Even before he spoke, it was clear Quinn was not convinced. His eyes narrowed. A wrinkle in his brow deepened. “I need more than a trip to the grocery store to convince me that Lynch is Korbinian’s Kademair. Go back to the mountains and watch them. If she is who you think she is, things will progress rather rapidly.”
“And then?”
Quinn’s jaw clenched. “Then we will talk again.” He pushed away from the table and his expression changed. He gave Duncan a grandfatherly smile that raised goose bumps. “Tea?”
He didn’t dare move any closer. Miranda was frightened, he was naked, and Kademair or not, they barely knew one another. She had no idea the power of the attraction that pulled them toward one another. If only he could learn to carry a change of clothes with him as he flew…
“We’ll call the sheriff,” he said sensibly.
“The man…he must’ve cut the phone lines,” Miranda said, tilting her head to look up the hill to him. “I couldn’t get a dial tone.” She was scared. She was shaken. It made Bren furious to know that someone had done this to her. Her world should not be shaken this way; it wasn’t right. He wanted to surround her in any way he could and protect her from any who would harm or even frighten her.
“We’ll go to my house and call.” He kept his voice even, revealing nothing of the anger inside him. It wasn’t time.
Miranda turned and glanced toward his home, possibly imagining the long and difficult walk they had ahead of them. She was currently in no shape to walk far, and the steep road ahead was tough even on a good day.
“If you don’t mind that I leave you alone for a few minutes, I parked my car a short distance up the road.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “You did?”
“The hills on this part of the mountain are less steep than those near my place. Makes for a more pleasant stroll.”
She nodded gently, obviously relieved. “Do you by chance have clothes in the truck?”
“I do.” Bren had heard the intruder’s vehicle make its way down the hill to the highway. At this moment there was no one on this mountain but Miranda and him—his senses affirmed that fact. Miranda would be safe here for the brief time it would take for him to fly home, pull on a pair of jeans and drive back down.
She fluttered her fingers in an agitated dismissal. “Then go, but please—” she drew her arms in and hugged herself against the cold of the night “—don’t be too long.”
Bren turned and walked back to the road, well aware of Miranda’s eyes on his bare ass. Good thing he’d never been shy.
When he was certain he was out of her sight, he burst into his raven form and flew home. He swooped across treetops and shot directly to the deck of his isolated house, where he took human form once more and rushed inside to pull on a pair of jeans. He was out the front door in less than a minute, barefoot and shirtless but no longer naked. He drove almost madly down the hill, taking the darkened downward curves much too fast for anyone who didn’t know them by heart. In moments he was in Miranda’s driveway. She’d made her way up the hill at the side of the cabin to the road and was waiting for him in the driveway, arms folded against the night’s chill.
She glanced at her broken bedroom window as he stepped out of the truck, then at the door the intruder had left standing open when he’d made his escape. “I should grab a couple of things, I suppose. My purse. My laptop.” She shivered. “Some clothes.”
Bren took her arm and led her toward the front door, noting with anger that she limped just a little, favoring her left leg. “Try not to touch anything. We’ll get your purse and a coat and we’ll lock the door as we leave. Everything else can wait until the sheriff has had a chance to look around.”
Miranda nodded, numb with shock and fear. Bren almost wished he’d followed the bastard down the mountain, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Miranda alone—not then and not now. Whether or not she was his Kademair, he couldn’t abandon her when she was shaken like this.
Whether or not. Ha. After the dream he’d had there should be no doubt about who and what she was. It was no mistake that she was here on this mountain, no coincidence. She was here for him; she just didn’t know it yet. After they collected her purse, the keys to the cabin and a thick sweater he helped her put on over her pajamas, he guided her outside and opened the passenger door to his truck, assisting her as she stepped up. She was shaking still, might shake all night after the fright she’d had.
Now was likely not the time to tell her that she was destined to be the mother of his extraordinary children.
Bren’s house was more impressive up close than it was from a distance, and that was saying something. She couldn’t see much of the exterior, as it was the middle of the night and there were only two low-wattage outdoor lights burning near the driveway, but the interior took her breath away.
The great room he led her into was massive and furnished with expensive, warm, comfortable pieces that looked as if they’d been assembled with a decorator’s eye and a fondness for comfort. The colors—primarily burnt orange, dark brown and a touch of gold—were warm and homey. A fireplace dominated one stone wall, and the remnants of a fire built earlier in the evening smoldered there, giving off some heat. Before Bren called the sheriff he put Miranda in an overstuffed chair near the hearth. She was glad of the heat that rolled off the smoldering logs, gladder still when he returned and added a log to the fire, stoking it to life, creating more heat. Firelight danced over Bren’s bare arms and chest. At least he was wearing pants, so she was not completely distracted by thoughts she shouldn’t be having about a man she’d just met.
It wasn’t like her to be so easily sidetracked. She’d always been cautious where romance was concerned, and had been more so than usual in the past couple of years. She didn’t ogle men; she didn’t have fantasies and dreams about men who were all but strangers to her.
When the fire was going well, Bren turned and sat on the floor before it. He looked up at her. “The sheriff will be here in the morning.”
“In the morning?” Her heart climbed into her throat.
“He said since no one was hurt, he’d go back to sleep and come out to look at the cabin by the light of day.”
Not hurt. Ha! She’d scraped her arms climbing down that wooden post, her left leg hurt, and she was going to be bruised all over tomorrow, she was sure of it. But there wasn’t anything to be done, she supposed. She was alive and relatively unharmed, and the intruder was gone.
Bren attempted a smile that was too tight. She’d seen, briefly, a real smile from him, and this was not it. He was trying to comfort her, she imagined, trying to make everything seem right with that smile. “It was probably someone who got lost or who thought the cabin was deserted, as it usually is.”
Miranda shook her head. “No, that man was looking for me specifically.” She shuddered. “I heard him say my name.”
“What?” Bren shot to his feet, no longer attempting to make light of her scare. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she responded. “He had a gun, too. He wasn’t lost and he knew damn well that cabin wasn’t deserted.”
“I’m calling the sheriff again.”
As Bren passed by her chair, Miranda reached out and snagged his wrist. She barely knew him, and yet there was comfort in the simple touch. She needed no one; she relied on no one. And yet she was soothed by the feel of her fingers on his wrist. Heaven above, she needed this. “No. The sheriff is right. There’s nothing to be done tonight. There are too many places the man might’ve gone, too many turns he might’ve made, and I can’t describe him or his car.”
“It was a dark, two-door sedan, a Toyota,” Bren said.
Miranda didn’t release her hold on his wrist. She liked the feeling of warmth and connection too much; she needed it. “Get a license plate?”
Bren shook his head.
“Then it can wait until morning.” Just as the call she had to make to Roger and Cheryl could wait.
Bren cursed when he saw her arms. He reached out and took her wrist, much as she had taken his, and rotated it gently to expose the worst of the scrapes on the underside of her arm. “We need to clean this so it doesn’t get infected.”
The flickering firelight did interesting things to his bare chest and muscled arms. Longish black hair fell forward and created shadows that hid a portion of his face from her, but she could see enough to know that he was concerned for her. He shouldn’t be. They were strangers still. One kiss and a sizzling erotic dream didn’t change that fact.
“In a minute,” she said softly, her eyes pinned to his face. “I’d like to sit here for a little while, if you don’t mind. I swear, I feel like I’m just now catching my breath.”
He nodded and continued to hold on. She liked it. The sensation of his fingers around her wrist was steadying and comforting.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.
“Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
Miranda gave in to a small smile. She didn’t believe that for a minute. “Whatever the reason, thank you.” She wondered if she should tell him that his mother had been haunting her, trying to play matchmaker from the next life, helping Miranda with an unusual ghostly strength as she’d made her escape down from the deck.
Pushing her off the road.
No. She’d told Bren what she could do and he’d accepted it. That was enough for now. He didn’t need details; details might be more than he could handle. Knowing that his mother was keeping an eye on him from beyond might be more than he wanted to know.
After a few moments he pulled at the hand he held and helped her to her feet. When she was steady he guided her out of the impressive main room and down a long hall to a bathroom that was nearly the size of her bedroom at the cabin down the hill. The room was done in tan and dark blue and forest green, very masculine and yet also decadently elegant. The shower was set in multicolored tiles shot with green and blue, and there were three large and sparkling-clean showerheads set at different angles.
This was no neglected bachelor pad, that was for sure. This was a home, a very fine home that had been lovingly designed and well taken care of.
While she admired the bathroom Bren collected antiseptic, soap and washcloths from the bathroom closet. He didn’t hand everything over and leave the room, but dampened a cloth and, dark eyes intense, rough-looking hands more gentle than she’d imagined they could be, washed away the grime from her arms.
She had a flashback to the dream she’d been enjoying before the intruder had awakened her, and suddenly her body responded intensely to the gentle touch. Her breath came more raggedly; her heart pounded. She found herself staring at Bren’s hands, mesmerized by the way they moved against her flesh. His hands had been darkened by the sun and weathered by hard physical labor; her arms were pale and slender. In her mind she could see those strong hands on other parts of her body. She could almost feel them.
His body moved closer to hers as he worked, seemingly intent on what he was doing as he cleaned away the dirt around her abraded flesh. Miranda found herself tilting her head so she could glimpse his fine neck, found herself studying his bare chest and the cut of the muscles just above his low-slung jeans. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch him just beneath the belly button. She wanted to let her fingers linger there and slip even lower. When he came across a splinter he stepped away from her for a moment to fetch a pair of tweezers from the bathroom closet, and then with steady hands he expertly removed the offender. When that was done he searched for others. The antiseptic wash came last, and while it stung a little bit Miranda found she didn’t care.
All the while they drifted closer and closer, until her body was almost pressed against his. One small motion and she could rest her head against his chest, as she wanted to do. One step, and she could press her body to his. The spacious bathroom suddenly felt too small, as if the walls were closing in on her. She could barely breathe. Her skin was on fire. At this rate her heart would soon burst through her chest.
She had a choice, a very simple choice, to make. She could take a step back, thank Bren for his help and close off whatever this was between them. Or she could step forward, touch him and open herself to what might come. For most of her life she’d been a step-back kind of girl. Jessica had been the sister who’d enthusiastically grabbed what life had to offer. Miranda always wanted to study and analyze everything to death. She always looked closely before she leaped.
If she studied this situation too closely, she’d write off her strong reaction to this man to some weird hormonal fluctuation, or else to the effect of the adrenaline rush brought about by her narrow escape. She’d call Roger in the morning, tell him his plan for vacation had been a real bust and order him to come get her the hell out of here before she did something stupid. Like end up shot or in this man’s bed.
But if she did that, what chances would she miss?
Fearless, Miranda moved forward. She leaned into Bren’s chest and rested one hand against his side. She allowed her fingers to slip just barely beneath the denim of his jeans, to slide to the front where with the backs of those fingers she could caress the soft skin she had been fantasizing about moments earlier. Heaven above, he was warm. He was warm and hard, and his heart beat as rapidly as hers did. This man she barely knew was comfort and safety and pleasure in a world that had not always treated her kindly. He was a refuge, her refuge.
She lifted her head slightly and pressed her lips to his neck, which was salty and male and wonderful. His arms draped around her, gently and possessively, and she moved closer than before, pressing her body to his, feeling as if she could not get close enough. He could not mistake what she wanted; he couldn’t deny that he wanted it, too, not with his body pressed to hers this way.
For a while they simply stood there, holding one another in silence and a strange sort of acceptance. Then Bren moved her hair aside and kissed her neck, and in an instant Miranda felt as if she was falling or flying, as if she was no longer earthbound. With his mouth on her she felt like the ravens that circled the cabin at night, soaring on air and gliding on silken black wings. Free. She felt wondrously free and not at all alone.
Bren slipped the strap of her pajama top aside and kissed her shoulder, starting at the sensitive place where it curved from her neck and traveling slowly, wonderfully slowly, across to the top of her arm, each kiss small and lingering and arousing. Her body tingled from the place where he touched her to the tips of her toes. His kiss warmed her blood and set her heart to hammering. She felt that heartbeat low, an insistent thrum between her legs.
Bren returned his mouth to her throat, where he lingered for a while as if he were eating her up slowly and surely, as if he were dining on her. He could have her; he could have every inch of her.
“We should stop now,” Bren whispered in her ear, while at the same time he slipped a large, warm hand up her pajama top and cupped a breast possessively, brushing his thumb across a hard nipple.
“We should, but I don’t think we will,” she said honestly, leaning into him and adjusting her body so they fit together more closely, more certainly.
“You don’t understand,” he said softly.
“I understand enough.” She turned her head, cupped his face and planted her mouth on his. His lips parted and so did hers, and they came together with a fierceness that had not been present in this afternoon’s more public kiss. A stranger? No. Perhaps she hadn’t met Bren Korbinian very long ago, but she knew him to the pit of her soul. He was no stranger, not to her.
Physically she felt like she was being drawn into him in a whirlwind. She’d never experienced a raw desire so st
rong, had never wanted anything the way she wanted Bren now. No, want was the wrong word. Want indicated a wish, a choice, and what she experienced went far beyond any normal desire. She needed Bren desperately, as if he was a necessary part of her that had been missing for her entire life, as if he was already a part of her in a way she did not understand. She would only be whole when they were finally together in all ways.
Bren felt the need, too; she knew it when he pulled off her pajama top, being careful of her sore arms in spite of his urgency. He lifted her easily and placed her on the generous marble bathroom counter so that she perched on the edge and he fit between her legs. The tile was cold, but the man who held her was warm. Very warm. He placed his mouth on her breasts, lingering there as he had lingered at her neck and her shoulder, arousing her beyond any height she had ever imagined. She was wet. Her body trembled and she ached for him to come inside her. She literally hurt with wanting him, and she spiraled well beyond control. It was unexpectedly beautiful, this complete loss of control in Bren’s arms.
At his urging she leaned back slightly and he kissed his way down her stomach with agonizing slowness. Her entire body trembled, she ached with wanting, but she did not urge Bren to rush. His pace was perfection, and every moment was a fine gift she would not give up. There was unexpected beauty here, a surprising tenderness. She closed her eyes against the bright lights above and allowed herself to simply feel without any thought beyond the occasional realization that this was good and right.
Finally Bren caught his fingers in her elastic waistband and slipped the pajama bottoms over her hips and down, discarding them and running his hands along her bare legs, up her thighs. She opened her eyes and watched Bren as he studied her intently, looking at her as if he had never before seen a naked woman. He touched her with reverence and awe and with an obvious need, like the one she felt for him. From above harsh, fluorescent lights lit their encounter fully and without shadow, but she did not feel ashamed or timid. She felt only need and beauty and urgency. She had never before felt such urgency, not in any way, in any situation.
Last of the Ravens Page 8