The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) (21 page)

She made tiny mewling sounds, her soft lips pressed tight to his.

Heat, like the warm rays of the sun, shot through his pores, a projection of not only her lust, but something deeper, fuller and much more elemental and with it, a tiny thread of anxiety.

It worried him, but he was hungry for more of her and couldn’t reason the why of anything at the moment.

He groaned, wanting to crawl inside her skin and make the warmth always stay. Eve was the peace he’d never known.

The lack of air in his lungs was what finally made him break away and he did it with much regret.

For several reasons.

She was just gonna call in sick. How in the world did her sisters expect her to make it to their outing after such a high? Nothing could compare to what she’d just experienced with Cian.

Absolutely nothing.

It had been an earth shattering, mind-blowing--so much for not giving into clichés--kiss. Actually it had been so powerful that she was more frightened than excited.

Never in her life had she doubted her absolute love for Michael, he’d always been
the one.
It. She wasn’t looking for love, or even a long-term relationship. Been there, done that. All she’d wanted was someone to hang out with. Keep the loneliness at bay, so to speak.

Instead, what she’d felt had gone deeper than any emotion she’d ever known at her husband’s hands or touch. Michael had been fireworks, where Cian was lava. Nothing Michael had ever done in their ten years could compare to what she’d just felt with the vamp. The merest contact of lips on lips, bodies pressed against bodies. Right there in that moment she’d have done anything for him and that had scared the ever living daylight out of her.

Confused, she’d mumbled a pathetic apology and had run off, demons of her past chasing close at her heels.

The look on his face right before she’d run off--brows lowered and blue eyes glittering with doubt--made her ache.

What had she done? Now he was going to think she was either really crazy or not worth the time and effort. Neither thought brought an iota of comfort.

More miserable than ever, she groaned, dropping her head into her hands and leaned back deeper into her couch. It seemed appropriate in a woe-is-me-melodramatic-kind-of-way that the only light on in her apartment came from the gentle flicker of an aromatic candle. Now all she needed was a bottle of wine and some sappy love songs in the background to fully flesh out the cliché.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She’d all but begged for that kiss. Had wanted it from the moment she’d laid eyes on the sinful temptation of his body.

Painful memories filled her head. Michael, broken and lifeless, smiling and always teasing her about being such a nerd for liking history the way she did. But those thoughts were turning fuzzy, unclear and unfocused.

Pictures of Cian kept crowding her mind. Dazzling, blue eyes, ridiculously long ebony and frost colored hair, a body to make a wicked heart melt.

“Oh goddess. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not so fast. Not so soon.”

She couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal, that somehow her enjoyment of the kiss, of his touch, lessened the beauty of what she and Michael had shared.

He’d been her first love. Reckless, wild passion, they couldn’t get their hands off each other in the first year. It had all been so perfect.

So why did that pale in comparison to the stolen moment on the beach? She ground her jaw, feeling sick at heart. It had been her idea to take Cian to the beach, to play with him the way she had. She was responsible for that kiss happening, had very nearly orchestrated the entire thing.

The cold, harsh truth was she wanted Cian more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

Love charms never brought about this type of bottomless passion. More lust, that once sated went away almost immediately. Otherwise, she’d be tempted to think magick was somehow involved. How else could she explain the immediate attraction, and feelings that veered more towards love than lust? But charms couldn’t do this. It just wasn’t possible.

And no matter what, she refused to believe in love at first sight. That was hokey, romance babble, nothing more.

So if not first sight, and not a charm, then what?  

The shrill ring of the phone yanked her from her thoughts, she yelped, and with panicked fingers picked up the phone, nearly dropping it in her haste.

“Hello?”

“Eve, honey, Tam and I are waiting at the apartment. You coming or what?”

The static of female laughter and melodic music filtered through the line.

It was Celeste, and suddenly the idea of spending a Friday night alone made her feel lousy. But she also wasn’t in the mood to go to any clubs and make polite chit chat with drunk men whose only concern was whether they’d get into her pants or not.

“Can we change plans and you guys come here instead?” She twisted the cord around her finger, hoping her sisters weren’t too dead set on going to the club tonight. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Instantly Celeste’s voice turned from playful to worried.

She shook her head, staring off into space. “I’m just a little bummed is all.”

“Eve, you stay there. Tam and I are on our way. We’ll be there in ten minutes. You just hold on.” Then the line went dead.

She hung up the phone and walked to her window, gazing out at the starry night, wondering where Cian was and what he was thinking.

***

Cian punched on the light in Lise’s flat, squinting to adjust to the sudden brightness. What had just happened? Everything had been going well, at least he’d thought.

He’d tasted panic inside her, known something was happening, but for the life of him he couldn’t begin to explain what had made her turn from sultry sex kitten to frightened colt between the span of two heartbeats.

“Bloody fool,” he spat and shoved blunt fingers through his sand encrusted hair. How was he supposed to know what to do or even say anymore? This wasn’t something he’d ever expected or believed could happen.

Shedding his clothing with a swipe of his hand he stalked toward the couch and plopped down. He could still taste her. Smell her all over him. It was on his skin. Tongue. The woman had crawled under his skin, into his brain. Denying that he felt something for her was a joke, it was more than just something... it was all consuming.

How the hell did mortals do it? Why would they fall in love when it brought nothing but angst and misery? Worst part was, no matter how much he might want to walk away and forget Eve, and anything closely associated with her, he still had a job to do. Keep her safe.

He ground his jaw from side to side. Already he sensed a madness creeping around the corners inside him, a shadow coming to life and breathing down his neck.

His nostrils flared and he scrubbed a tired hand down his face.

Regardless of what Eve felt--or didn’t--he’d see her safe or die trying. That was a vow sealed in blood.

The next breath was painful, filling his lungs with her unique scent of herbs and flowers, making him remember the touch of her skin, the feel of her lush curves pressed tight to his. Digging blunt nails into his palm, he growled. He needed a cold shower; to not only get the sand off his flesh, but the lust out his veins.

Maybe this was for the best. At least now he could concentrate on how to see her safe, rather than her naked with him on top sucking her nipple in his mouth until she begged for release.

He stalked toward the shower, attempting to ignore the raging hard on that made each step an agony unto itself. Blue carpet muffled his footsteps; he passed a bedroom, glanced inside and moved on. It took a second for his brain to process what he’d just seen. When it did he narrowed his eyes and backed up.

No, no trick of the light.

There, lying in the center of a windowless room sat a gray stone coffin. Nothing else around it, no knickknacks, bookshelves, cluttered desk, nothing. The room was bare save for the casket. He walked up to the tomb. There were Celtic runes inscribed along the length of the pewter colored stone. They were markings of death and blood.

He passed his hand along the top of the coffin. Tendrils of heat saturated his palm. A dull greenish glow encased the stone. This was a genuine, honest-to-goddess vampire’s sarcophagus. Not the kind normals bought to bury their dead, but the kind used for the soulless living.

His lips twitched. Lise thought of everything. On the off chance Eve decided to test the coffin’s magick she’d feel the radiating pulse of it vibrate straight to her bone. He frowned. Not that that mattered now.

He stalked off to the shower, shoving his hand over his cock and trying to get it to go down. Already his balls were beginning to ache and drive him crazy.

He stepped into the shower and turned the faucet on as icy cold as it would go. Shivers wracked him almost immediately, ice flooded his veins, but even the cold couldn’t tear her from his mind. Visions of Eve swam in his brain.

The feel of her body on him. Desire coursed a dangerous trek into his already engorged cock. Grinding his jaw, he took himself in hand and began rubbing.

The way she’d tasted, like candy and a hint of wine. Exotic appeal. He leaned his free hand against the wall, his muscles clenching and his breathing turned ragged.

That sultry smile and lioness gaze. He pumped harder, the pressure building. His body was on fire and quaking. Close. He hissed, on the verge of a violent explosion.

Ebony hair. Pale, porcelain skin. The feel of full breasts pushed against his. His legs trembled and he gnashed his teeth.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d taste like between her legs. Would she be dewy, wet? For him. For only him? He rubbed harder. The way he got hard only for her. There was no one else, nothing else that could do to him what she did.

His back spasmed and his fingers clenched the freezing tile. He imagined the spray running down his back were her fingers, that it wasn’t his hand on his cock, but hers. He pumped harder. Faster. Dizzy with his lust, mad with desire, he pumped and pumped until his seed poured from his body.

“Eve,” he groaned, the rushing tide of his orgasm made him weak. He leaned against the wall panting for breath. The icy water hurt, prickled his flesh, and though his teeth clacked violently, he stayed under the shower head hoping to burn her from his mind, but her mark was already imprinted on his soul.

Two--heavy on the cuervo--margaritas, and nearly a whole bag of chips and salsa later, Eve was still no closer to feeling better.

“I really screwed up.”

“Gah, Eve.” Celeste rolled her eyes, the coral pink mask on her face made her look more clownish than aggravated. “You’re killing me. So if you like this guy so much, just go find him, have sex and get it over with. Put us all out our misery, please.”

“Jeez.” Tamryn punched Celeste in the arm.

“Hey!”

“Your sympathy is so heartwarming, Cel. I think we could all learn a thing or two from you. Sheesh.” Tamryn lifted a red brow, disgust thinning her rose red lips. “Listen, Eve. If you like the guy, call him.”

“It’s not that simple. I never got his number. Just an idea of where he lives.” She twisted her lips, dipping yet another tortilla chip into the chunky salsa, the tip snapped off into the bowl. Growling, she shoved the dip aside and laid her hair rollered head back down onto her body pillow.

“I’m sorry, guys. I’m pathetic. Since when did I become so mopey? I hate people like that.”

Celeste laid her hand on Eve’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Look I’m sorry for being so cruel,” she shot Tamryn the evil eye, “I was just playing.”

“You know, Eve.” Tamryn scooted closer, the cotton between her painted toes looking ready to fall out. “I think this might be guilt--well heck, I don’t think, I know. You don’t have to feel guilty about falling for someone else. It’s been two years...”

“I know that.” Eve rubbed her hand down her arm. Nervous habit she’d picked up trying to hide her projections. Like it really did any good. “But it’s more.”

Violet eyes huge with understanding stared up at her. Tamryn gave a slow nod. “I see.”