by Hazel Hunter
How could it be? And that the Magus Corps had wanted her dead?
Cold dread landed like a brick in her stomach. That part made sense. All these years she thought she’d evaded them, but no one escaped the Magus Corps—especially if they wanted you dead.
She searched Matteo’s face. He had lied to them to protect her?
“A love like ours,” he said. “It comes once in a lifetime.”
She let herself remember and a flood of images coursed through her. Three days. It had been three tumultuous, passion-filled, glorious days. Her world had been changed. She had been changed. But it had also been the last time that she’d known true happiness.
“We were so in love,” he said lowly. “You cannot deny it.” She looked away, but he put a hand to her face and turned her to look at him. “Could you?” he asked. “Can you?”
His eyes had lost their hardness. Something else was there. Suddenly she understood what it was. It was the same thing she saw in the mirror: pain.
“Tell me now, Natalia, for my sake and for yours.” His eyes seemed to search her soul, as though he’d find the truth there. “Is that love dead?”
The silence stretched, and he seemed to hold his breath.
“No,” she finally breathed.
• • • • •
Matteo’s heart soared.
“Amore mio,” he whispered. “I never gave up hope.” He cupped the side of her face. “It was not possible.”
“The last nine years?” she said, her voice quavering just a little. “You looked for me all that time?”
“They never knew,” he said, brushing the delicate skin of her cheek with his thumb. “The Corps never suspected. I did not use them. On my own, with every spare moment, I searched for you.”
“Where?” she said, her lower lip trembling.
“Every single, dingy, little stage from here to Atlantic City.”
He spoke her own words, but they were true. At times, he had missed her by only a week.
As though she were made of porcelain, he gently gathered her to his chest. As her arms wound around him, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. Her soft body pressed into him in a way so familiar and yet so unexpected that he nearly rocked back. Careful not to crush her, he held her close.
His gaze drifted to the faded embers of the sunset. Above it, the brightest of the planets had appeared. The world slowly turned under the azure vault, and they were at its center, as though no one else existed.
“L'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle,” he said lowly. “The love that moves the sun and the other stars.” She looked up, sharing his view. “So many nights I would imagine you were looking up at the same sky.” He smiled down at her. “But not tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she echoed. “But no more talk of the past.”
He couldn’t agree more. “No more talk,” he said lowering his face to hers.
As her eyes closed, he gently touched his lips to hers.
• • • • •
The one thing that Natalie had never been able to forget was the feel of Matteo’s lips. Their lush warmth and tender touch were like a drug. For a moment she couldn’t quite believe it was even happening. But as his lips pressed into hers, all the old sensations rushed back. Her head swam with the utter sweetness of it, and she willed her knees not to buckle. Slowly her mouth matched his, tentative at first, as though she were trying to remember what to do. But his lips massaged hers, stroking her gently but insistently.
Almost imperceptibly their bodies pressed closer. His fingers glided up her neck, leaving a fiery trace behind them, as he reached to the clips in her hair and undid them. As the loose strands fell, he ran his fingers through them, and then his hands smoothed down her bare back.
It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this. Wherever he touched her she felt herself shiver. Suddenly, she wanted to feel his skin. Quickly her fingers found his shirt buttons, undid them, and pulled the shirt open down to his belt. Her hands moved over the hard ridges of his abs, smoothing upward over his wonderfully broad chest, over his massive shoulders, then down his arms, sliding his shirt down as she went. Without breaking the kiss, he obliged her by slipping out of it. But as she caressed the long bulge just below his belt, he inhaled sharply.
His eyes locked onto hers, as though he searched for permission, even as he slid the dress from her shoulders. Their breath came faster and she couldn’t keep her hands from exploring his chest. Though hunger filled his eyes, he suddenly took her face between his big hands.
“Nine years,” he said, his voice hoarse. “There has been no one. Only the thought of you. Only the hope for this moment. Only a dream.”
She wanted to say the same—but found that she couldn’t. Instead of hope there’d been fear. While he’d thought of her, she’d vowed to never think of him again.
He must have seen the look on her face. “We are here now,” he said, “and you are more exquisite than I remembered.”
His heated gaze moved down her body. But rather than shrink from it, she delighted in the ready flush of her skin. More than anything she wanted him to touch her, to feel that connection she’d only ever felt with him. As though he’d heard her thoughts, his fingertips grazed her nipples, making them tighten so quickly that she sucked in a breath. In the next instant his big arms were around her, leaning her back, as he took her nipple in his mouth.
A buzzing sizzle erupted there as his tongue lashed the tip of her breast. Clinging to his neck, she gasped as the sensation spread. He gnawed at her, alternately sucking and licking, as his luscious mouth worked its familiar magic. From the start he had known that her nipples were sensitive and as he turned to the other she finally gave in to the desperate need that welled up inside her.
“Yes,” she moaned, and carded her fingers roughly through his hair. “Yes.”
His mouth worked furiously, stroking and suckling her until heat flooded between her thighs. Her hips pressed into him only once, before he swept her into his arms and carried her to the pillows. He wasted no time laying her back, then sliding her dress and panties down her legs. Again he paused when he saw her, but this time there were no words. Staring hard into her eyes, he ripped off his shirt, undid his belt, and freed himself from the rest of his clothes. He paused only long enough to take a condom from his pants and sheath his massive erection.
Lit by the firelight and the last red rays of the vanishing sun, he was a bronze god. His magnificent body was so incredibly male. As he loomed over her, she shuddered in anticipation and slowly spread her knees.
Instantly he settled himself between them.
As her hands found the thick muscles of his back, his considerable weight pressed against her belly with a delicious pressure. No matter what her mind had tried to say, her body had longed for this. She clutched at him, pulling him to her, his chest to hers, his breath in her ear. Then the dome of his shaft nudged her opening.
An involuntary gasp left her lips.
“Amore mio,” he whispered against her neck. “Open for me.”
She lifted her hips to him and spread her thighs. “I’m yours,” she gasped. He eased himself into her, just barely inside. “Yes,” she moaned.
She rocked her hips, urging him further. In answer his hot flesh pressed into her, slow and steady. He filled her, the exquisite fullness building, as she surrendered to the penetration. He hissed as he sank deeper yet, until the stretch was almost too much. But as he glided back, the stroke was so long that she thought he might withdraw. Quickly she wrapped her legs around his corded waist, and pressed her ankles into his lower back. This time as he entered her, he thrust quicker. It was exactly what she needed.
Her hips gyrated against his, trying to take him deeply. In moments, he was driving into her, harder and deeper, as she bucked beneath him. Soon he was thrusting with abandon as she kept up.
A familiar, wonderful tension suddenly coiled in her belly. Her rhythm faltered.
&nbs
p; “Come for me,” he groaned, plunging into her. “Give me your pleasure.”
At his words molten ecstasy flooded into her, and she convulsed in a chain of spasms. Her body writhed, out of control, as her orgasm burst. His hot flesh swelled within her as his release overtook him. Together they rode incredible waves of ecstasy, cresting and falling, only to crest and fall again. But finally as Matteo slowed and Natalie let her legs drop from his waist, a profound shudder shook them both.
She felt him withdraw and settle beside her. Gently he rolled her to him, and she tucked into his side. As he drew a covering over them, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Incipit vita nova,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head.
Eyes closed, she smiled against his warm skin. “I have to learn Italian.”
“Latin,” he whispered. “Sleep.”
12
NALDO COVERED BOTH his ears just before the explosion reverberated in his chest. In the pre-dawn twilight, brilliant golden sparkles blossomed like a chrysanthemum in the desert sky.
“Yes!” he muttered, pumping his fist. “Yes!”
But just as he was about to whoop, the giant flower drooped, turned a deep violet, and fizzled. He frowned and thrust his hands into the deep pockets of the ancient leather apron.
“Maybe a little more calx,” he said. What could it hurt?
He turned to the back of the Toy Hauler and waddled up the metal ramp. Although the trailer was state-of-the-art when it came to RVs, the precious item it hauled was beyond price. No matter where he traveled, his alchemist’s bench went with him.
A massive piece of furniture topped with marble, it took up over half the entire space. His glass tubes and flasks—hundreds of them—were nestled in the wood racks to either side. Each held its own bit of history: ground amber from the Adriatic, meteorite shavings from Siberia, fossilized trees in small thin sections. It was enough to make any alchemist as green as Imperial jade. In fact, he’d known a few. They might not envy his ability, but his bench was another matter.
Naldo smiled a bit ruefully. He’d admitted to himself long ago he wasn’t the most talented Wiccan. But what he lacked in gift, he made up for in grit. He practiced.
At the bench he looked into the mortar. There was plenty for another cannon load. He took the small scoop from the jar of calx. This much would light up the sky, which wasn’t the effect he was looking for. He hovered the scoop carefully over the mortar and tapped a few grains of the bright red sand into the mix. He looked at it, cocking his head. He tapped in a few more grains, eyed it again and nodded.
He poured the contents of the mortar into the cylindrical mold, added the dry clay, and then water. Using the glass rod, he gave it a quick stir. It was already setting. Before it hardened all the way, he plucked a short fuse from the pile on the bench and stuck it in the top. A few seconds later it was ready. With just a small tap to the mold’s metal side, the cylinder inside came loose. He lifted it by the fuse.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
Back down the ramp he went to Gorgeous Rita. She was one of his prize pieces from the Crimean War. Naturally he had thousands of weapons, but the big guns were his passion. This little beauty was a true piece of old world craftsmanship. He’d rebuilt her a few times in their time together.
He set down his fresh explosive next to the black and gold wheel. Then he opened the pan at the back and loaded it with gunpowder, his own of course. Using the wooden tamp, he packed wadding down the barrel. Then he inserted a fresh cartridge in the back of the firing mechanism and cocked it. Finally, carefully, he used a lighter and ignited the fuse on the bomb. As it sizzled and smoked, he carefully slid it into the barrel and let it drop. As he took his place behind the cannon and picked up the firing cord, he counted to three.
“Fire!” he said, covering his ear and turning away as he yanked the cord.
Gorgeous Rita belched and launched her volley skyward. Quickly he turned to trace its route, as he covered both his ears.
The boom shattered the desert silence. Golden points of light traced the many long leaves of the chrysanthemum. It shimmered in the still air, glittering as though it reflected the sun itself. Then the leaves unfurled to reveal the vibrant red insides of the long slim petals. It expanded in the sky, the leaves bouncing merrily and shifting from gold to red and back again. Then the enormous blossom faded, only to brighten one last time before winking out with an audible “tink.”
Naldo grinned and pumped both fists. “Yahoo!”
He stared with satisfaction at the now empty space, the afterglow lingering in his vision. He couldn’t wait to show Matteo. The boss was really going to like this.
A small chime and vibration in the pocket of his smock startled him. He was never going to get used to the phones. He retrieved it and looked at the message—then did a double take.
“Uh oh.”
13
COLD AIR NIPPED at Natalie’s nose. Although she’d been awake since before dawn, she’d hardly moved. She told herself that she didn’t want to wake Matteo, but in reality she didn’t want to wake up from what had to be a dream. Nestled at his side, he kept her close with the gentle pressure of his arm around her shoulders. There wasn’t a moment when they didn’t touch. As though she was the flyer who might simply up and away, he was always in contact. When she moved, so did he. If she turned, he turned too. Even when he didn’t seem to be awake, it never failed. She smiled to herself, peeking over the vault of his chest.
“Buon giorno,” he whispered.
She grinned, but ducked her face to hide it. “I’m not awake,” she said, her voice muffled against him. “Go back to sleep.”
“I haven’t been asleep for an hour.” He hugged her closer and kissed the top of her head. “And neither have you.”
“Well,” she said, looking up at him, “we should be.”
They’d made love again, sometime in the middle of the night.
He rolled toward her, scooping her against his chest. “I have a solution for not sleeping.” His big hand stroked her spine from top to bottom, then paused to caress her.
Though nothing would have made Natalie happier than to stay in their little love nest, the growing light was only getting brighter. Conleth would be looking for her. She sighed.
“I know,” he said quietly. “The world is waiting.”
She nodded and realized his people might be waiting for him too. “You have the hotel,” she said.
“And you have the show.” His hand stilled in the small of her back. “And after the show?”
“After?” she said. “I don’t know. Without rehearsals and–”
“No,” he said. “I mean…after.”
He meant after Conleth died. Just the thought made her throat tight. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t think that far ahead. The Living Torch will be his last act.”
Matteo separated from her to look down. “Living Torch?”
She grimaced a little. “That’s what he calls it. The one magic trick that no one will ever reproduce. We’ll only do it once. Then he’ll retire.”
“Living Torch,” he muttered. “I do not like the sound of that.”
“Good,” she said. “That’s the point. As usual, there’s more bark than bite.”
“Smoke and mirrors?” he asked, smoothing a few strands of hair from her face.
“Something like that.”
For several moments there was only the sound of a single bird call in the distance. The sky was growing lighter.
“If you stay a rogue,” he said quietly. “Then…”
Natalie couldn’t help but cringe. Her dream was already coming to an end. As much as she wanted to pretend that they could simply stay here, they couldn’t.
“…then I will have to go with you.”
“You what?” she said, jerking her head up to stare into his eyes. Was he going to be the Magus Corps officer that escorted her to the Corps?
“Go with you on the road
, as you say.”
Her heart pounded in her ears, and she got up on one elbow. She must not have heard him right.
“You would go with me? On the road?”
“You have proven too difficult to find,” he said smiling.
“Wait,” she said, putting a hand to his chest. “A rogue Magus Corps officer? Is that what you’re saying?”
His smile faded, and he got up on one elbow too. “We cannot be parted, amore mio. Not again. Not ever.”
Of all the things that she’d never dreamt to hear, it had to be that. But the look on his face was deadly serious. Her mind flashed forward trying to picture it, when she came to a sudden realization. She shook her head.
“I’m tired of the road,” she said. “And I’m sick of running.”
He gathered her in his arms and rolled her on top of him. “Then let it be over,” he said. “Starting now.”
She smiled a little as she traced his full lips with her fingers. “When the show is over. I promise.”
He kissed her fingers. “I will hold you to that. Such is my promise.”
14
NALDO PACED THE length of the office yet again. As he passed his gleaming steel desk, he snatched up the phone. His text had been delivered, but not read. He tossed it back to the desk.
“Where are you?” he muttered, checking the window.
The sky was growing lighter by the minute. He glanced at his Rolex. The police were waiting downstairs. Maybe he ought to just go take care of it himself. He even started toward the door—but stopped himself. He knew Matteo too well. When it came to anything having to do with Natalia, Matteo would have to handle it. If he would just show up, that is.
There were voices outside in the secretary’s area. Before he could get halfway to the door, it opened. Matteo stood there, and held out his phone.
“Emergency?” he said.
Naldo’s two secretaries hovered just behind him. One of them mouthed “sorry.”