Should I call 911? Then again, she might not want to go to a hospital, where medical tests might reveal her as other than human. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to heal whatever had happened to her.
She groaned, a low sound of pain that nonetheless sent a wave of relief through him. “Olivia?”
Lovely amethyst eyes opened, then narrowed in a flinch of pain. Her hand wavered up to her forehead. “Goddess, that hurts . . .” She moaned. “What . . . what happened?” Eyes widening, she tried to sit up, only to fall back with a groan. “Did something attack us?”
“I don’t think so. You were trying to open the gate, and then green sparks flew from your head and you keeled over. Do you know what went wrong?”
She sat up, moving with the care of someone afraid her head would fall off. “I have no idea. The geas, maybe?” Her expression turned grim. “It’s safe to say someone doesn’t want us gating to the Mageverse.”
“They’re definitely playing games with us,” Rhys growled. “And I don’t like it one fucking bit.” He studied her pale face in worry. “Maybe you’d better lie back down.”
“If somebody’s attacking us, I’d rather be on my feet.”
Sighing, he stood and helped her rise. Olivia leaned against him, one hand going to her temples as her expression tightened into a wince of pain.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just have a thunderous headache.”
“I’m not surprised, considering all the pretty green fireworks. You looked like a human Roman candle.”
Olivia eyed him. “And thank you for that lovely mental image.” She closed her eyes, and gold sparks danced around the fingers pressed to her temples. The tension between her eyebrows relaxed and her shoulders slumped.
“I gather you just fixed the headache.”
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “Beats the hell out of an Excedrin.” Slitting her eyes, she gave him a look. “So you saw green sparks when the gate failed?” At his nod, she made a discontented sound. “Then it’s definitely the geas.”
“There was another possibility?”
“Somebody on the other side could have been waiting to shut me down. I don’t really think that’s likely, but considering we have no damned idea what’s going on, we can’t afford to discard any possibility.” Olivia looked up at him and gave him a weary smile.
Rhys’s breath caught. Those big amethyst eyes tilted like a cat’s, a dozen shades of violet in their depths as the sunlight poured down over her hair, bringing out that iridescent sheen. He’d never seen anything like it in real life.
Damn, even half-fried, she’s beautiful.
Almost against his will, his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips looked so silken and inviting; he ached to taste their soft velvet again.
It occurred to him that if he did, she might go to bed with him.
Unfortunately, that damned geas was still active, and the last thing he wanted was her sleeping with him solely because she was under its influence. Seducing her knowing she was under a geas would be as bad as casting the spell himself. She’d been victimized enough.
But somebody wants to keep on abusing her.
Remembering that horrific moment when she’d gone down, he felt his belly clench in remembered fear. The nape of his neck crawled, and he glanced around uneasily. I need to get her inside. “If you feel dizzy, just let me know.” Slipping an arm around her waist, Rhys guided her up onto the deck. Olivia studied him blearily. “What’s wrong? You looked . . . troubled just now.”
He opened the kitchen door and eased her inside. “It scared the hell out of me when you collapsed.” He sighed and admitted, “I thought, ‘I just found her. I can’t lose her already.’”
“Scared me, too.” She turned toward him, and those incredible eyes caught him again. Reaching out, she rested her hand against his cheek.
Rhys found himself unable to move away from that delicate touch. Her fingers felt a little chilled from the cold outside—until he felt the warm brush of her magic. It was all he could do not to lean into her palm.
Olivia stared up at him, her gaze softening. “I don’t understand why anyone would put a compulsion on me to make love to you.”
The sting of that observation made him draw back. “Yeah, well, I don’t understand any of this.” He turned away and went to the coffeepot, where he poured each of them a cup. The truth was, he just wanted something to do with his hands.
“You misunderstand.” She moved after him, her gaze direct and honest. “I would’ve wanted to make love to you even without the compulsion.”
Was she just trying to soothe his ego? “What?”
She smiled slightly. “It can’t have escaped your attention that you’re an incredibly handsome man.”
Rhys snorted. “I may have heard that a time or two, along with comments like ‘Your cock is almost as big as your bank account.’” He poured cream and sugar into his coffee, took a sip.
“I have no idea about the bank account, but the cock is definitely impressive.” Her mischievous grin faded. “I’m not trying to use you. Though I wouldn’t turn down a little help killing Gorin . . .”
“I need your help every bit as badly as you do mine. If I want to keep breathing, I need to do something about that bastard.”
“Assuming your enemy is Gorin.”
“Assuming that, yes. But since he seems to be our only real suspect, we’ve got to proceed under the assumption that it’s him. Even if it isn’t him, it’s somebody who knows magic a lot better than I do. I need your help or I don’t have a prayer.” He leaned a hip against the counter, studying her. “But the reverse isn’t necessarily true. You’ve gone a century without locking horns with Gorin. You could probably walk away right now without any further involvement in my fight.”
Her eyes narrowed as her fine nostrils flared. “There hasn’t been a day in the past two hundred years that I haven’t dreamed of killing that bastard. So no, I can’t walk away.”
Rhys winced, remembering his mother telling him once that nothing hurt a parent as much as burying a child. “I’m sorry.”
The anger drained away, leaving behind weariness. “It’s old pain now, no matter how agonizing. I’ve been alone for very long time. Until Ansgar died, I never stayed anywhere longer than a year or two, and I avoided other Sidhe because I was afraid Gorin would use them to find me. The best I’ve ever managed was shallow, fleeting friendships with humans I had to lie to. Hell, at times I even had to lie about my gender.” As his brows flew up, she explained, “I often used a glamour to pose as a man because it was the only way I could get a job that didn’t involve sex.”
He didn’t doubt her. He could hear the memory of that loneliness in her voice, a note of hollow desolation that made his heart ache for her. In part to make her smile, he joked, “I’m not particularly impressed by the observational skills of anyone who’d think you’re male.”
Sparks exploded. She was replaced by a broad shouldered, muscular man dressed in a Union Army captain’s uniform. Rhys’s shock was so great, he took a step back. It did look a bit like Olivia, but it was more a family resemblance, as if she were her own brother. “How the hell did you keep a spell like that going while fighting a war?”
She shrugged. “All I had to do was enchant an object to maintain the illusion even when my attention was elsewhere.” Her voice sounded deep and resonant, thoroughly masculine. “It helps that I’m so much taller than your average woman, especially your average woman of a hundred and fifty years ago.” The illusion broke and she was herself again—the same height, but with a more feminine build. “And of course, I’m a lot stronger than any human woman.”
“But fighting a war? That war? You’re not even from this country.”
She lifted a brow. “I’ve lived here a hell of a lot longer than you have.”
“Well . . . can’t deny that.”
“They’re not exaggerating when they say slavery was evil. I don’t know why so many Americans then had so much trouble seeing how foul it was—how completely it corrupted the country and everyone who had anything to do with it.”
“But you could have been killed.”
“At the time, I didn’t much care.” She met his gaze, her beautiful eyes level. She stepped in so close, he found himself acutely aware of her. “The point of this little demonstration is that I’m tired of lying. To you. To myself. The truth is I want to sleep with you again. The truth is, when I came to in the yard to see your face over mine, I realized making love to you yesterday is the most alive I’ve felt in two centuries. If I end up getting killed, I don’t want to die regretting that I didn’t grab every possible minute with you.”
God, he’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to take her up on that. “Are you sure that’s you and not the compulsion?”
“You tell me. Do you see any green?”
He opened himself to the dancing swirl of magic that surrounded them both. “A few sparks—nothing like what I saw in the shower. But I’m not sure you . . .”
Before he could finish, she rose on her toes. Her mouth found his, but this time there was no crazed hunger in the kiss, only slow, rising passion.
A genuine, natural need.
Her hands came to rest on his chest, and he became acutely conscious of the warmth of her body against his. Rhys kissed her back, sliding his tongue slowly between her lips, tasting her. Savoring her. Her tongue swirled around his, advancing, retreating, her fingers slipping into his hair.
He let his own hands roam down over her body, cupping the soft curve of one sweet breast. The other hand slid lower, finding the indentation of her waist, then moving to caress the round curve of her ass.
Remembering how her sex had gripped his cock in tight, juicy delight, Rhys imagined exploring the curves and hollows of her lush body.
Then he stepped away.
She blinked at him. He gave her a slow smile. “This time when we make love, I want to take my time.”
Olivia smiled back, slow and seductive.
He took her hand, and they started upstairs. His libido wanted to take the steps two at a time, but he reminded it that he was not a barbarian.
This wasn’t just about sex. It was about making love. Making it as sweet as they possibly could. Giving them both something to remember.
But Christ, he hoped there was more of the future for them than she feared—that they weren’t really doomed lovers pursuing revenge and self-destruction. He was damned if he’d settle for a suicide mission with a side order of sex.
Rhys wanted to keep her. Never mind how little time they’d known each other. He’d never met a woman like her, and probably never would again. If fate or a capricious God had thrown her in his path, he intended to grab her and run. And he’d kill any motherfucker who tried to take her away from him.
Especially Gorin, the murderous bastard.
When she shot a concerned glance up at him—and no wonder; he was gripping her hand a little hard—Rhys forced himself to ease off the bloodlust. Cut it out. This is about giving her what she deserves—a little happiness. And maybe even getting a little myself.
As Olivia preceded him into the bedroom, he allowed himself to admire the swing of her ass in those delightfully tight leggings. The black boots with their high heels made her legs look a mile long. Remembering what they felt like wrapped around his ass, he felt his cock stretch hot and hard against his zipper.
I want more of her—all of her.
She walked around the room, studying the huge mahogany king bed standing against the fieldstone wall. The other three walls were painted a soft cream. The bed’s comforter held the same shades of brown found in the stone. “Impressive.”
“Thanks.” Personally, he was a lot more interested in her exquisite legs. He couldn’t wait to feel them wrapped around him again.
So when she turned to face him with a teasing little smile on her lips, he stepped against her. Threading his hand into the hair at her nape, he tilted her head back. “We’re going to go slow.” Pushing her hair back behind her shoulders, Rhys brushed the curve of a pointed ear with his thumb. Leaning down, he kissed her.
As their lips met and lingered, he guided her backward toward the bed as if they were dancing.
He spent a long, luscious moment drinking in the wet heat of her mouth, tasting her tongue, feeling her hands playing over his ribs. Finally, he drew away from the kiss as he caught her top in his hands, pulled it upward, then tossed it onto the armchair in the corner beside the bed.
Which left her dressed in a candy-apple red bra. He paused, studying the way the silky fabric cupped her pale, delicious breasts. Clawing need urged him to pop open its front closure and bare her nipples for his greedy mouth. Instead, he used a forefinger to trace the lace edging the cup, enjoying the contrast between its texture and her silken skin.
Olivia looked down at his hands, a soft smile curving her sensual lips. “Sorry I’m not particularly busty,” she murmured.
Rhys cupped her chin, lifting it until her eyes met his. “You have nothing whatsoever to apologize for. You’re beautiful. And you fill my hands with beauty.”
She dimpled at him. “I didn’t realize you were a poet.”
“I’m not. You just seem to inspire poetry in me.” His fingers found the front closure of her bra and unhooked it. The cups sprang apart, and he caught the straps to slide them down over her shoulders.
Her nipples rode her pale breasts as tight pink tips that sent lust burning into his balls. Cupping silken flesh, Rhys tossed the bra aside. As he stroked her as if drinking her in with his fingertips, she let her head fall back with a soft little moan of arousal.
Rhys bent to cover her nipple with a soft kiss that would have been chaste—if he’d been kissing her mouth. The scent of her hit him, and he inhaled with a moan of pleasure, drawing it in. Her magic seemed to foam over his tongue and he opened his mouth, suckling harder, relishing her delicate taste.
Olivia’s hands found his hair, threading through the strands and brushing over his scalp in a surprisingly erotic caress. “Let me see that gorgeous chest.”
He looked up and flashed her a grin. “Gorgeous?”
“You know very well it is.”
“What, you’re not just going to magic my shirt away?”
“Like you said, I want to take my time.” But as she pushed the shirt up with one hand, the other slid along his ribs in a brushing, teasing stroke.
He twisted away, laughing. “No tickling or I’ll spank you.”
Olivia made another mock grab for his ribs. “You and what army?”
He squirmed, laughing like a boy. It struck him that he’d never played with any of his lovers before. Probably because all those women were too busy performing, and he had been busy trying to get them both off—the lover of the night and himself.
But this was passion for its own sake. Nobody was trying to prove anything to anyone.
So he dropped into a crouch and started stalking her with a mock growl. “I’ll show you an army.”
She grinned. “I’ve got a better idea.”
Magic flared around him. Before he could react, it swept him right off his feet and dropped him spread-eagle on the bed.
Olivia pounced, landing on his belly, grinning and triumphant. He wasn’t in the least surprised to discover his dick was hard as a lead pipe. “See? I don’t need no stinkin’ army,” she announced. And proved it when she curled down over him and began to lick at his left nipple, tongue curving and pink like a cat lapping cream.
He gasped at the delicious sensation. “I thought we weren’t going to rush.”
She shot him a look through that amazing iridescent hair and started to spe
ak. Before she could get the snark out of her mouth, his hand landed in a sharp pop against her ass.
“Hey!”
“I told you I’d spank you.”
“This ain’t Fifty Shades. For one thing, I’d turn Christian Grey into a frog.” She gave his nipple a bite almost hard enough to sting.
“Hey, watch the teeth if you don’t want me biting something of yours.”
She sniffed at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”
The smile fled his face. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“There’s only one problem.” Olivia wiggled astride him, deliberately grinding against his erection through the thick fabric of his jeans. “You’re overdressed.”
Rising onto his hands and knees, she backed down the length of his body to start unbuckling his belt. Rhys propped up on his elbows to watch, admiring the sway of her breasts. Her long platinum curls danced over his skin in a teasing tickle.
Finally she pulled the belt free with a flourish. Doubling it in her in her hands, she snapped it with a little menacing pop. “Maybe I should give you that spanking.”
“Yeah, no.” Then he smirked. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you dressed up in skintight leather.”
“Why, Rhys, do you have a kinky streak?” Her white teeth flashed at him. Those remarkable amethyst eyes crinkled at the corners.
“No, but if anybody could talk me into it, it’d be you.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” She tossed the belt aside and the buckle thumped on the carpet. Long fingers made short work of his jean’s button and zipper, and then she started wrestling his pants off his hips.
Or tried, anyway. His erection pressed so hard against the fabric, she had to fight it every inch of the way.
Rhys grinned in pure sensual anticipation.
At last, she pulled his jeans down enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock. “Why, hello there.” She leaned forward to lick the bead of come pearling at its tip. The silken sensation made his eyes roll back in his head. She looked up and gave him a wicked grin through her iridescent bangs. “Tasty.”
Master of Magic Page 8
