“I feel like limp spaghetti,” she blurted out.
James chuckled. “I think I liked ‘wow’ better.”
She grinned and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Saw that those eyes had softened, filled with warmth and humor. She saw something else in them too. The fire was still raging.
James nuzzled her ear and took the lobe into his mouth, suckling it as he had her breast. A heated hand circled her breasts, her belly, nudged her legs apart and began to stroke her folds. The orgasm had left her intensely sensitive, and Jillian trembled beneath his touch, could hardly bear it. He murmured into her ear, tickling it with heated breath, and her entire body clenched and quivered. He pulled her closer, and Jillian felt his fiery hot erection pressed against her thigh. A finger slid inside her, explored as she moaned. Two fingers pressed deep, deeper. Her hips rose of their own accord, thrust hard against his strong hand but it wasn’t enough. She was aching all over, edgy and wanting.
Needing . . .
Jillian whimpered aloud when James took his hand away, but his muscled body was welcome as it moved over her. She welcomed the heat and the weight of him, welcomed his face over hers, framed by the starry sky. Welcomed his powerful legs nudging hers wider apart. And moaned with a kind of delicious exultation as he entered her. She felt herself slowly parting before the fiery heat, giving way, stretching to take the fire into herself until she had it all. It was bliss, luscious bliss, to be filled so completely. James paused there, eyes closed as if also savoring the sensation. He was still for a heartbeat, then two.
Then he began to move. The exquisite friction begot a deeply primal pleasure and Jillian became a wild thing, digging her fingers into the muscles of his buttocks, pulling him into her, thrusting her hips to meet his rhythm. She panted out a plea for more,
more
. A soundless vibration began to resonate within her, within him, as if a tidal wave of unimaginable proportions was bearing down on them.
Harder, faster, deeper. “Come with me, Jillian,” he panted. “Come with me
now
.”
Battered, wave-tossed, lost at sea, she heard his words above the thunder of her blood, the roaring in her ears, and instinctively linked her fingers with his. She arched to meet the strength of his body, the power of him as he filled her. As he both moved her and anchored her. As he was both storm and haven. They rode the cresting wave together, a pair of dolphins skimming above the powerful surf until the ocean suddenly fell away and they flew free.
Chapter Twenty-one
B
irkie appeared at her elbow, arms folded. “Okay, something’s seriously wrong here. Carlton Fuller’s herd is sick because he was too cheap to vaccinate again, and you spent fifteen minutes explaining to him how that ‘doesn’t make good economic sense’ instead of kicking his sorry ass from here to Winnipeg. Why?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense from a business standpoint. If he—”
“I know that. What I want to know is—
why isn’t he dead
?
Jillian looked baffled. “Well, I thought I’d try an educational approach . . .” She trailed off at her friend’s expression.
“You, my dear, have either had a complete breakdown from overwork or you’ve finally gotten some serious nookie. Which is it?”
“Do we
have
to call it nookie?”
“We can call it whatever you like as long as you tell me about it.”
“I’m not going to give you a play-by-play.”
“I’ll settle for details on events leading up to and immediately following. Your apartment after closing, I’ll bring the chocolate.”
“Deal.”
He was the world’s biggest idiot. What on earth had made him think that he was in control, even for a moment? The plan had been just to keep an eye on Jillian, satisfy himself with checking in on her at the clinic. Briefly, always briefly. Just long enough to assure himself—and the wolf within—that she was fine, that she was safe. And yeah, he could admit he looked forward to catching a glimpse of her or hearing her voice, sometimes watching her work or maybe saying hello. But that was all the contact he had permitted himself, all he had planned for. Not for one moment had James anticipated that she would show up at the farm.
Still, he could have avoided trouble if only he hadn’t taken her riding, definitely if he had turned them back to the farm instead of heading down to the damn river, and most of all, if he’d just avoided looking in those big green eyes of hers. Sensible precautions that if taken, would have prevented what happened last night. Wouldn’t they?
No. No, it would have only delayed the inevitable.
The truth of that resonated uncomfortably within him. If he was honest with himself, he had never been in control, not since the first time he’d met her as a man, and certainly not since the first encounter he’d had with her as a wolf. Which meant he should have known, should have seen it coming. After all, he had admitted to himself long ago that he was attracted to Jillian. It was natural, it was normal, to be attracted. Even natural and normal to act on that attraction.
Like last night?
Well, hell, he wasn’t dead and it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. He’d spent most of the morning trying to tell himself that was all it was. Except it wasn’t all, not by a long shot, and he knew it. James couldn’t even pretend that the wolf had anything to do with it, because his alter ego had all but disappeared after that first kiss. His mind had disappeared then too. Perhaps he could plead insanity. After all, he was still reeling from that kiss, even after everything that had followed. Jillian had looked up at him with those big sea green eyes and that faery face and it had been like a hard kick to the stomach. All the air had left his lungs, and James felt himself swimming in those eyes. Swimming and the water was oh, so deep. He had
had
to kiss her, had to more than he had to breathe. But she’d beaten him to it. She had fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his face to hers. There and then he drowned.
Small wonder his heart had galloped on ahead of his brain and developed feelings, strong ones. As much as he was struggling to rationalize the whole situation, his own words mocked him:
That’s the whole damn problem with being human. You always end up feeling things you don’t want to feel.
Only that was a lie too. He’d said things, thought things, felt things—and as much as he had told himself he didn’t want to, he did. Very much.
He threw the spade he was carrying across the yard, launching it like a javelin with such force that the blade stuck into the barn wall about fifteen feet off the ground. He left it there and stalked away, wishing he could Change and race away into the forest.
Jesus Murphy!
He had to get a grip. So
what
if he had feelings for her? He couldn’t let that matter. All that mattered was what would be best for Jillian, how best to keep her safe. A relationship was completely out of the question. She was human and he had to remember that. Associating with a Changeling would only endanger her. What little contact she had now was probably too much. Sooner or later someone would notice. And Jillian would pay.
Bad enough that she was already going to be hurt—he’d be stupid to think that last night hadn’t meant something to her too—but at least she’d be alive. She was sure to hate him too, and rightfully so. Because not only could he never see her again, he couldn’t even explain why.
She’d missed lunch again. Jillian finished with the goat in the corral and headed back into the clinic. She had just cut through the waiting room on her way to the kitchen when she spotted the large bouquet on Birkie’s desk.
“These just came for you, hon.” Her friend waggled her brows. “Pretty impressive choice of flowers too.”
Jillian stared at them. She recognized the roses—but
what
roses. The large blooms were exquisite, creamy white and long-stemmed. But they were interspersed with tall plumes of tiny bell-like flowers, also white. And those shiny green leaves—“Is that holly?”
“It certainly is. Holly and white heather. Both of them symbolize a pledge of protection and defense.”
“What?”
“It’s the language of flowers, hon. Different flowers mean different things. This is a very strong message, a double message of protection.”
“Protection of what?”
“Well, you of course. And the white roses, now those are just plain classy.”
“Are they protecting me too?”
“No, silly. I’m going to have to loan you one of my books. White roses are always more powerful than red ones, you know. The white ones mean
‘love always’
or
‘pure love
.’ Like I said, very classy, very unique. Aren’t you going to read the card? Let me tell you, it took a pile of restraint to keep from running it out to you in the corral.”
Jillian fingered the small envelope, noted it was sealed, and tucked it in her pocket. “I think I’ll read this privately first,” she said and laughed when Birkie looked disappointed. “If it’s G-rated, maybe I’ll share.”
“Oh, all right. Can I at least keep the flowers on my desk a while?”
“Of course. They’d be wasted sitting in my apartment all afternoon. I’ll come and get them at closing time.”
A pledge of protection.
That seemed a little medieval, but maybe James was just trying to be romantic. Or maybe he didn’t know any more about the so-called language of flowers than she did. But the white roses. . . . Those were romantic in any language. Jillian hurried to the lunchroom, hoping for a few more moments between patients. She tried to open the envelope in a civilized fashion but in the end, she ripped it. The picture on the face of the card was simple, trees in a forest. She smiled, thinking of when she’d last been in a forest . . . then she opened it and her smile disappeared. She was still standing there staring at what James had written when Birkie came in to announce the next patient. Jillian handed her the card without a word and headed to the examining room.
Jillian. You’re a beautiful woman but it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore. I’m sorry.
“Well, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Best, he says. Best for
who
?” Birkie shook her head, blinked hard until her eyes cleared. “Isn’t that just like a man? Trying so hard to protect the one you love that it ends up hurting both of you.” She sighed and stashed the flowers in the supply room until closing. Then she quietly took them to the dumpster and dropped them in.
James was drill-seeding the back quarter section of land. Most farmers used herbicides to kill off all existing plants before putting in a crop, but there would be no chemicals used on Macleod land. He’d studied the latest techniques and decided to go with a no-tillage policy as well. That meant seeding the fields without plowing them, leaving the existing plant cover to hoard moisture and shelter topsoil from the powerful west winds. It would take time, plenty of it, but James was determined to steer the farm to organic production.
It would take a lot of work too, but that was fine with him. In fact, the more work, the better. Right now, work was the only thing keeping him sane. Usually the land was soothing to his spirit, the soil enlivening. But not now and not for the last three weeks. Even from the cab of the tall tractor, he should have been able to feel a unique closeness to the earth but lately he’d just felt empty, hollowed out and aching. The deep peace and satisfaction he usually found in green and growing things was missing, and in its place was desolation.
James told himself repeatedly that he’d done the right thing by walking out of Jillian’s life. He should never have let things go so far in the first place. Should never have kissed her, should never have held her—but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to regret it. God, that night together, tangled on the forest floor. Whenever he closed his eyes he still heard her heart hammering behind her teacup breasts, still saw downy curls glinting gold between her slim legs.
Everything had changed.
She
had changed. He had looked at her with human eyes for the first time while she slept in her apartment. That little frown on her fine features had immediately evoked a storybook picture of a cranky faery. But that night in the forest, the cuteness disappeared. The silvered light had revealed something downright ethereal, profound. Even regal. Not Tinkerbell but Titania herself. It was in the angles of Jillian’s face, in her sea green eyes, in her wild cap of hair. In her narrow frame that seemed far too small to hold the blazing passions that drove her. In her skin that was so much fairer than even his own, so amazingly soft over compact muscle. Every night in his dreams he ran his hands over her body, delighting in the lines of it, the colors and textures, even as he breathed in the enticing scent of her, as his heart thrilled to the sound of her voice, her laughter. And every morning he had to remind himself that for Jillian’s sake the dream had to remain a dream.
The sun was down, but the darkness didn’t matter to James. The tractor had powerful headlights and his night vision was acute. He could easily finish this field tonight. Maybe the one on the south side as well. Whatever would keep him busy enough to stay awake was fine with him. James just didn’t feel up to having another dream of any kind. Besides, when he was awake, it was easier to control the wolf within. Relatively easier. Since James had ended things with Jillian, the wolf had been increasingly surly, miserable, short-tempered and likely to snap at anyone.
Just like my human self.
He didn’t know how long he could keep a leash on the wolf, knew that it would find its way back to Jillian sooner or later. Maybe he should leave town. The wolf would have a tough time interfering with Jillian’s life if James was in, say, outer Mongolia.
When the fuel gauge beeped a warning, he geared down and brought the tractor to a standstill, switched off the seeder. There was a fuel tank and a pump on the back of his truck, but he’d left it parked under the trees on the far side of the field. That was okay, he could use the walk. Maybe it would clear his head.
Stars were appearing and he could just see the full moon above the trees. It was glowing yellow like a Japanese lantern, but it would lose color as it climbed. James rubbed his hands over his face and opened the cab door of the tractor, let the breeze pour through, scented the air, let himself breathe deeply and rest, relax, just for a moment
—
—suddenly he was the wolf, racing through a shadowy forest under a velvet sky bright with stars. He had to go faster, had to reach her, had to help her. Followed the river until it flowed through a city, until game trails gave way to manmade trails. Followed them until he caught the scent of violence and fear, hate and hopelessness. Followed until he caught sight of the upraised pipe. Of the brutal hands that held it. Of the man intent on destroying the life that fluttered in the slight figure crumpled on the ground beneath him.