Blood Moon (4 page)

Apparently, Ben approves, as well, if his grunting and moaning have anything to do with it. I nudge him with my elbow a couple of times so he’ll settle down. The dinner table is definitely not a place to exhibit porn-star qualities.

Though she’s blushing, there’s a smile working its way onto Fiona’s lips. She clears her throat. “I am happy ye find my fare pleasing.”

Ben nods several times, but never looks up from his bowl. He reminds me of the Beast from Disney’s
Beauty and the Beast
, when he and Belle sit down to eat porridge, and he just buries his face in the bowl. That’s pretty much what Ben is doing right now. I elbow his ribs several times, but he’s too focused on the food, eating like an animal. Finishing off what’s left, he wipes his mouth on the collar of his T-shirt.

“That was fantastic,” he says. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

Fiona reaches across the table and collects his bowl, returning to the stove to fill it with seconds. Ben’s eyes twinkle like a kid who’s been told he can have cookies before dinner. When Fiona sets the bowl chock-full of stew in front of him again, Ben immediately digs in.

Searching for a distraction from Ben’s awful manners, I ask Fiona, “Will you tell us the stories of the dark forest now?”

She hesitates, pinching her lips together, then glances at Francine, who has not yet finished her stew. “Francine, darling, hurry up and eat so ye can say thy prayers and sleep.” She kisses the top of her head, as Francine obediently consumes her dinner.

After she tucks Francine in for the night, Fiona returns to her place at the table. “The stories began over a year ago. Some say they were fables to keep children out of the woods, others say they were as real as us.” She waves her fingers back and forth between Ben and me, and herself. “’Twas not until a couple of young lads ventured out for a hunt and never returned that the fables took new meaning. Most of Colchester chose not to believe that strange creatures lived nearby; they either believed the boys were lost and would one day return, or wild animals attacked them and naught remained. One thing is for certain: they never came home.” Her shoulders twitch as she stares down at the table, lost in the memory of those poor souls. “Then the howling came. At night, we could hear the wolves. They were so close, yet never showed their faces, always hidden and protected by the darkness and web of trees. Hunting parties searched for the creatures of the night, and not a single man made it out alive.” She hastily swipes away the tears from her eyes.

I realize something that’s been in front of me all along—Fiona’s husband has yet to show himself. From what little I know of history, it’s that women always married young and produced children. They always had a man to support the family, one who would put food on the table and be a handyman for household repairs. Fiona doesn’t have that.

And if I let my gut do the talking, if I listen to it, it says that her husband was one of the men who went after the werewolves and never returned.

“Oh, my God.” I gasp, covering my mouth with one hand. A spiky, nipping sensation pricks the backs of my eyes, and they begin to dampen. “Your husband . . .”

Fiona nods almost imperceptibly. “Aye,” is all she says. She quickly wipes away more tears. “Presently, ’tis only Francine and myself, and we manage very well. Nevertheless, I would be lying if I said I did not miss him every day.”

I reach out and place my hand on her arm. “Well, of course you do. I’m sure Francine misses him, too. I’m very sorry for your loss. If there’s anything Ben and I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask us.”

She nods rapidly, letting the tears freely descend her cheeks this time. “My gratitude.” She collects our empty dishes and places them in at the end of the table. “I shall go fetch more water to warm, so ye can bathe.” Grabbing a shawl from a nail tacked into the wood by the door, she wraps herself and steps outside.

Ben purses his lips in a straight, grave line as he tugs me into his arms. He technically may not be my husband, but I can’t imagine losing him the way Fiona lost her love, especially with a child involved. It’s too bad Ben and I can’t return to the past to correct Fiona’s husband’s fate, but if we tried this with all of the people whose lives have been changed because of a tragedy, we’ll never return to Hartford.

“C’mon,” Ben says, coaxing me toward the guest room as he stands. I don’t waver to follow him; my muscles, my bones, and my entire body is too tired, and the warm supper has left me in a relaxed mood. He and I plop down on the soft mattress.

Fiona pokes her head around the corner. “Apologies if I am interrupting, but I have to heat the water in the kettle before I can pour it into the washtub.” She motions toward the brass-colored bathtub across the room. “I have brought in several buckets so ye needn’t wait very long.”

“Want some help?” Ben asks.

“Nay,” says Fiona. “The well is just outside.” She disappears to the main room of the house.

Ben and I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Without looking, Ben’s hand searches for mine, and upon discovering it, he interlocks our fingers. This is the great part about mine and Ben’s relationship: we don’t need frills or gimmicks to be happy. The intense bond is already there.

“We got lucky, you know,” I whisper. “We could’ve been sleeping in that barn for the remainder of our time here.”

Ben inhales a deep breath and loudly blows it out of his mouth. “Yeah, but we’re not. Everything happens for a reason, right? Maybe we have some divine intervention working in our favor today.”

“Or maybe we just got lucky.”

He turns his head toward me, narrowing his eyes. “Tenacious.”

“Always,” I retort.

“Only a little more time!” Fiona calls from the other room.

I sit up, and Ben rises to his elbows. He closes his eyes, and the moonlight shining through the small window illuminates his face.
My angel of the night,
I think.

Am I now?
he says, raising his eyebrows.

Leave it to Ben to ruin a blissful moment . . .

“Why can’t you just let me check you out when you aren’t looking?”

Grinning like a fool, he says, “Because that’s kind of creepy.” I smack him. “Borderline stalker-ish, even.” I punch him this time. “Jeez, I should just get a restraining order. I mean, look at you—you can hardly keep your hands off me.”

Dramatically gasping, I seize the opportunity to leap on top of him . . . just as Fiona enters the room.

“Oh, my!” she says, clutching at her heart again. “Apologies, I did not intend to interrupt.”

I scramble back into my sitting position. “I promise it’s not like that.”

Making matters worse, Ben mumbles, “Liar. You just wanted to get me out of these clothes.”

I can literally feel heat radiating through my cheeks. Am I . . .
blushing
? How can he embarrass me like this? Poor Fiona! She probably thinks we hump each other like rabbits. Meanwhile, we haven’t done anything of the sort; we’re too busy steering clear of the wrath of each other’s family.

Fiona finishes dumping the heated water into the tub, while I give Ben the stink eye. He’s too cocky for his own good, just sitting there, basking in delight. I’ll get him back. I swear I will.

As Fiona exits the room to warm more water, Ben reaches out and tenderly runs his fingers across my cheeks. “You’re flushed,” he says. “I can see that even with what little light is in here.” I smack his hand away and he chuckles. “We’re married, remember? Married couples do that stuff all the time.”

“Not in the sixteenth century! They had morals back then.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Fiona returns with more boiling water. She refuses to look at us. I feel so,
so
mortified. I can’t even begin to express my emotions into words.

“I shall allow the others to heat, and then thy bath shall be ready,” says Fiona. She leaves the room once again.

“Should we start undressing now, or . . .?”

“Ben!” I hit him.
Hard.
He deserves it.

Sniggering, he says, “Okay, fine. We’ll wait.”

A little while later, our bath is finally prepared, and Fiona retires for the night. Ben and I just sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing the tub like it’s about to magically grow legs and walk out of the room. Finally, I take the initiative to strip. I mean, it’s not like Ben hasn’t seen me naked on this trip already. And maybe, just maybe, I can hold this over his head. Payback’s always a bitch.

I begin with my jeans and shirt, socks and shoes follow, and then my undies and bra. Feigning a seductive air, I turn to him and say, “Aren’t you going to join me?” He doesn’t hesitate; his clothes are off in a fraction of the time it took for me to remove mine. I step into the hot water, allowing the warmth to seep through to my bones. It feels amazing, not only because it’s so chilly outside, but because I haven’t had a bath in two days. Gross.

Ben slides into the tub opposite me, his eyes never leaving mine. They start to glow a deep, rich amber, and that can only mean one thing—he’s completely turned on. Inwardly, I throw a victory party.

But I’m not finished yet.

Oh, he wanted to put on a show, so now he’s going to get what’s coming to him. I rise to my knees and progressively travel to where he sits, allowing him a full view of my exposed torso. Licking his lips, his eyes skim over my body, from head to waist and back up again. When he ogles me once more, there’s no denying the hunger.

“Candra,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yes, baby?” I dip down and allow my lips to linger just above his. “Is this what you wanted?”

He shakes his head. “No, I want
you
.” His arms circle my waist so hastily, I react by squealing in surprise. Water sloshes in the tub, like waves crashing against a shore. Ben’s lips crush mine, reckless with passion, as if he’ll never have the chance to kiss me again. My skin prickles underneath his fingertips—even in the steaming water—as they caress my arms, the sides of my breasts, down, down, down my waist, my hips, my thighs, eventually trailing upward from my legs and settling on my rear. He digs his fingers in and yanks me closer. Inadvertently, I moan. Ben gently separates our lips. “Ah, Princess, do you know the affect you have on me?”

Words jumble in my mind, refusing to form on my tongue.

Ben perceives my silence as confirmation that I have no idea what I do to him. He draws me closer by the throat, gripping it tighter. My eyes half-lidded, I gaze at his curved mouth drawing nearer and nearer to mine. Our lips meet again. My eyelids close on their own accord, and I open myself up to him. His searing breath heats my mouth, delivering more luscious shivers up and down my spine. When his tongue slides out and flicks my lips, leaving a wet trail, my entire body smolders with longing. Every inch of me is ablaze from within.

“God, Ben, please don’t stop,” I plead. This doesn’t even sound like the Candra I know. Who am I, and where did this voice come from? Am I actually
begging
Ben to do anything he wants to me? I really have lost my mind. But people say love makes a person do crazy things. I believe that.

He chuckles against my throat, gruffly, sending yet another wave of pure bliss across my skin. I honestly don’t know how much more I can handle. One minute it’s my plan to seduce him, the next he’s seducing me. How did this happen?

“As much as I want you,” he says, languidly sweeping his tongue up and down the side of my neck, “I don’t think it should be here, while people are sleeping in the next room.” He pulls my surprised face toward him, until our foreheads meet. With one final kiss, he coaxes me to turn around, my back against his chest.

I’ll admit it: I’m disappointed. My hopes and dreams just came crashing down with one swift blow from Benjamin “Virtuous” Conway. Who knew he could be so honorable? Instead of moping, I shrug off the incident. I’m sure there will be plenty more where this came from.

Distracting me from my thoughts, Ben scoops up the bath water and drizzles it over my shoulders, kissing me where it cascades. His hands rub every inch of my body, and my back arches every time he massages near a sinful area. I even let a couple of throaty groans escape. He knows
exactly
what he’s doing to me.

“You said we couldn’t do this,” I tell him, unsure how I found my voice.

He sweeps my hair aside, planting delicate kisses on the back of my neck. “I said we couldn’t do
that
”—more kisses—“but I definitely didn’t say anything about
this
.”

I shiver and attempt to pull away, but he forcefully grabs my waist, palm even against my lower abdomen, and jerks me against him. I can’t move; he’s too strong.

“Uh-uh,” he playfully scorns. Lips brushing against my ear, he whispers, “You wanted to seduce me, but that didn’t work out so well, did it?”

I endeavor to wrestle out of his grasp. “You read my mi—?”

He flattens me against him, even more intimate than before. “You haven’t done a very good job,” he continues, “especially when I can do it
better
.” One of his hands covers my mouth, while the other slides lower underneath the water, finding the source for my internal fire. I squeal against his hand, but he tugs my head so it rests on his shoulder. “Hush,” he murmurs against my ear. My hands press against the tub’s walls distractedly, but they begin to slide off as soon as Ben finds his rhythm. Water churns in cadence with him, and I’m left at his mercy. God help me, though, because I don’t want him to have any mercy on me.
At all.

Every nerve ending in my body is about to explode. There’s an inferno raging in my lower stomach, and I’m doing all I can to stifle moaning. Ben’s not helping, either; he licks and sucks on my earlobe, then initiates a full-blown grunting session. It’s all I can do not to scream out. Not only are his hips moving with the stroke of his hand, but mine are moving
against
him. My fingernails dig into the skin on his forearm, part of me wishing he will end this wicked torture immediately, the other part needing him to finish. I reach behind me, finding him, moving my hand in tempo with his. His growls become agonizing, like he’s offering me a silent plea to end his agony.