Key Of Valor (21 page)

“You guys are seriously messed up.” He managed what passed for a laugh, fought not to pass out.

And woke shuddering with cold in his own bed.

Rubbing a hand on his throbbing chest, he sat up, took a deep gulp of air. “Well, it's about fucking time.”

 

“
SO
, we really looked gross?”

Flynn offered Brad a sunny smile. They sat with Jordan at Brad's kitchen table. He'd waited until morning to call, though it had been a very long two hours alone with the images of his experience chasing through his head.

He'd told them nothing but that he needed them to come. And, of course, they had.

Now, in the bright light, with the scent of coffee and toasted bagels, the entire experience seemed overblown and sloppy. Too many nightmares piled into one, in Brad's opinion, for it to hold solid.

“Let's see, most of your throat was gone, and a good part of your chest was missing. And you,” he said to Jordan, “your left eye was dangling pretty effectively out of its socket, and some of your face was torn away.”

“Could only be an improvement,” Flynn commented.

“I think I slipped on some of your brains,” Brad told him. “Not that you'll miss them.”

“Flynn slips on his own brains half the time,” Jordan shot back. He studied Brad over the rim of his mug. “You hurt?”

“Chest throbbed like a bitch for about an hour, and I came back with the mother of all headaches, but that's about it.”

“So the question hangs, how did you get back?”

“First, I had more time to prepare, knowing what happened to each of you. More time to figure out what might be coming and what to do about it. I had this little thing going in my head, what you could call a key word that I had planted there to snap me out. It worked.”

Flynn bit into bagel. “And the word is?”

“ ‘Bullshit.' It's crude,” he continued as Flynn sprayed crumbs. “And it's human and to the point. And the other thing is, well, he was sloppy. I can't say it wasn't effective,
especially at first. I felt sixteen. Hell, I was sitting by the campfire, drinking warm beer and thinking about Patsy Hourback's body.”

“She did have a great body,” Jordan recalled.

“Anyway, I was pretty obsessed with Patsy that summer. Actually I was mostly obsessed with sex, but Patsy was the headliner. So in the beginning of it, I was back there, in the woods by the Peak. Then Flynn starts screaming like a girl—”

“How do you know it wasn't Jordan?” Insulted, Flynn sulked over his bagel. “How come I have to scream like a girl?”

“Take it up with Kane,” Brad suggested. “At that point, I was just whacked out. You were both screaming and calling for me. But it started to go off, just a little. The wind, the fog, the cold. It was overkill, and it started to click in my head. When I saw you, the two of you lying there, I lost it again for a minute. Then I was sliding on Flynn's brains, or maybe his intestines.”

“Trying to eat here,” Flynn complained.

“It was too much, you know? And it wasn't holding. I wasn't sixteen anymore, not in my head. He'd lost the grip, I guess you could say. And I knew it was him. I knew it was bullshit.”

Brad rose to get the coffeepot. “Going over it for the last couple hours, I figured out what he was trying to do.”

“Separate us,” Jordan said.

“Got it in one. Isolate me—sitting alone while you two are off together. Then finding you mauled when you'd been calling to me for help.”

“Then having us turn on you,” Flynn finished. “The zombie twins. Pits us against you. How are you going to trust, much less work with, a couple of guys who try to eat your brains? I've seen the movies,” he added. “That's what zombies do.”

“He wanted me to feel alone and alienated, and threatened.”

“Maybe worse,” Jordan added. “If you hadn't yanked yourself out, we might have done some damage. When he tries for you again, he'll be more direct.”

“That's okay.” Brad picked up his coffee. “So will I.”

“I think you need more than your dashing good looks when you're taking on a sorcerer, pal,” Flynn pointed out.

Nodding, Brad picked up the knife beside his plate, flipped a thumb over the tip. “Even sorcerers bleed.”

“Are you planning on telling Zoe what happened?” Jordan asked.

“Yeah. We stick together on this, until it's done. I thought I'd run by Indulgence this morning.”

“She's not going in until afternoon,” Flynn told him. “Malory said she had things to take care of at home first.”

“Even better.”

 

HE
finished up a call on his cell phone as he pulled in behind her car, then took a minute to plug in the new appointment on his Palm Pilot. Thinking of the meeting with his architect, the expansion plans, and the changes he wanted to implement in the design, he walked to the front door and knocked.

All of that dropped right out of his head when she answered.

She was wearing jeans ripped at both knees and one of those belly-baring tops. It was the bar today, he noted. That erotic little silver bar glinting in her navel.

Her feet were bare, with toes painted an Easter-egg pink, thin and enormous silver hoops swung at her ears. And she held a rag that smelled strongly of lemon.

“I've been cleaning,” she said quickly. “I just finished in the bedroom.” As if realizing she held her polishing rag,
she stuffed it into her back pocket. “I needed to have some time around here before I went in today.”

“Okay.” He stepped in, managed to take his eyes off her long enough to look around the living room. Every inch of wood gleamed, every piece of glass sparkled. “You've been busy.”

“Cleaning gets my mind going, and I was thinking about the house. That maybe the house is part of it. And if I took the time, paid attention to it, to everything in it, things might—What is it?” Flushing a little under his unblinking stare, she rubbed at her cheek. “Is my face dirty?”

“Your face is perfect. It's the most perfect face I've ever seen.”

“That's nice to hear after I've been chasing dust bunnies.”

“Simon in school?”

“Yes.” Her eyes widened as she recognized the glint in his. “Well, for heaven's—it's almost ten in the morning. Don't you have to work?”

“I do.” He stepped forward as she backed up. “But I made a little time because I needed to talk to you. Looks like talk's going to have to wait.”

“We can't just . . .” Could they?

“I bet we can. Let's try this.”

He scooped her right up, and her stomach did a long, lovely roll as he started back toward her bedroom.

“Golly.” She couldn't quite stop the nervous giggle. “Just like in a romance novel. Except I'd be wearing something sexier than old jeans.”

She smelled of her furniture polish and ripe plums. “There's nothing sexier than old jeans when you're in them.”

“Oh, that's good.” Delighted, she nuzzled his neck. “That's really good.” She nipped at his earlobe. “I've got laundry going. It sort of backed up on me the last few days. So . . . I'm not wearing anything under these jeans.”

He turned his head, looked into her laughing eyes. “Oh, yeah, then talk definitely has to wait.”

Her arms linked around his neck as he laid her on the bed, and she drew him in, welcoming. “This must be my reward for doing all my chores,” she murmured.

“I've thought about making love with you again ever since I made love with you.”

He took her lips with his, rubbed gently, then sank deep.

It was like her own personal miracle, Zoe thought as she let herself float on the moment. Being swept up and away by a man who could make her feel as precious as diamonds.

He kissed her as though he could spend his life doing nothing else but mating his lips and hers. He would spend time in the warmth even when she could feel the need for heat pulsing from him. The quiet joy of it, of him, wound around her heart in soft, silky ribbons.

He touched her as though her body was a delicate treasure he would never tire of exploring. Each caress with those marvelous hands soothed, stirred, and promised. The sweet wonder of it slid through her blood like wine.

Here, in the morning sunlight, was patience that glided over her in long, almost lazy strokes. She let herself rise under them and drift down again as the world outside went on its busy way without her.

Stealing time for each other added a gauzy layer to intimacy.

He toyed with flesh exposed by ripped denim, skimmed his fingers along where her blouse rode up. Heard the low sound of arousal as he traced the silver bar. When his lips nibbled down her throat, she turned her head and sighed.

All the worries, all the fatigue that had dogged her melted away.

He could feel her yield to him, to the pleasure, hear her breathing thicken as he took his time. Could she know
what it meant to him to be with her like this, with the sun streaming through the windows and the house empty and quiet around them?

Could she know how much he needed her when he was only beginning to understand it himself?

He hadn't known until that moment just how much he had to give, so desperately wanted to give. What he was, what he had, what he felt, what he imagined. His mouth covered hers again, and he offered all.

Her heart bounded into her throat, her hands clutching his shirt as emotions engulfed her. More than pleasure, more than the promise of it flooded through those seductive sensations. Trembling, she slipped under.

This was what he needed—the utter surrender to each other. Where there was no one and nothing but the two of them. “I want to look at you.” He rained kisses over her cheeks before easing her top over her head. “Just to look at you.”

Watching her, looking into those heavy, dazed eyes, he slid the denim down.

Smooth skin and subtle curves, long, almost balletic limbs. Those slumberous eyes and that siren's mouth. She was, he thought, such a fascinating combination of the fragile and the exotic.

Bending, he pressed his lips to the top of her thigh, gliding them slowly down over sensitive flesh as she shuddered.

He teased closer to the heat with his tongue. “I want you to lie there. And let me do things to you.”

She couldn't have stopped him. She was already steeped in need, awash in sensation. When the first shock of heat slammed through her, she wrapped her fingers around the iron bars of the bed and let him take her anywhere he wished.

Here was glory and wonder. Those hands, so exquisite in their patience, unlocking every secret. That mouth tender
and thorough, devouring her by inches. She bowed up as the orgasm catapulted through her, and still he didn't stop.

Emotion careened against emotion, feeling against feeling until it seemed her senses were alive with light, her skin shimmering with it. And each time the ache built again, she welcomed it.

He was lost in her, aware of nothing but what she gave, and what he was compelled to take. Each time her body shuddered, there was more.

He rose over her. She encircled. He slid into her. She surrounded.

Slowly, still slowly, to drain every drop of pleasure even as it drenched them. The rise and fall of bodies, the beat of blood, the trip of pulse locked the world outside of that sun-filled room.

Somewhere time ticked away, cars rumbled past on the street, a dog barked at squirrels in a backyard, but she knew nothing but him. Heard nothing as she teetered on the edge of the world but her name, spoken almost like a prayer.

Then her own cry of joy as she leaped with him.

 

NO
one, at any time or in any place, Zoe decided, had ever felt better than she did right here and now. No one had ever been more completely seduced or thoroughly pleasured.

Drifting in the afterglow, she stroked her fingers through Brad's hair.

His head rested between her breasts, and his hand covered hers at her side. It was the sweetest combination of sensations, she'd ever felt.

“I'm so glad you dropped by,” she said sleepily, and smiled when she felt his lips curve against the side of her breast.

“Glad you happened to be home.”

“This is all so . . .
gorgeous
. Lying here, all naked and satisfied at . . .” She turned her head to check the clock. “Mmm, ten minutes to eleven in the morning. Better than winning the lottery.”

He lifted his head and grinned at her. “And then some.”

“You're so handsome. I keep thinking you look like one of those slick-looking guys in my hairstyle magazines.”

He grimaced. “Please.”

“Really. You could use a trim, though.” She spread her fingers in his hair. “I could take care of that for you.”

“Ah . . . Maybe sometime. Or other.”

She gave the hair she held a friendly tug. “I'm very good, you know, at what I do for a living.”

“I'm sure you are. Absolutely.” To distract her, he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then rolled aside. “I really did come by to talk to you.”

“You can talk while I give you a trim. Hairdressers are like bartenders. We're trained to talk and work at the same time.”

“I bet. But this probably isn't the best time. We should get dressed.”

“Coward.” She sat up, wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees.

“I'll accept that for the moment.” He rose to find his pants. “Zoe, last night—well, more accurately early this morning—I had an experience.”

The playful mood vanished as she scrambled to her knees. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

“No.” He picked up her top, held it out. “You're going to need to stay calm while I tell you.”

He dressed while he related the story.

Her initial fear had abated. He was unhurt, she could see that for herself. And he was steady, God knew. Maybe just a little too steady.