“They say she transformed herself into a river and flowed into the sea to be with him until the end of time. I can still hear her chanting to me at night.”
Again that odd feeling crept up Olivia’s neck. “Chanting? What does she, uh, say?”
Hunter paused.
“To be careful what you wish for. Magic bears a power stronger than all of us mortals put together.” She nodded at the music boxes against the wall. “He made those for her. They’ve got magic powers as well.”
Olivia’s hand instinctively went to her heart. “What kind?”
Hunter tossed her a wary look, stood, and grabbed one off the shelf. “The kind that believes in immortal lovers. See, look at this one.” Hunter placed the ballerina one in Olivia’s palm.
“This is my favorite,” Olivia marveled. “It’s so beautiful. How much is it?”
Hunter frowned at her. “They’re not for sale, love.”
“Not for—then why are they here? To watch over you and your immortal lover?”
Hunter laughed, guiding Olivia to the door with a nudge to her shoulder. “Honey, if my lover’s immortal, then I’m in deep shit.”
As Olivia limped out of the shop she was almost knocked down by a walking tattoo collection who eyed her briefly, then stepped aside to let her out. When she passed him, he caught her arm. “Say, aren’t you the wife of that banker?”
She swallowed at the sudden contact and forced a smile. It was the first time anyone had recognized her since Shane’s partial notoriety. She’d been so proud when the Financial Times had interviewed her husband. He’d come so far.
Ducking her head, she answered, “Yes, I am.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and a smirk tipped up the right side of his flat lips. “Hmmm.”
He stood there staring at her. The lapse in conversation began to wear on Olivia’s already frazzled nerves. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I do have to go.”
Tattoo Man tipped his head at her and winked. The intent in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Excitement bore down deep inside her chest. If her tattoo was really magical, maybe it had begun to work and her sex goddess attitude already shined through. Without a backward glance, she hurried along, ready for her night of passion with the only man she wanted to impress. Her husband.
Chapter Two
Shane Hart tossed his keys and briefcase on the dining room table, hurried down the hallway, and stopped at the bedroom door, anxious to see his wife. Olivia. He did not expect to find her dressed in nothing but a black, lace bra, matching panties, and thigh-highs, bent forward, her head between her knees, inspecting her butt in the mirror. Now, this was a sight he could come home to every day.
They had met almost ten years ago upon his return from the SAS missions when he’d decided to open his banking offices. In the following years, she’d stood by his side through rough times while his fortune dipped and rolled, spiraling off into uncertainty. But Olivia had never doubted him, never wavered in her loyalty. He couldn’t understand how such a refined, talented cellist with the London Philharmonic Orchestra would want to refuse a fantastic future with a bloke from her own rich circle of friends only to be with him. Shane had had nothing to offer her but his love and ambition. It had been enough, and they’d flourished. Now thanks to Olivia’s support, he had attained happiness.
“Do I look like a shrinking violet to you?” Olivia asked the mirror in a husky voice, then shook her finger at it. “Don’t mock the magic of my ancestors.”
She stood up and studied herself in the mirror. Her beauty stopped him. Undisturbed, she continued her inspection, straightening her back and pushing out her breasts, her hands coming up to touch them as she smacked her full pink lips.
Shane’s body responded immediately, and he growled. God, what this woman did to him. “Livvy…”
Olivia jumped and whirled around. “Shane! You’re home. Early.”
He grinned as he moved forward to kiss his wife. “And just in time.”
His kiss lingered, sensual, as he caressed her waist down to her buttocks, touching and stilling on a gauze bandage. “What’s this?”
“It’s still sore, but take a peek.” She wrung her hands, biting her bottom lip. “See if you like it.”
He delicately peeled away a corner of the gauze, peered down at the intricate drawing inked onto his wife’s bottom, and grinned. Olivia didn’t do things so wild and naughty, but damn was it sexy. He slid his gaze down her round curves, which drove him over the edge every time he touched her, now blessed with an amazing ink trail he could trace with his tongue.
“Oh yeah,” he drawled, turning her around by her full hips to look into those innocent blue eyes. “You hate tattoos. What made you do it?”
She shrugged. “I wanted a tiny Base Clef or a cello, but then this happened.”
“Happened?”
Olivia laughed. “I told the girl to do something with a meaning.”
He traced the edges of the bandage. “Hmmm…what
does
it mean?”
“Well, for starters, this is a bad girl’s tattoo.”
“Is it now?” He yanked her softness closer, and reveled in her soft gasp. “So, you’re planning on becoming a bad girl?”
“The worst,” she promised with a giggle. “I know I haven’t been much of a sexual explorer, but from now on things are going to change.”
“Really…” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.
She became solemn and took his head in her hands to kiss him on the lips as she whispered, “Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Now please make love to me, Shane.”
“Sweetheart.” He scooped her up and took her straight to their bed. He didn’t need to be asked twice.
Gently, he laid her on the bedcover and kissed her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Olivia—his Olivia—the sweetest woman he’d ever met.
He raised one of her hands and kissed her palm. She slipped a finger into his mouth, taking him by surprise. She’d never done that before. A strange wave washed over him as he sucked her fingers, one by one, watching her eyes widen with excitement.
Something had changed. Normally she would shy away and drop her eyes as he undressed her, but now she met his gaze, steady, intense, forever loving.
He looked down at her as she stretched luxuriously under him and whispered, “Do me hard, Shane.”
Shane stopped, surprised. She had no idea what she asked of him—delicate Olivia, so fragile and easily bruised. Underneath his veneer of civility, Shane buried a rough bloke that liked his sex a little raw. He had been an SAS, for Christ’s sake. The women he’d had before Olivia had been almost as tough as him. There had been a lot of rough sex. Nothing violent, of course. He’d die before he hurt a woman—any woman. But some women were built for vigorous sex, while Olivia enjoyed a more delicate approach. He’d be damned if he would be rowdy with her.
Shane could already imagine the surprise in her eyes if he even voiced his deepest, darkest needs, and it surprised him he’d got her this far in the first place. But sex was not why Shane had married her. He’d married her because he deeply loved her. More than simple, primitive sex could ever show.
He caressed her face and swallowed, always amazed at the way her beauty made him tremble. Amazingly sexy in her own way, she humbled him. He didn’t deserve her.
Shane lowered his mouth to the hollow of her neck and gently licked her there, his tongue laving her creamy skin. She shivered as he caressed her breast beneath the lace, his thumb gently flicking her right nipple, patiently, until she moaned and lifted her pelvis to him. She circled his waist with those soft thighs, her eyes languid and luxurious, her nails digging into his shoulders, begging for more.
And more he would give her, with the greatest pleasure. Shane caught her ankles, unwrapped them, and held them up as he slid further down, pulling aside her panties and gently opening her folds to him. The pinkest rose, so delicate and fragrant, was velvet to his touch.
Softly, he caressed her with his fingers, circling. Deliberate. Thorough.
Olivia moaned, opening her glazed-over eyes wide. She had already begun her journey uphill. Her breath quickened into short gasps as his tongue descended on her, lapping up her juices. She whimpered like never before. Could she be ready for him, for the way he needed her?
He abandoned her pussy, allowing time for her to reconsider, and tugged on the lace cups of her bra, exposing her full breasts. He caught her nipple between his lips, his sucking noises and her moans the only sound in the room. Olivia caught the front of his shirt, and the buttons pinged against the headboard as she pulled it open in her haste to get to him.
Immediately, she touched his chest, fingers tracing his abdomen muscles. Shane gasped at the sultry contact. She reached for his rock-hard cock, curling her fingers around it. He let her play with him for a while, watched it lengthen, widen, and bob up and down in her hand, catching his breath over and over until his eyes clenched shut and a loud hiss escaped his lips.
Shane gripped her waist and flipped her over onto her stomach, grasped her thighs to pull her so she sat on his lap, her back to him, his hands tweaking her nipples again. She let her head slide back into the crook of his neck and he kissed the soft skin below her ear. His heart flipped at the unexpectedly bold gesture, and he fought for control.
Olivia moaned, and he slid his hands beneath her ass, sliding her higher up to nestle her bottom over his desperate cock.
Olivia’s body instantly stiffened and her thighs clamped shut. Shane stilled, nibbling the skin on her shoulder, giving her a moment to find her bearings.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear, but she hung her head in defeat. There was a fear there he couldn’t understand, but had to heed, and trust in his love for her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Shh…come here.” He cupped her chin and delicately kissed her shoulders, neck, and spine until she melted against him.
It took a herculean effort to reign in the wild instinct pulsating in his cock and an even greater effort to not slide up into her pussy that still hovered above him. Olivia grabbed his thighs to haul herself up and away from his furious hard-on. Ignoring the dull ache rapidly turning unbearable, Shane let her go and settled in between her thighs as she spread out on her back, her eyes still liquid but questioning whether he was angry.
With Olivia?
Never. Only fucking close to coming.
He took her mouth again to reassure her. They could do that some other time, when she wanted to. And when she was ready, they’d do all sorts of naughty little things.
But Olivia still twisted her fingers in her normal, nervous gesture. He caught her hands and swooped down onto her clit to answer all her questions. Yes, he still loved her and yes, he still wanted her. More than she could imagine.
Olivia groaned as his mouth sucked on her nub, his fingers once more delicate on her labia, when he wished to ram into her with no restraint, no mercy, with all his passion, and no reservations.
A soft mewling sound rose from her mouth, and Shane stifled it as he gathered her legs into his arms, tugging her down in their bed toward him. Towering over her, he began his rites of entrance, watching for the well-known signs of her pleasure.
When she began to move rhythmically under him, he gratefully quickened his own pace. She needed to come now, although she would never say it. Shane knew Olivia inside out—the feelings she didn’t voice, her fears, her thoughts.
He buried his head between her breasts as his body began to shake, but he restrained himself until Olivia climaxed. Watching her small pink mouth open as she let out a soft, satisfied sigh always left him humbled. He always made sure she came before him. And then, only then, did he pump his seed inside her in a gentle, delicate, release.
After years as an SAS, Shane had a master’s degree in control. If he could do this for Olivia, he could do anything.
* * *
Olivia met her fellow members of the London Philharmonic Orchestra off Waterloo Bridge for daily practice. It had been a good session today—the atmosphere professional but friendly as always.
She glanced about as the string of visitors wearing their temporary badges were admitted. A school trip led by a very young, high-strung teacher marched past her, along with an elderly couple holding hands. She wondered what she and Shane would look like at that age. The shuffling sound of an “old dear” made her turn. The octogenarian must have been very tall once upon a time, but bent at the waist so far, she threatened to teeter over at every step she managed. A frisson of déjà-vu enveloped Olivia as the woman brushed past her. Olivia snapped her cello case shut and headed for the loo. A surreal silence hung in the air. She wondered what the stringed notes would sound like bouncing off the tiled walls. She smiled and made a mental note to check in her own bathroom at home.
The restroom door opened and in shuffled the little biddy, straight to the washbasin next to Olivia. The sensation that she knew this woman persisted, still as strong as ever, but nowhere in her mind could she place her.
Olivia opened her Gucci bag and put on some lipstick. She always liked to get home looking fresh for Shane. Just thinking about him made her skin tingle all over. After almost ten years of marriage, she still couldn’t believe Shane loved
her
.
The night before had not gone as she’d hoped—so much for the magic tattoo. She had tried to let go, but her deep modesty got the best of her. And Shane, always so considerate, so careful, demanded nothing in return and had let her off the hook. She knew beneath that veneer of gentleness raged a wild predator who needed to be fully satisfied to the core. She’d barely scratched the surface.
He’d wanted to penetrate her from behind, but she wasn’t sure whether he intended anal or not. He would surely break her in two if he attempted anything like that. Shane was a caged animal, no doubt, and every time they made love he contained himself, flying under the radar, hiding his true needs.
She’d almost made it, could still feel him—hard—butting up against her, but shyness, uncertainty, and God knew what else kept her from sinking onto his shaft.