Fire Bound (Sea Haven Sisters

by Christine Feehan

  He was beautiful. Gorgeous. He smiled at her, a gentle smile, a flash of his white teeth, his eyes drifting possessively over her face, taking in everything, assessing her emotions. Watchful. Caring.

  “Golubushka. Little dove.” He whispered the endearment softly.

  Her heart turned over. A sound escaped, a low, keening whisper of loss. She reached up to touch him. To find him solid, not a dream. She needed reality in a sea of uncertainty, and he was there. His bare chest was pure, defined muscle. His arms rippled with muscles. So strong, not just physically, but in every way.

  “I’m lost, Casimir,” she whispered. Telling him the truth. Giving him her greatest vulnerability. She’d never felt so lost in her life.

  She kept her gaze fixed on him. Casimir, the man who would see her through this terrible blow. The loss of her last living blood relation, a man she’d loved most of her life. She’d clung to him, believed in him, and deep inside, she felt shattered.

  “You can’t be lost, Giacinta, not as long as you’re with me. I’ll always find our way. Just hold on to me. We’ll get through this together.”

  She didn’t think that was true. She had always considered herself strong. She’d worked hard to make herself that way. She’d never felt like this. Not even when she’d been a grief-stricken child. She’d had a purpose then. She knew who she was. She was proud of that person. Now, she didn’t know anything.

  “He shattered me, Casimir,” she confessed. “I’m so broken. Into a million pieces. I can’t think what to do.” To her horror, she heard the tears in her voice. She wasn’t weak. Yet now, when she needed to be strong more than any other time, when it was necessary to be decisive and take charge, two of her greatest strengths, she was falling apart.

  “You aren’t, malyshka, you aren’t broken. Luigi Abbracciabene could never break you. Never. He knocked you down. Hard. It was a hit, Giacinta, a blow that put you down, but you’re going to get back up. That’s what you do – what you’ve always done – and it’s what you’ll do this time.”

  She drew in her breath as Casimir bent his head and brushed his mouth over each eye, taking the burn away. He left a trail of kisses along her high cheekbones, sipping at the wet streaks, replacing the tears with tiny darts of fire. That fire seemed to find its way into her veins, warming her when she was so cold.

  “I still feel so lost and alone, Casimir. He did that to me. Took everything, the foundation of my life, right out from under me. He made me afraid. I haven’t been afraid since that horrible day when the dogs took us down.”

  Casimir’s heart turned over. Her eyes, so vivid, as blue as the deepest sea, looked up at him with trepidation, with that lost, forlorn look he could barely stand to see in her. So vulnerable. So alone when she wasn’t. She needed to see him standing beside her. He’d hold her up, support her in any way he could because she would always be his choice. “You aren’t alone now, lyubov moya. You’re safe here. It’s okay to feel broken. Even if you were in a million pieces, I’d find every one and put you back together again.”

  He was so beautiful. A rock. She felt steadier just looking at him. His voice was pitched low, but he spoke with absolute conviction and she found herself believing him. Believing that she wasn’t as broken as she felt inside. Luigi had knocked her down, but she wasn’t out. She would never be out. “He did this thing. I know that he did.”

  He nodded his head slowly. She didn’t flinch away from the truth this time. A part of her had held out hope when they were talking earlier, but she’d thought about everything, every little detail of childhood, growing up in Luigi’s home. Pieces of the puzzle she hadn’t ever known were missing fell into place. She knew, as she was falling to sleep, that Luigi had committed treachery far beyond what she could ever have conceived of. She would get proof before she made her move, but she knew, beyond all doubt, that he was guilty.

  She reached up with an unsteady hand to rub her palm along Casimir’s stubborn jaw, feeling the dark shadow bristling against his mark on her. The spikes rasped over her body, along her skin. There was compassion in his eyes. Tenderness. Heat. But he knew the truth too. He wasn’t going to lie to her. He knew Luigi had orchestrated the hit on his brother and family.

  “Kiss me, Casimir,” she whispered. “I need you to kiss me.”

  He didn’t hesitate. His hand framed her face and his mouth took hers. Gentle. Coaxing. She parted her lips, allowing his tongue to sweep inside and tangle with hers. His mouth was pure fire. She wanted to stay there. Burn there. Let the flames sweep through her, consuming every ugly detail of her life.

  She tasted love for the first time in her life. She didn’t know if he knew it or not, but it was there, mixed with hunger. With lust. With need. Love tasted different. Tender. Beautiful. She needed that now more than any other time in her life.

  She had to blink away tears all over again. She had never thought to taste that emotion. Certainly not now in her darkest moment. She kissed him back, melting, feeling the fire in her grow, losing herself in his mouth so she wouldn’t have to think anymore. She didn’t want to think, only feel. Still, having him was terrifying. What if he left her too? What if she had him – like this – and then he took himself away? She wouldn’t recover. Lissa pressed back into the pillows, her heart beating wildly, fear shaking her.

  Casimir lifted his head a scant couple of inches, his gaze drifting possessively over her face. For the first time he saw how young she was. She was self-possessed. Disciplined. She had never felt young to him, but now, with her world upside down, he saw her so clearly. She had every reason to be terrified – and yet none at all. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not. Ever.

  He brushed a kiss over her lips, those beautiful, soft, full lips, more tempting than anything he’d known in his life. He blazed a trail of fire down to the pulse beating in her throat. That sweet spot allowed him to know she was breathing. She was alive. No one had taken her from him. He kissed that pulse-point, feeling her heart pounding beneath his mouth. His tongue. Her skin tasted like paradise.

  He kissed his way along her collarbone. She was a woman of steel, her spine as tough and even stronger than most men’s, but right then he could feel how delicate she was, how fragile her bones were. He took his time, finding his way over the lush curve of her breasts to the valley between them. He buried his face there, inhaling. Tasting. His shadow rasped against her soft breasts. He felt her answering shiver.

  Lissa’s hands went to his shoulders as if she might push him away. There was tension in her as she trembled beneath him.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Memorizing you. Loving you,” he answered against her tight little bud of a nipple. His tongue swiped gently. “With every breath I take, Giacinta, I’m loving you.” She deserved gentle. Tender. She needed gentle and tender. She was afraid of it, afraid of trusting it, but she needed it now more than the fire burning through both of them.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer under him as he took the lush mound deep into his mouth, flattening her nipple onto the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Her breath hissed out of her and her legs moved restlessly.

  His shadowed jaw rubbing roughly against her sensitive skin enhanced the stimulation of his mouth and tongue. He added his teeth – gently. Just a small nip but she reacted, gasping, her hips bucking.

  “Easy, malyshka, you need gentle tonight. I’m going to make absolutely certain you know you’re loved.” He murmured the vow against her breasts, nipping again and then slowly beginning his journey down her body. He wanted to claim every inch of her. To love every inch. She didn’t know how much she needed gentle, but he did, and she was going to get it.

  He memorized her body with his palms, sliding over her silky skin. The lush curves, the sides of her breasts, under them, all along her narrow rib cage, and then sweeping down to her waist. He followed his hands with his mouth, using his lips to kiss her, his tongue to stroke velvet caresses and his teeth to nip and
show her how nerve endings fired under a slow assault.

  His blood roared in his ears, rushed through his veins straight to his groin until he was so full and hard he thought he might burst. Just touching her did that to him. Looking at her. Feeling the silk of her hair against his body. The satin of her skin sliding under his palm. She was so beautiful, a woman he never believed he could ever have. His own.

  He kissed her belly button, nuzzled her flat stomach and allowed his hands to drift lower, over her hips, tracing the bones there, lower still to her thighs. He felt her muscles shift and ripple, dance with arousal. His mouth moved lower, his hands parting her thighs, giving him access to her heat. His tongue swiped a slow, easy taste, languid and lazy, taking his time.

  The breath slammed out of her and her hips bucked. She cried out his name, her fingernails digging into his shoulder. He tightened his grip on her hips, pinning her down so he could continue his exploration uninterrupted. She was pure liquid fire. She tasted like heaven, and he indulged himself. This was for her… but he couldn’t resist.

  He’d forgotten. The taste of her was in his mouth when he woke in the early morning hour, but still, he’d forgotten just how good it really was. The first few minutes were purely selfish. Her nails bit deeper and her breath came in ragged gasps as his mouth and tongue took her up so that the tension coiled tight and fiery deep inside her. He added a finger, pressing deep through her tight muscles.

  “Casimir.” Her breath exploded out of her lungs.

  “Let go,” he commanded softly. “Just let go, lyubov moya, let it take you.” He kept up his assault on her senses, his mouth greedy, but still as gentle as he could be when he wasn’t a gentle man. “Nothing is hotter to me than watching you come apart for me.” He meant that. He loved looking into her eyes. Giving her that gift. The sound of her voice, breathy, ragged, gasping his name. It was music. Beautiful. A paradise he never thought he could ever have.

  Her eyes on his, she did exactly what he commanded, her channel, scorching hot, clamped down on his finger, and his cock jerked hungrily. She shuddered, her hips writhing, pushing deeper against his finger, her hands moving over his shoulders and down his arms to his wrists.

  “Please, honey, I need you.”

  He wasn’t going to make her beg. Not this time. This time he wanted her to know in every single cell in her body that she was thoroughly loved. He wanted her to feel him, branded inside her, deep, where she would never get him out. He pushed her knees up and apart and moved over her.

  “Wrap me up, malyshka,” he ordered softly. “Lock your heels around my hips. I want to feel every inch of you against me.”

  He circled his cock with his fist and pushed the crown into her hot, slick entrance. The feeling was excruciatingly beautiful. Tight. Hot. Scalding. He waited while she obeyed him, while she circled him with her arms as well as her legs, until every inch of her front was melted into his.

  Fire was there. Her fire. His. He felt it in his belly, a roaring he couldn’t quite control. He felt it in his cock as he pushed through her fiery sheath, forcing her to give way for his invasion. So tight. So perfect. He didn’t power through. He forced himself to keep to the gentle, leisurely pace that he knew was killing both of them.

  One slow inch at a time. He watched himself disappear into her body. So beautiful. He could feel the slow assault, his thick cock forcing her muscles to give way, to stretch to accommodate his size. It felt as if a fiery fist clamped down around him, her muscles like a vise, stroking and caressing with velvet flames. Slowly, relentlessly, he forced his way, inch by slow inch, into her until he was seated deep, holding her still, letting her body adjust to the burning, stretched feeling. Letting his adjust to the fire.

  Her mouth rounded, her lips forming his name, but only a soft groan escaped. Her lashes fluttered and her hips pressed deeper into him, urging him without words to move. She needed movement. Wanted it. Demanded it. She was so beautiful under him, her body swaying with every movement of his. Her breasts jolted invitingly, nipples hard little pebbles against his chest, the feeling unbelievably erotic to him. Her hips bucked harder, trying to drive down on him, to force him into compliance.

  “You can’t move, malyshka,” he cautioned, clenching his teeth against the pleasure radiating out from his cock to the rest of his body. She gripped him so tight, the fire so hot, it bordered on pain, yet he didn’t want it to ever end. “I’m not going to last five minutes if you don’t hold still. You’ve taken away my control.” He’d worked hard for that control. It had been beaten into him and now, when he needed it most, when it had never failed him before, he was in danger of losing it completely.

  “I don’t think I can stop moving,” she confessed, panting, biting her lip, trying to still her body at the command in his voice.

  He loved that about her. She tried to do what he asked, no matter how difficult, and staying still was difficult. He smoothed his hand over her bottom, those luscious curves he found so intriguing, taking a breath, wanting to live right where he was. He moved then. Slow. Withdrawing. All the way, almost losing contact. Her eyes widened and her ankles locked tighter, as if she could hold him to her.

  He surged forward with a hard, fast stroke, driving through her tight folds so that the friction was nearly unbearable. Fire streaked through his body. She cried out, clutching at him, sliding her hands down to his hips to grasp him, to try to urge him to keep going. He withdrew again, even slower this time and, eyes on her face, he began a slow, steady assault on her nerve endings. Driving in slow, retreating even slower, allowing her fire to surround him, to grip and milk.

  “Casimir.” She wailed his name.

  He kept the slow, steady buildup, keeping the friction right over her sweet little button, just enough to drive her wild, not send her careening over the edge. It cost him. Sweat beaded on his body. His blood thundered in his ears and roared through his veins. All the while he moved in her, loving her, he felt the assault on his own body, the power gathering like the force of a volcano rumbling, waiting, holding off for the bigger explosion. Arousal was so intense it was painful, arcing through his thighs, boiling in his balls, jackhammers drilling into his skull, and yet all of that only added to the pleasure burning through him.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened. Fingernails bit deep. She went over the edge hard and fast, so unexpected, with such force, she swept him along in the wildfire. He plunged into her, several hard strokes while the flames burned over them, consuming both of them, and her cries reverberated in his mind.

  He collapsed over top of her, pinning her small body beneath his, letting her take his full weight while he buried his face in her neck, his heart pounding wildly, his lungs raw and aching, his entire body sated. Aftershocks shook them both, her body still alive, rippling around his.

  He lay there for far longer than he should have, letting his heart pound, absorbing the feel of her under him. Savoring it. She didn’t protest or attempt to push him off. She kissed his temple and rubbed her hands along his back.

  “Ya lyublyu tebya,” he whispered, meaning it. He shifted his weight off of her, but stayed buried in her, his hands framing her face. “Do you understand, Giacinta? Did you hear what my body said to yours?”

  She traced his lower lip with the pad of her finger. “I heard you, Casimir. I feel the same way. Thank you. I needed you tonight and I should have known you’d be here for me.”

  He rolled, taking her with him so that she sprawled over top of him. Grasping the covers, he pulled them over both of them. “Go back to sleep, golubushka. I’ll wake you before you have to get back to your own room.”

  She laid her head over his heart, her hands moving up and down his shoulder and biceps as she drifted off to sleep, knowing he would watch over her.

  8

  Patrice Lungren sat on the hard seat of the old bus and smiled at the little boy across from her. His mother gave her a quick grin in return. Patrice knew exactly what the woman saw, she’d ass
umed her role perfectly.

  Patrice was short and very slender, almost a stick. She wore flattering trousers and a silk blouse with a short, flared jacket, very classy. Her black hair was glossy and hung just to her shoulders in a very sophisticated cut. Her eyebrows were dark and when she removed her very expensive dark glasses, her eyes and lashes were as well. She had a beauty mark just to the right of her lips. Her boots were expensive, soft leather, the color matching the dark red of her jacket.

  “He’s beautiful,” Patrice said. When the woman shook her head, she repeated the observation in halting Italian.

  The woman beamed at her. “Grazie. Thank you.” She tried her own English. Clearly she spoke it but had been afraid to try it out with an American. She indicated Patrice’s camera. “Pictures?”

  Patrice nodded. “Shops. Homes. The ocean and countryside. Everything.” She smiled wide. “I love it here. I come as often as I can to visit. I took a cooking class in the village just a few miles away and it was wonderful.” Patrice Lungren, had, in fact, taken that cooking class.

  “You like to travel?” The young mother now seemed determined to practice her English.

  “I love it,” Patrice admitted. “Fortunately, I’m in a position to indulge my love of traveling and I do it often. Italy is my favorite, but I travel all over. I just find myself coming back here over and over. Someday, I’d like to live here permanently.”