“So you set them up.”
“Yes and no.” She flushed a little. “People tease me about matchmaking, but it’s like putting the right ingredients together for a soufflé. You just know when you’ve got something special.”
Delaney understood exactly what she meant.
“I love it here.” She looked across the fields again, this time with pride, and Delaney followed her gaze. He sensed her bond with the land and her resolve to make a difference. He admired her certainty and wanted to know more about her plans for her own future.
To his own surprise, he felt a sense of common ground with her, so to speak, one that only enforced his sense of union. He could have lived like this, followed the same objectives. Delaney listened to the night and inhaled of the cold air, knowing that his senses would be sharper than hers.
He smelled Slayer, at a distance, and Pyr at a greater distance. He smelled the Dragon’s Blood Elixir, not so far away that it could be forgotten, then cattle and compost and wildlife. He smelled coffee grounds in Ginger’s kitchen, fresh laundry, her perfume, and was beguiled by the combination of Ginger with the earth he so loved. He concentrated on the scents more closely associated with humanity, with those linked with Ginger, and looked down into the vivid sparkle of her eyes.
She was his destined mate. The firestorm didn’t lie.
But even the faint scent of Slayer lent an urgency to his reaction.
She was so fragile.
So vulnerable.
So oblivious to danger.
Delaney’s protective urge shook him with its urgency, but despite its power, he knew what he had to do.
The conviction that sating his firestorm would be the last thing Delaney did in this life lent a potency to the moment. He felt a lump in his throat as he stood beside Ginger.
“What kind of farm did you work on?” she asked abruptly.
“A horse farm.” He followed her to the porch, pausing beside her.
She tipped her head back to study him, intent upon the nuances of his answers. He didn’t doubt that she’d see them. “Arabians?”
Delaney shook his head, hearing a doubt that echoed his own. “Not racehorses. The owner didn’t like how they were treated in the racing world. More like machines than animals. I didn’t like it much, either.”
Ginger was watching them, understanding in her eyes.
“We bred workhorses.”
“Belgians and Clydesdales?”
“Among other working breeds.”
She put her hand in his and watched the little flurry of resulting sparks with a smile. “More glamorous than dairy cows.”
Delaney squeezed her hand, feeling how small it was. “Doesn’t everyone like milk?”
She smiled up at him. “I do.” She wrinkled her nose. “And I like the girls. They have a serenity about them that’s nice.” She sighed. “Or maybe I’m just used to them. I can’t imagine being here without cows in the pasture.”
They stood for a moment, hand in hand on her porch, Delaney’s heart pounding with what they were about to do. He felt the glow of the firestorm between their palms, a warmth that he could imagine was a resonance of the similarities in their perspectives.
He wanted to see her farm and hear her plans, meet her cows and talk about the future.
He couldn’t do that, couldn’t ask for more from her than she was already going to give him.
She was going to bear his child, after all.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, his words riding a white puff into the cold night.
Ginger grinned up at him. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise, Delaney No-Surname.”
“Shea,” he said, reminding himself of the darkness within him when it might have been easily forgotten. “Delaney Shea.” It was the first time he’d claimed the surname of his father. He’d always used his mother’s name, Connaught, because his father had surrendered to the Slayer side. Using Shea now was a potent reminder of what Magnus had done to him.
But the confession of his name made Ginger brighten. “Delaney Shea,” she repeated with satisfaction. “A good Irish name.”
“It is Irish,” Delaney agreed, bending to kiss her before he revealed more. It was too easy to give to Ginger, too easy to say things to make her smile.
It was better that Ginger know less about him rather than more. It would be easier for her to accept his disappearance if she didn’t know where to look.
He should have made up a surname, but it was too late for that.
Then Ginger slipped her tongue into his mouth and Delaney forgot about everything but the lady in his arms.
Chapter 2
The heat surged through Delaney’s body from every point of contact with Ginger, making his lips sizzle and his blood heat. The firestorm was a golden blaze, lighting his desire and coaxing it to an inferno.
Ginger’s eyelashes fluttered down, her expression rapturous. Her fingers grasped the back of his neck, her back arched, and he felt the taut peaks of her nipples. She could have been made of firelight, all sparks and passion and heat. She was warm and giving, golden and gorgeous. He saw her as the source of the light of the firestorm, a radiant spark that warmed him to his darkest corners.
She was the dawn that awakened him from a long nightmare.
He had to make this night one of pleasure for her.
Delaney deepened his kiss, loving how Ginger moaned. Sparks shot into the air around them, falling into the snow beyond the porch, lighting the night. Delaney hauled open the kitchen door, then caught Ginger up in his arms, kissing her again. He carried her over the threshold, never breaking his kiss, and kicked the door shut behind them.
She framed his face in her hands and kissed as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
Delaney could relate to that. He had a hard time believing that once with Ginger would be enough. She kicked off her high-heeled sandals and he heard them fall down the stairs behind them.
The bedroom she directed him toward had a handmade quilt on the neatly made bed. A simple pine dresser and matching chair were the only other furniture in the room. The floors throughout the house were wide-planked pine, polished to a gleam.
Delaney fell onto the bed in the darkened room, his arms full of the sunshine that was Ginger. She rolled on top of him, and sat up, straddling him. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks flushed, and her lipstick smeared. Her earrings danced against her cheeks. She looked rumpled and alive, sparkling and animated. The desire in her eyes was enough to make Delaney catch his breath.
“Too many clothes,” she said, wrinkling her nose in a gesture that made her look young and cute. She peeled off her jacket and cast it onto the floor, then bent over him to steal a kiss. Delaney gripped her buttocks and held her closer, liking how he was enveloped by her perfume. She moaned into his kiss, rubbing herself against him, and even with their clothes on, he thought he’d lose his mind.
His desire wasn’t at fever pitch because it had been so long since he’d been with a woman—it raged because he had spent a lifetime without a woman like Ginger.
“Your turn,” she said, rolling from his side breathless moments later.
Delaney didn’t need a second invitation. He got up and tugged off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair.
“Sure,” Ginger teased at his neatness. “Show me up.”
She propped her chin on her hand to watch him, her eyes dancing. She was lying on her stomach, and the angle let him see deeply down her cleavage. Delaney glimpsed a rosy nipple and the sight made his jeans tight. Her skirt had risen up, revealing the ripe curve of her bum, and she kicked her feet playfully in the air.
He could have devoured her.
He bent down, bracing his hands on the mattress and touched his nose to hers. “That’s not what I’m going to show you,” he teased.
She smiled, a glint of challenge in her eyes. They were as blue as a midnight sky, filled with twinkles that could have been stars. “Promises, promises.” Then she sighed and
examined her fingernails, supposedly bored by the delay.
Delaney wasn’t fooled. Her playfulness, though, was infectious. He caught one of her feet, his hand closing around her ankle so that she couldn’t squirm away. He ran his fingertips over the arch, then tickled the bottom of her foot.
As he’d expected, Ginger was ticklish. She whooped and struggled, squirming so that her skirt worked its way around her waist. Delaney was merciless, capturing the other ankle and repeating his teasing so that she writhed.
“Uncle, uncle!” Ginger cried, and he found himself amused by her antics. He held her feet against his chest and looked down the length of her legs, letting her see that he was surprised by the sight. She wore lacy black panties, black stockings, and a matching garter belt. The black against her creamy skin was dramatic and very sexy.
This woman was his fantasy come to life.
“Stockings and garters?” he asked, desire making him nearly incoherent.
Ginger blushed even though she sighed with mock concession. “Call me an optimist.” She giggled then, not in the least contrite for her choice of sexy attire.
“I like stockings and garters,” Delaney admitted, his words falling low. That was the understatement of the century and he suspected that Ginger heard as much in his tone.
Her cheeks burned vivid red. “Then optimism has paid off.”
“Not quite yet,” he murmured. He kept her ankles captive in one hand—she was tiny enough—and bent over her. He caught one garter in his teeth, then met her astonished gaze as he unfastened it.
Ginger gasped and stared at him, a flicker of sparks dancing between Delaney’s mouth and her skin. He felt the fan of his own breath against her skin, felt the answering heat rise from her flesh. He eased his tongue across her scented skin, knowing he’d never forget the smell of her lotion.
He repeated his trick with the other garters, taking his time unfastening her stockings. Then he released her ankles, locking his hands around her thighs. He eased his fingers beneath the stockings, tickling and caressing her smooth skin. She was soft and strong, compliant and excited. He was assailed by the scent of her perfume.
And her desire. Delaney slowly slid his hands down the length of Ginger’s legs, easing the stockings toward her feet, the sheer fabric catching on his palms.
A shimmer of golden heat followed his hands, crackling against her skin, leaving her both flushed and gasping.
He caught her lacy black underwear with a fingertip and tugged it down toward her knees. Ginger caught her breath, but she didn’t move away. He flung her underwear over his shoulder, then dropped to his knees, her legs on his shoulders. He inhaled deeply of her scent, savored the softness of her thighs, then bent to touch his tongue to her slick heat.
A spark leapt from his tongue to her, making her gasp. Delaney closed his mouth over her, teasing her to pleasure. She writhed and he locked his hands on her hips, holding her captive to the pleasure he was determined to give.
He felt the heat build between them, felt desire rise to a crescendo. He heard Ginger’s heart pound and her pulse race, felt her quick intake of breath as surely as if it had been his own. He coaxed the firestorm to burn hotter between them, urging it to be more insistent with every passing moment, with every caress.
He felt Ginger hover on the cusp of release and felt a wave of tenderness for this woman, this spark who would bear his son.
This fascinating woman he’d never see again.
He paused, let her squirm, exhaled so that his breath made her cry out in frustration.
“Tease!” she gasped, and reached for his shoulders.
Delaney flicked his tongue across her heat, deliberately and firmly, grazing her clitoris with his teeth.
Ginger cried out in her release, twisting on the bed before him as he prolonged her pleasure. He wasn’t entirely sure who enjoyed her orgasm more. When she shuddered and stilled, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, ran a hand over the soft length of her thigh, then eased her to the mattress. He straightened, drinking in the sight of her.
“Oh,” Ginger said softly, astonished to near silence.
“Oh,” Delaney echoed. She laughed. It was easy to banter with Ginger, and he wished for a heartbeat that he could stay with her.
Seduce her even more slowly.
Even build a future.
But he didn’t have that right. He’d take what he could have and be glad of it.
Delaney shook out Ginger’s stockings, looped them around her ankles, and tied them in a lazy knot to the bedpost. “Don’t move,” he said, knowing that she could easily slip away. He liked the look of her, though, rumpled and half bare, surprised and pleased.
“Are you going to make it worth my while?”
“What do you think?”
She laughed again. “Well, based on recent experience, I’d say the chances of that are pretty good.” There was no doubting her satisfaction and her warm smile made Delaney feel good.
As if he’d finally done something right.
As if he had his old verve back.
Ginger lounged on the bed, looking disinclined to go anywhere.
Delaney peeled off his shirt and folded it on the chair, then kicked off his boots and jeans. Socks and underwear and the T-shirt he’d worn beneath the rugby shirt joined the folded pile, and then he turned to regard his pleased mate. He wore only his mother’s cross, because he’d vowed never to take it off.
Ginger’s gaze slipped over him, as surely as a caress, and dropped to his erection.
“Oh,” she said again, smiling with a familiar enthusiasm.
Delaney unknotted the stockings slowly, letting his fingertips slide over her skin. She shivered as the sparks danced between them. “You didn’t move,” he whispered.
“Do I get a reward?”
“Didn’t you already have it?”
“That’s backward,” she laughed at him. “I want another.”
Delaney rolled her over and knelt on the mattress beside her. He unfastened the back of her glittery camisole and the zipper in her skirt. She rolled to her back, kicking off the skirt and tossing it on the floor.
“Old habits die hard,” she said, then her smile broadened as her gaze fell to his erection again.
He removed her camisole in one smooth gesture, revealing the lacy black of her strapless bra. He shouldn’t have been surprised—it matched her underwear—but he was momentarily awed by the splendor of his mate.
“Too big?” she whispered, the first quiver of doubt in her tone. Delaney wasn’t going to let her imagine there was anything less than splendid about her.
“Too perfect,” he said firmly, then cupped one breast in his hand. He liked the ripeness of it, the fullness and abundance of it. Her curves spoke to him of passion and life, of pleasure, and all the things he was doomed to leave behind.
The things that Magnus and his Elixir had stolen from Delaney.
He bent, wishing things could have been otherwise, and pressed a reverent kiss to Ginger’s breast. He slipped her nipple free of its lacy confines and flicked his tongue across it, making her moan again.
Within moments, the bra was on the floor and there were just the two of them, naked in Ginger’s bed. They caressed and whispered, explored and savored, finding each other’s sensitivities and exploiting them over and over again. They teased each other, the firestorm’s loving light playing over both of them.
And when he was finally buried inside her, looking into the dancing lights of her eyes, Delaney’s awe was complete.
“Oh,” she whispered, her hands on his shoulders and her blue gaze locked on him.
“Oh,” Delaney echoed, not troubling to hide that he was overwhelmed, too.
She reached up and kissed his cheek, her breath sliding across his skin and making him simmer. “I knew I was right about you,” she murmured.
Delaney didn’t have time to ask what she meant. She was too tight, too hot, too perfect. Ginger pulled him down for a kiss, e
ven as his pulse became as loud as thunder, and he claimed her mouth triumphantly. He moved within her, astounded that lovemaking could be so glorious and intimate.
Ginger was vital and passionate. She was honest and outspoken. She was everything Delaney had sought all of his life.
She was more than enough.
But she wasn’t his to keep.
He wished with heartfelt intensity that things could have been different between them, that they could have had a chance, that they might have met in another time and place.
When he had been whole.
Then the tide of desire swept through him, pushing reasonable thought aside, leaving only sensation and yearning. They moved together, his awe reflected in her eyes, amplified by the yellow blaze of the firestorm. They pushed each other higher and harder, their hearts pounding in unison, the connection between them drawing tighter with every stroke.
It got hotter in the room, perspiration sliding through Delaney’s hair, between Ginger’s breasts, lighting on their lips and mingling in their frantic kisses. The inferno of the firestorm burned brighter and hotter, brighter and hotter than Delaney could have believed possible, until suddenly, they climaxed as one.
The room was showered in brilliant yellow sparks. Delaney had to close his eyes against the light and Ginger shouted before she moaned.
Delaney leaned over her, bracing his weight above her even though he was spent. He had the seductive sense that he’d finally come home.
Just in time to leave forever.
Delaney lay in the darkness as Ginger slept beside him, once again fighting his body’s urge to sleep. It would have been easy to doze in Ginger’s bed, easy to believe that his life had changed and that everything would be different because of his firestorm.
Delaney knew better. He knew the nightmare was waiting to claim his thoughts and destroy his confidence. He knew that this moment, however precious, was an illusion. He was spooked by the memory of the eclipse’s effect upon him and the conviction that something evil lurked inside him. It could awaken at any time. There was no future, for him or for the Pyr, so long as the Elixir existed.
Winter Kiss Page 4
