by Dani Harper
“Looks are deceiving. The locals call the river the Mighty Peace. It’s calm on the surface but the water beneath is deep and moving very fast. A lot of swimmers misjudge it and end up caught in the powerful current. Some of them don’t escape.”
She was quiet for a long time after that. James was very much like the river. Calm and steady on the surface, but somehow she’d been drawn in and captured by the deep current beneath. Would she escape? And did she really want to?
All she’d known when she arrived at the farm was that she was tremendously attracted to this man. But when she’d decided to act on it, the results had been shocking. How could she have known a kiss could have such power? How could something as simple as the joining of lips flare all at once into a fusion of souls? And God, that sounded so corny. But it wasn’t just any kiss. If James hadn’t stepped back when he did . . . well, she wasn’t sure she would have stopped him, and that was a little scary. He was still a stranger, wasn’t he?
No. He might be a little strange at times maybe, but he was definitely not a stranger. She couldn’t explain how she knew that, but she knew. That kiss had been less like the ‘gee-I’m-physically-attracted-to-you’ sort and more like the ‘there-you-are-at-last’ kind. Recognition, she decided. Almost reunion. The physical desire was strong, but she realized that wasn’t the only force driving them. At least, it hadn’t been the only force driving her.
If James wasn’t a stranger, then what was he, exactly? She knew that she felt good around him, solid and grounded. Not less herself but somehow more. No one had ever made her feel quite like that.
“A dollar twenty-seven for your thoughts.”
“What?” She blinked up at James.
“Your thoughts are worth a lot more than a penny, doc, but a dollar twenty-seven is all I have on me.”
She stood perfectly still then, just looking at him. He could so easily pass for a Viking from another age. The pale blond hair, the close blond beard that accentuated the angles of his face rather than obscured them. The broad shoulders and tall, powerful build. The piercing blue eyes. The longer she looked at him, the more she realized that it was what was in the eyes that called out to her, pulled at her. His brow was often fierce and forbidding, and his eyes could be too. But in their bottomless blue depths there was more. Much more. Knowledge, pain, passion. And tenderness. This was a man who felt intensely, who would love deeply. She still didn’t know everything about James Macleod, but Jillian knew she wanted to learn.
She simply stepped into him then, slid her arms up and around his neck, and tipped her face up to be kissed. She wasn’t disappointed. His lips were hungry and so were hers. He demanded and she yielded. She demanded and he gave. Heat flared, raced over both of them like a brushfire over dry prairie grass, until skin and blood were alight.
James hiked her up until her legs circled his waist, supported her with a powerful arm while one hand slid under her shirt and palmed a breast, kneaded it as he traced her lips with his tongue. Jillian captured his tongue for a moment, drew it into her mouth with exquisite slowness, released it as he groaned deep in his throat. His hand on her breast became more demanding, his fingers teasing the nipple unbearably. His other hand cupped her bottom and squeezed it again and again until she began to move against him. Even through her clothes, it was electrifying to rub herself against his hard abdomen. A throbbing tension was growing low in her belly, a pleasurable restlessness building. She wanted more. She wanted the flame, the heat, she wanted to burn down in James’s embrace. A hum vibrated in the back of her throat as she arched against his powerful body, as he shoved her shirt, her bra, up and out of the way. A moan broke free as he left her lips and bent his head to Jillian’s naked breast.
He lapped and teased at it with his tongue, breathed hot on the nipple until she shivered with pleasure. Then without warning James set her feet on the ground, sank down himself until he was kneeling before her. He undid her jeans and kissed her belly, undid the bottom button of her shirt and lapped at her navel. He worked his way up until no buttons were left—and Jillian couldn’t stand it anymore. She pulled off the shirt, then unhooked her bra. Tossed it. Wriggled off her jeans and kicked them away. Saw the punch of surprise and the flash of arousal in James’s eyes. And reveled in the sensation of this man’s strong hands on her bare skin. His mouth sealed again over a breast, hot and moist, drawing in the nipple, tugging at it. Began to suckle hard and strong. Yes, oh yes. Jillian held his head to her, fingers locked in his hair, her whole body shaking with waves of sensation. God, yes. James’s calloused palm circled her belly where strange pulls and tugs deep within her core echoed the insistent tugging at her breast.
All that was left of the sun was a fading glimmer of color on the far horizon. The first stars were already making their appearance and the moon was on the rise. Here, among the trees, the shadows were blue and purple. Her skin was snow in the strange half light. But within, she was pure flame.
James pulled back a moment, shrugged out of his shirt. Stood and skimmed off his jeans. Jillian nearly moaned at the sight of his naked body. He was even more gorgeous than she had dreamed. Every muscle was powerful, defined. He was broad in the chest, in the shoulders, but there was an animal grace to his movements. Her gaze traveled appreciatively over his body and came to rest on his long, hard erection. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and ran her fingers over it. Her mouth curved as he hissed in his breath between his teeth, as she saw those powerful muscles quiver.
Smooth, so smooth. Kid leather over polished stone. She slid her hand over the rigid length of him and closed her fingers tightly, savoring the strength and hardness of it. And hot. James’s body radiated heat but this was fire itself. Jillian’s body clenched at the thought of just how that fiery shaft might feel deep inside her . . . and for a moment she had to fight to breathe.
She didn’t see James move. She blinked and she was surrounded with his strength, with his heat, wrapped in those muscled arms and held close. Skin to skin, head to toe, as his shaft pressed and pulsed against her belly, as his big hands roved over her backside. Then just as suddenly he scooped her up and walked away with her through the trees and into a small clearing.
“It’s a little softer here,” he murmured and kissed her brow, her cheek, before easing her down. Jillian had expected grass but found herself lying on something surprisingly soft and spongy. She felt around her in surprise.
“It’s just moss.” James answered her unspoken question, then rested on his elbow beside her. He leaned over and took her lips before she could think of any more questions, ran a hand over the contours of her body, followed it with kisses over her breasts and belly, then palmed the moist curls between her legs.
She was restless and edgy now, needing, needing. And he knew. He ran his hand between her legs, long lazy strokes that reached all the way to her tailbone and back. He gradually kissed his way down until he was nestled between her legs, then lifted her hips in his large hands until he could rest her knees over his broad shoulders. He bent his head and ran his tongue along the delicate crease of her thigh, slowly, much too slowly. Jillian shuddered hard with the anticipation, every nerve shouting for James to hurry, please hurry, gasping for air as her heart pounded in her ears. She could just make out his face in the shadows, see him smile as he bent his mouth to her, sampled her, savored her, then drank her greedily.
A guttural cry burst from Jillian’s throat. The sudden storm of pleasure had her gasping, made her body pitch and buck like a small boat caught in a rough sea. Sensation flooded her, swamped her with monstrous waves so racking and intense that she shook with the power of them. She exploded into the sky, into the sun, pulsing with a wave of heat that rippled outward until the very clouds were set afire.
When awareness returned, Jillian found herself lying beside James, looking into his Viking blue eyes. She blinked a few times to focus, feeling stunned but managing a shaky smile. He kissed her soundly, wrapping her up in his strong arms, anchoring
her, keeping her from floating away. Safe.
“Wow.” She didn’t know what else to say, didn’t trust her voice anyway. She wasn’t too sure about the rest of her body either. Languor. That was the only word that seemed to fit the state her body was in, a deep luxuriant languor. Jillian was certain she was no longer lying on the bed of moss, but rather, was draped over it like an empty coat. Perhaps she had burned up after all, from the inside out. No bones left, just the hide.
“I feel like limp spaghetti,” she blurted out.
James chuckled. “I think I liked ‘wow’ better.”
She grinned and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Saw that those eyes had softened, filled with warmth and humor. She saw something else in them too. The fire was still raging.
James nuzzled her ear and took the lobe into his mouth, suckling it as he had her breast. A heated hand circled her breasts, her belly, nudged her legs apart and began to stroke her folds. The orgasm had left her intensely sensitive, and Jillian trembled beneath his touch, could hardly bear it. He murmured into her ear, tickling it with heated breath, and her entire body clenched and quivered. He pulled her closer, and Jillian felt his fiery hot erection pressed against her thigh. A finger slid inside her, explored as she moaned. Two fingers pressed deep, deeper. Her hips rose of their own accord, thrust hard against his strong hand but it wasn’t enough. She was aching all over, edgy and wanting. Needing . . .
Jillian whimpered aloud when James took his hand away, but his muscled body was welcome as it moved over her. She welcomed the heat and the weight of him, welcomed his face over hers, framed by the starry sky. Welcomed his powerful legs nudging hers wider apart. And moaned with a kind of delicious exultation as he entered her. She felt herself slowly parting before the fiery heat, giving way, stretching to take the fire into herself until she had it all. It was bliss, luscious bliss, to be filled so completely. James paused there, eyes closed as if also savoring the sensation. He was still for a heartbeat, then two.
Then he began to move. The exquisite friction begot a deeply primal pleasure and Jillian became a wild thing, digging her fingers into the muscles of his buttocks, pulling him into her, thrusting her hips to meet his rhythm. She panted out a plea for more, more. A soundless vibration began to resonate within her, within him, as if a tidal wave of unimaginable proportions was bearing down on them.
Harder, faster, deeper. “Come with me, Jillian,” he panted. “Come with me now.”
Battered, wave-tossed, lost at sea, she heard his words above the thunder of her blood, the roaring in her ears, and instinctively linked her fingers with his. She arched to meet the strength of his body, the power of him as he filled her. As he both moved her and anchored her. As he was both storm and haven. They rode the cresting wave together, a pair of dolphins skimming above the powerful surf until the ocean suddenly fell away and they flew free.
Chapter Twenty-one
Birkie appeared at her elbow, arms folded. “Okay, something’s seriously wrong here. Carlton Fuller’s herd is sick because he was too cheap to vaccinate again, and you spent fifteen minutes explaining to him how that ‘doesn’t make good economic sense’ instead of kicking his sorry ass from here to Winnipeg. Why?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense from a business standpoint. If he—”
“I know that. What I want to know is—why isn’t he dead?
Jillian looked baffled. “Well, I thought I’d try an educational approach . . .” She trailed off at her friend’s expression.
“You, my dear, have either had a complete breakdown from overwork or you’ve finally gotten some serious nookie. Which is it?”
“Do we have to call it nookie?”
“We can call it whatever you like as long as you tell me about it.”
“I’m not going to give you a play-by-play.”
“I’ll settle for details on events leading up to and immediately following. Your apartment after closing, I’ll bring the chocolate.”
“Deal.”
He was the world’s biggest idiot. What on earth had made him think that he was in control, even for a moment? The plan had been just to keep an eye on Jillian, satisfy himself with checking in on her at the clinic. Briefly, always briefly. Just long enough to assure himself—and the wolf within—that she was fine, that she was safe. And yeah, he could admit he looked forward to catching a glimpse of her or hearing her voice, sometimes watching her work or maybe saying hello. But that was all the contact he had permitted himself, all he had planned for. Not for one moment had James anticipated that she would show up at the farm.
Still, he could have avoided trouble if only he hadn’t taken her riding, definitely if he had turned them back to the farm instead of heading down to the damn river, and most of all, if he’d just avoided looking in those big green eyes of hers. Sensible precautions that if taken, would have prevented what happened last night. Wouldn’t they?
No. No, it would have only delayed the inevitable. The truth of that resonated uncomfortably within him. If he was honest with himself, he had never been in control, not since the first time he’d met her as a man, and certainly not since the first encounter he’d had with her as a wolf. Which meant he should have known, should have seen it coming. After all, he had admitted to himself long ago that he was attracted to Jillian. It was natural, it was normal, to be attracted. Even natural and normal to act on that attraction.
Like last night? Well, hell, he wasn’t dead and it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. He’d spent most of the morning trying to tell himself that was all it was. Except it wasn’t all, not by a long shot, and he knew it. James couldn’t even pretend that the wolf had anything to do with it, because his alter ego had all but disappeared after that first kiss. His mind had disappeared then too. Perhaps he could plead insanity. After all, he was still reeling from that kiss, even after everything that had followed. Jillian had looked up at him with those big sea green eyes and that faery face and it had been like a hard kick to the stomach. All the air had left his lungs, and James felt himself swimming in those eyes. Swimming and the water was oh, so deep. He had had to kiss her, had to more than he had to breathe. But she’d beaten him to it. She had fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his face to hers. There and then he drowned.
Small wonder his heart had galloped on ahead of his brain and developed feelings, strong ones. As much as he was struggling to rationalize the whole situation, his own words mocked him: That’s the whole damn problem with being human. You always end up feeling things you don’t want to feel. Only that was a lie too. He’d said things, thought things, felt things—and as much as he had told himself he didn’t want to, he did. Very much.
He threw the spade he was carrying across the yard, launching it like a javelin with such force that the blade stuck into the barn wall about fifteen feet off the ground. He left it there and stalked away, wishing he could Change and race away into the forest.
Jesus Murphy! He had to get a grip. So what if he had feelings for her? He couldn’t let that matter. All that mattered was what would be best for Jillian, how best to keep her safe. A relationship was completely out of the question. She was human and he had to remember that. Associating with a Changeling would only endanger her. What little contact she had now was probably too much. Sooner or later someone would notice. And Jillian would pay.
Bad enough that she was already going to be hurt—he’d be stupid to think that last night hadn’t meant something to her too—but at least she’d be alive. She was sure to hate him too, and rightfully so. Because not only could he never see her again, he couldn’t even explain why.
She’d missed lunch again. Jillian finished with the goat in the corral and headed back into the clinic. She had just cut through the waiting room on her way to the kitchen when she spotted the large bouquet on Birkie’s desk.
“These just came for you, hon.” Her friend waggled her brows. “Pretty impressive choice of flowers too.”
Jillian sta
red at them. She recognized the roses—but what roses. The large blooms were exquisite, creamy white and long-stemmed. But they were interspersed with tall plumes of tiny bell-like flowers, also white. And those shiny green leaves—“Is that holly?”
“It certainly is. Holly and white heather. Both of them symbolize a pledge of protection and defense.”
“What?”
“It’s the language of flowers, hon. Different flowers mean different things. This is a very strong message, a double message of protection.”
“Protection of what?”
“Well, you of course. And the white roses, now those are just plain classy.”
“Are they protecting me too?”
“No, silly. I’m going to have to loan you one of my books. White roses are always more powerful than red ones, you know. The white ones mean ‘love always’ or ‘pure love.’ Like I said, very classy, very unique. Aren’t you going to read the card? Let me tell you, it took a pile of restraint to keep from running it out to you in the corral.”
Jillian fingered the small envelope, noted it was sealed, and tucked it in her pocket. “I think I’ll read this privately first,” she said and laughed when Birkie looked disappointed. “If it’s G-rated, maybe I’ll share.”
“Oh, all right. Can I at least keep the flowers on my desk a while?”
“Of course. They’d be wasted sitting in my apartment all afternoon. I’ll come and get them at closing time.”
A pledge of protection. That seemed a little medieval, but maybe James was just trying to be romantic. Or maybe he didn’t know any more about the so-called language of flowers than she did. But the white roses. . . . Those were romantic in any language. Jillian hurried to the lunchroom, hoping for a few more moments between patients. She tried to open the envelope in a civilized fashion but in the end, she ripped it. The picture on the face of the card was simple, trees in a forest. She smiled, thinking of when she’d last been in a forest . . . then she opened it and her smile disappeared. She was still standing there staring at what James had written when Birkie came in to announce the next patient. Jillian handed her the card without a word and headed to the examining room.
