Enchanted Moon (Moon Magick Book II) (17 page)

“All this stomping about, Ailyn,” Quinlan said. “A bit
much, don’t you think?”

She huffed, crossing her arms as she considered his
question a moment. “Aye, well, blame the events of my life these last days. In
light of the entirety, I’d say I’m allowed a bit of flair.”

He laughed from deep in his belly. “Flair is what
you’ll be calling it? Aye, well, let us put your flair to better use, lass.”

She shook her head. “Not until Daniel returns.”

“He might not return.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“Lass, it doesna matter. Either way, you must train.
I’ll not sleep again after last eve, until I’ve given you what lessons I can.”

“You’ll curse him to fail is what you’ll do.”

“Enough, lass. Whatever fears you have, fight them.
I’ll show you how.”

She threw up her hands. Quinlan could see her
bemusement building. She needed an outlet. She needed to feel she had some
power over invisible assaults and missing persons. Nothing felt worse than the
helpless sense of life tossing a person about like a stone in the sea. He knew that
feeling all too well, and only one thing had ever given him real footing in any
storm.

Fight.

“He’s not coming back, Ailyn,” Quinlan said. He could
feel it.

She shook her head. “I refuse to believe that. Daniel
is invested in this. He has spent years attempting to understand my world. He’d
not leave me to find the bloodstone alone.”

She growled a sound of frustration, pacing the
perimeter, her hair coming unbound and wild from sleep. “He would not hand me
to Kristoph by leaving me no direction. She thumped her chest with meaning.

Her pendant.

Quinlan only knew what was evidenced. “Mayhap he needs
more time. Mayhap something happened to him. I dinna ken. We’ll not sit here
like wounded prey waiting for the hunter to return to try again.”

“Then we go find Daniel.”

“How? Where?”

“We search the area he disappeared into.”

Quinlan shook his head. If he pushed the issue, she
might break. “Fine. We will search. First, we will pack, and you will let me
show you three kill moves.” He needed to arm her with more than she had. He
needed it like he needed air. “Allow me to show you just three simple tricks.”

“Quin, we’ve no time for your sword tricks. He is a
sorcerer. No match for steel. He must know what I have.”

Again, she smacked her breastbone. The high pitch of her
voice warned him, but its alarm could not outcry that which already rang within
him. “Three simple moves, Ailyn. It is all I ask. Be reasonable.”

“After we search, you can show me a thousand.” She
rolled the blanket with shaking hands.

Enough. She was not listening to reason. Her face
mottled with color and her nostrils flared. Lord, but the woman did not like
facing the truth—even when it sat staring her right in the face. Quinlan
set his jaw. She’d be facing worse if she couldn’t get over her fears.

“Aye. An easy feat showing a dead woman how to fight.”

“You dinna have to be so harsh,” she said, her chest
heaving. Her eyes glittered, her lips thinned.

“Harsh?” he demanded, panting as well. She thought
this harsh? Quinlan tossed his broadsword to the ground. He strode to her,
delighting in her mouth dropping open. “Harsh?”

“What are you do—” Her words became a yelp as he
scooped her up onto his shoulder.

The icy waters of the small pool seeped up his calves,
biting his skin with cold.

“Nay,” she begged.

Quinlan adjusted her so that she could see his face.
“Oh, aye, lass. Aye.” Anger shone bright in her eyes and not a speck of fear.
Perfect.

“You wouldna,” she whispered, releasing his neck as if
to dare him.

He cared not if she dared him. He’d long outgrown
reacting to jibes and childish prompts. Her lips were pink and wet, and he’d
like nothing more than to kiss her senseless. Which was why he had to finish
the job.

“I would,” he said and bestowed his most winning smile
on her right before tossing her like a stone out into the waters.

Her sharp intake of breath right before the loud
splash satisfied him far more than it should have. Far less satisfying than
feeling her breath on his lips, or reacting to his every touch could be, but it
would have to do.

After a few seconds, Ailyn splashed and sputtered to
the surface, her hair clinging to her skull and looking like a drowned cat.
Angrier than one, too. Quinlan laughed out loud. Which made her all the madder.

She found her footing and stood up a few feet away.
Soaked. “I’ll have you kn—ahhh!” She fell onto her arse with a loud
‘umph’. New ripples spread over the pond’s surface.

Quinlan guffawed again, doing a pitiful job of
containing his mirth. Ailyn glared up at him, kicking water. He backed up a few
feet, chuckling. She swiped his hand away when he offered it.

“Come now,” he said. “Ye’ll catch your death.”

She slowly stood. Her lips shivered and her eyes
warned that she was up to something. “My death will be on your hands, then.”

Her anger sobered him a bit. Or was it the way that
every inch of wet fabric clung to her curves? Two hard nipples begged for his
attention. The cold water’s effects did nothing to curb the heated stirring in
his breeches.

She stalked toward him. Out to tumble him into the
depths too, she was. He’d bet his horse on it. Quinlan backed away, grinning,
ready for her.

God, but she was lovely. Fierce and proud. Petulant
but defiant. Every pale inch of skin. Every soft angle of her body, from the
slight swell of her breasts to the narrow dip at her waist. His hands ached to
be on those hips. To grab them hard and tug her close.

Something in her expression shifted. The mischief in
them receded. Her gaze went to his mouth. She licked her lips. Quinlan nigh
groaned.
Is this how you kiss?

There was no way she felt it, too. How many times had
she treated him like a strange, foreign thing to be wary of? To handle with
care? Not, at any point, to consider kissing.

Not to consider pressing her naked, cold flesh to his,
using the friction of their writhing bodies to chase the damp chill away. No
fire could heat him as her very presence did now. His groin tightened. His body
hardened. His head swam with notions never to be acted on. A mossy bank. The
flat edge of the boulder near the shore. The rough trunk of a tree, her hands
gripping a low bough, moaning, wriggling her sweet little bottom.

“I think I understand,” Ailyn said and met his eyes
again.

The anger was gone. Something hotter burned there. She
wanted him.

Once more, he reached his hand out. Without
hesitation, her hand braced his forearm. He pulled her forward. Moving
backward, he began leading her to the shore. “What do you understand?”

Solid ground met his boots. He continued back until he
knew she was clear of the water, too. He should get a blanket. She should get
out of her wet garments. She took another small step, closer to him.

He had hopes, aye. His body heaped hope upon hope.
Looked for any excuse to lace his fingers into her wet hair and draw her mouth
to his. But he was no longer a boy who chased hopes like butterflies. Lust
begot many a fanciful thought.

Reality would win out.

And when it did, he’d need a toss into the pool
himself.

“What you want.”

He chuckled. This time with little humor. “Full of
insights this morn, are you, lass?”

Ailyn smiled and cocked her head the tiniest bit. She
was up to something. Every part of him warned that she was baiting him. But he
saw now the means she could discover that could possibly thwart him. So, he
bit. He stood his ground as she drew ever closer. He refused the base urges his
body cried out with when the musky heather scent of her met his senses. The
water, it seemed, made everything about her more acute.

Her eyes searched his. A wet tendril of her hair
sprang into a curl. Quinlan fisted his hand so as to not brush it from the view
of her eyes. Alarm pulsed through him. It warned him that what she had in mind,
he wanted. But wanting and doing were two very different curses to live with.

“Is it as delicious as I imagine?” she said, her body
mere inches from his.

“Is what delicious?” he said, his voice far less
derisive than he’d intended. Ah, but his mind filled in the answer triple fast,
long before she could.

But was he right? Was she curious about a kiss? What
else could she mean? Ailyn wet her lips anew, and her rounded pink tongue sent
a pinch of desire down his gut, knifing into his crotch.

She parted her lips as though to answer, but no words
came out. By Christ’s teeth, the lass was killing him in a slow, torturous
death with one wide-eyed look. Not innocent, though. That was the true
struggle. For every movement and every blink brimmed with promise, with want.

Could it be that she wanted him, too, but had no
knowledge of how to pursue her desires? He was thinking rather highly of
himself to be considering so much in such a swift span of time. The vivid
reality of what lust did to a man. Heeding the alarm in his head, he stepped
back.

But the space he created intensified his ache rather
than relieved it. “What are you doing to me, lass?”

She frowned the slightest bit, cocking her head once
more. “Wondering if a man’s mouth tastes as salty as his sweat.”

He groaned.

She took a breath and stepped toward him again.
“And…dredging up the courage to find out.”

A tiny spark of anger flared deep in his gut, igniting
his desire. She wanted to play, did she?

In one adept reach, he yanked her by the waist,
pulling her body against his. The wet chill of her tunic soaked to his skin,
then gave way to heat. Her hands went to his chest and her stomach leaned in.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair at her nape, tilting her face. “Salty?”

Ailyn’s lashes fluttered, but she held his gaze
eagerly. She nodded. He wanted to slash his mouth down onto hers, to pour his
pent-up lust for her into one deep, long, angry kiss. But if she wished for a
game, he’d match her well.

He watched her face as he pulled her closer,
tightening his grip in her dripping hair. She gasped. A thrill raced through
him. He touched his lips to hers, the barest amount and inhaled her sweet
breath. A mistake. The taste of her warm air nearly drowned his control.

Taking her lower lip between his, he suckled it,
running his tongue over the silky plump surface. She tasted like honey.

He released her lip and met her mouth again, testing
just how naturally she responded. She wound her hands up to his neck, pressed
her body full against him and opened her mouth for more.

Quinlan took her offer, dipping his tongue into her
sweetness. The throaty purr in her throat matched him groan. She tasted better
than honey—divine—salty, yet sweet. Her tongue moved with his,
shyly at first, and then with a passion he’d not seen in any woman before. He
wanted more. His erection throbbed. He reached down, cupping her ass, drawing
her hips against his need.

She pulled his head closer, smashing his lips to hers,
matching his tongue’s exploration with her own. Too late, though. Like the
morning mist in the sun, his will evaporated as well. Ever present, thick,
dense, and palpable then under one hard gust of desire, gone.

He wanted far more than a kiss.

Her small breasts nigh called his name. Releasing her
hair, his hand covered one delighting in the rigid tip jutting to meet his
palm, reveling in the chilly feel of the small, firm mounds. He squeezed her
breast tight, thumbing over the nipple. Ailyn’s knees gave. He caught her
weight as she righted herself, then thought better of standing altogether.

Regretful though he was to do so, he released her
breast and sweet, curving hip long enough to brace her fall as he kicked out
her feet. She clung to him. He lowered her to the grassy ground, never breaking
the sweet, deep contact with her mouth.

The moment her body met earth, her legs wound around
his waist. The move gave him access to the softest part of her, the source of
all his desires as they wound tight, braiding together. It tied him to one
inevitability. Like no other, he wanted Ailyn.

They were well beyond a kiss, a voice warned inside
him. If he treaded further, he would face commitments he’d sworn off.
 
Quinlan pulled back, breaking their
kiss.

Ailyn’s eyes met his, their color so bright with
desire that his erection again throbbed. She pulled at his shoulders, her hips
shoving upward to meet his. He shut his eyes in pleasure, then forced them
open. “Tell me to stop, Ailyn.”

She shook her head. “Dinna stop. Not yet. Please.”

Not yet. He returned his mouth to hers, telling
himself he’d have just one more taste. One more press. She met his kiss with
fervor, sucking his lip and his tongue. Her hands desperately tugged at his clothes,
and then reached under them. Her cold hands touched his bare skin on his belly.
He yanked at her tunic as well, finding silken, chilled skin. She arched into
his palm, whimpering.