze. Her eyes were shadowed in the dying light of the fire, her blond hair was spread across his chest like a silk blanket. He was sure he’d never get tired of seeing her soft, pale body against his darker, harder one. “Zack Tremaine, you are the most amazing man I’ve ever known.”
“You’re only saying that because I gave you three climaxes.”
“True.” She kissed his chest. “You also brought in my laundry, cooked me dinner, and make me laugh.”
“As long as I don’t have to do it all at the same time, I’m good with that.”
She closed her eyes, and he brushed stray curls off her cheek. Her skin was so soft, like satin, yet his hands were hard and scratchy. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“I love it when you touch my hair,
” she said in a muffled, almost-asleep voice.
“Good. Because I intend to do a lot more touching.”
She rubbed her face against his chest and her breath tickled. As he settled himself, making sure she was comfortable and his arms weren’t going to go numb, he felt a thump on the bed. Nicholas Trott now lay at their feet.
“I know your mother doesn’t allow this,” Zack said to the dog. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
Nicholas Trott sighed and rested his head on his front paws. Before Zack could kick him off, Nicholas Trott started purring.
Without looking, Allison asked, “Is the dog on the bed?”
Zack glared at the dog, who was now so settled that there was no way to get him off without moving. That meant letting go of Allison. “No.”
“Good. He’s not allowed on the bed except in certain circumstances.”
“What are those?”
“When he’s lonely, when he’s hungry, and when he sees the lady in white.”
Zack glanced at her, but she was so buried in blankets, her face pressed so tightly against his chest, he saw only a wild mass of blond hair. “Who is the lady in white?”
“You know,” she said in a lilting, drifting voice that almost sounded like she was smiling. “The woman you saw outside Stuart’s study and in the garden. The ghost of Mercy Chastain.”
Chapter 26
The next morning, Zack poured himself another cup of coffee and made room at Allison’s kitchen table so Alex could sit. He and Alex had already shared texts about everything that had happened last night and agreed to meet this morning to come up with a new plan.
Zack and Allison had woken early and gone to her office to get all of her research on Mercy Chastain. Then after they’d returned home, he’d made breakfast. Now he had a bread pudding in the oven and a whiskey sauce on the stove. While he stirred the alcohol into the melted butter, Nicholas Trott napped on his bed and Allison was responding to emails on her laptop. Apparently, her UVA professor friend had emailed with some information on Henry Avery.
Zack was still processing the news that Allison had considered taking a job at UVA. Yesterday, while going through Hezekiah’s papers again, he’d found the UVA letter again and read it without telling her. She’d not just been offered a job. She’d been offered a full tenured professorship. A professorship that didn’t require her to find a centuries-old witch or publish in obscure history journals. A professorship that would’ve set her free from her life with Stuart.
Instead of asking her about it, he’d folded up the letter and placed it on top of Hezekiah’s papers and maps. Maybe, when all of this was over, they could discuss it. Until then, he had to focus on finding that treasure.
As if realizing his thoughts were all about her, she smiled at him and he winked.
Today she wore a long chiffon skirt, made with layers of different shades of blue, and a navy T-shirt. Except it wasn’t like any T-shirt he’d ever seen. This one had a scoop neck, tiny sleeves, and fit like it’d been painted on. Between the tight top, flowy skirt, and her hair pulled back from her face with a clip, she reminded him of why men went to war, welded steel, and rocketed to the moon.
“Alex,” Allison said as she sipped her coffee and typed, “did you know Zack could cook?”
“Nope. To be fair, there’s no kitchen at the gym. Just a hot plate and a slow cooker.” Alex poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to her. “Did you find anything in that stack of paper you took from Hezekiah’s office?”
Zack used the spatula to point to three stacks of paper he’d retrieved and organized on a nearby credenza. “No.”
“Too bad.” Alex drank his coffee and looked at the tracings Zack had removed from the envelope. “What are these?”
Allison closed her laptop and, after telling him about the apotropaic marks they found in Pink House and in Stuart’s planner, she said, “These apotropaic marks mean something. I’m just not sure what.”
“And you think they’ll lead you to Mercy Chastain? Maybe tell you how she disappeared and what happened to the treasure?”
“Yes. The only place we haven’t checked yet is Fenwick Hall.”
“Fenwick Hall is where Allison grew up.” Zack put a bowl of strawberries he’d picked in her conservatory on the table. “That’s our next stop.”
Alex took a pencil and a clean piece of tracing paper and placed it over the Pink House rubbings. Once he retraced those, he did the same with the rubbings they’d found on the page in Stuart’s planner. When he was done, he drew an outline around all of the ovals. The two rubbings fit together making one full circle. He even added the odd lines around the perimeter of the circle. “These ovals are part of a hexafoil. Overlapping ovals that form a flower within the confines of a circle are called a daisy wheel.”
“That’s right.” Allison studied the new tracing. “How’d you know that?”
“I’m from Boston but my mother was from Ipswich. These things are all over that area, mostly in barns.” Alex opened the planner. “Is breakfast ready yet?”
“It’s coming,” Zack said.
“It smells delicious.” Allison smiled at Zack again, and he saw the secret happiness hiding in her gaze. It had been an incredible night, but since they’d woken, they’d barely spoken about what they’d done. They showered separately and dressed quickly. It was as if they’d both been hit with the shyness bug.
Considering the work ahead of them, Zack was relieved by her distance. Everything they’d done together carried emotional weight. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure he could carry that weight along with his worry about Emilie. And that just made him feel guilty.
Could he be even more of an ass?
At least he could make Allison a decent breakfast. After he took the bread pudding out of the oven, he ladled whiskey sauce over the top and served three plates. Then he sat next to Allison, across from Alex. It was time to get to work. “Alex, what happened last night?”
Alex swallowed a bite of pudding and followed it with a gulp of coffee. “This is good.”
“No,” Allison said with a mouthful, “it’s incredible.”
“Thanks.” Zack kicked Alex under the table. “Focus.”
Alex wiped his lips with a napkin. “Aidan asked me to leave town with him.”
Zack hadn’t expected that. “And?”
Alex waved his fork around. “I said hell no. Then Horatio took me to see Emilie. He drove me around for at least an hour.”
Zack pushed his plate away. He didn’t feel like eating. “That doesn’t mean she’s an hour away.”
“True. I was blindfolded. They could’ve driven in circles. Once they took off my blindfold, I saw Emilie sitting on a bed. She wasn’t bound in any way. She recognized me from Ranger School graduation and gave me a hug.”
Zack gripped his mug until Allison touched his wrist. “Was there a stench?”
“No,” Alex said as he went for another cup of coffee.
Allison glanced at Zack. “What does that mean?”
“In a hostage situation, there can be adrenaline, fear, urine, sweat, vomit—it all has a terrible smell.”
“Fear has a smell?” Allison asked.
“Yes,” both men said at the same time.
“Last night, there was no smell.” Alex added a shit ton of sugar to his coffee and leaned his ass against the counter. “I mean, no human scent. I did recognize three other things though: rosemary, lavender, and something else I couldn’t identify.”
Allison released Zack’s wrist to take a bite of pudding. He was glad she was eating.
“You think that Emilie isn’t in desperate straits?” Allison asked Alex.
“She’s been kidnapped, but she’s not being tortured or made to eat her own vomit or forced to sit in her own shit.”
When Allison’s eyes widened, Zac
k glared at Alex. While they’d both seen a number of terrible hostage situations and had heard Nate’s story of torture at the POW camp in Afghanistan, Allison didn’t need to know the gory details.
“Was Emilie scared?” Allison asked.
“Yes, but she’s tough. I told her that her big brother was going to save her.”
Good. “Did she talk?”
“She rambled about how sorry she was for something. Then she cried. But when Horatio walked away to make a call, she told me in an extremely calm voice that she heard two other warriors talking. Apparently, they’d interrogated someone and learned about the city of bell towers.” Alex drank his coffee, his brow furrowed. “I think she was fake crying.”
“That sounds like my sister.”
Allison touched Zack’s arm. “I wonder what the city of bell towers means?”
Her touch sent shivers down his leg, and his foot tapped the floor beneath the table. “It’s probably Charleston, Savannah, or New Orleans. All three are known for having more churches than people.”
Alex found her folder that held her Mercy Chastain research. “Do you think this city of bell towers is where Stuart hid the appendix?”
“I don’t know,” Allison said.
Alex took out some photos and laid them on the table. They were images of a wooden beam with broken daisies carved into them. “What are these?”
“Photos I took as part of my search for Mercy Chastain. After her arrest, Mercy was held in an early version of Saint Philip’s Church on Meeting Street. While she awaited her trial, she carved these daisies. The church was nearly destroyed by a hurricane in 1710 and rebuilt in its current location on Church Street. Because building materials were scarce at the time, they reused what they could. These beams, with Mercy’s carvings, are now in the choir loft.”
Alex sorted through the other photos. “Why a broken daisy?”
“I don’t know,” Allison said. “I noticed broken daisies sketched on the Pirate’s Grille. And I know they’re on the pages of the witch’s examination.”