Through the haze of pleasure, a part of her was dimly aware of him fumbling with his clothes. And that part of her retained enough self-awareness to know that what was about to happen was inevitable, and she craved it badly. But not badly enough to be entirely reckless. It was one thing to put yourself at risk as a single person, quite another when you were sole guardian of a child.
He must have noted her tension. Or perhaps he was just that closely attuned to her he’d practically read her mind. “Are you taking any herbs to protect against unwanted pregnancy?” he asked.
She nodded. Not that she would rely on herbs at a time like this, for goodness sakes. After she’d finished breastfeeding Sera she’d gotten a prescription for oral contraceptives and stayed on them. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t been able to even think about having sex, she wasn’t taking any chances. Ever.
He leaned in to press butterfly-kisses to the slope of her breast, her collarbone, her throat. “The priests insured the good health of the entire fief, but especially the warriors who did their bidding. As a consequence of their magic I am free of disease.”
Priests and warriors? Uh… okay. As soon as they formed, the concerns that niggled in the back of her mind drifted away. And she might have thought that strange, might have worried at it, but that thought too, was elusive. She was soothed by the heat he was giving off, focused on the muscled hardness of his thighs and lower body, pressed so intimately against hers.
“Me, too,” she whispered. “I haven’t—you know. Since I, uh, conceived Sera. So I don’t have any diseases, either.”
His lips sought the sensitive area of her throat, just below her ear, and she shivered. “I’d prefer we still use a condom, though,” she somehow managed to say without a single stutter. Come to think of it, she hadn’t stuttered since she’d run here, to him. Please God, let this respite last—at least until this encounter ended.
“It’s, uh, best to be safe, don’t you think?” And please God, let him have a condom in the pocket of his pants or she would curl up and die of the female equivalent of blue balls.
His brow had furrowed. Oh no, this wasn’t looking hopeful.
“I would guess the man whose essence helped you create Sera did not use one of these condoms,” he finally said.
She swallowed, willing the specter of Rick to take a hike. She’d be damned if she’d allow that unholy bastard to taint this moment. “No,” she said, proud her voice stayed steady. “He didn’t.”
“I understand.”
“Back pocket?” she said, hopeful but ready for disappointment. She should have known this was too good to be true.
“You could check to be sure.” Which was a really dumb suggestion considering he was male and he had to know whether he had a condom in his pocket, right?
He sat back on his heels and slipped a hand into the back pocket of his pants. And when he produced a condom, Opal didn’t know who was more shocked, him or herself. But it was a measure of her eagerness that when he continued to stare at the little foil packet like it was some miracle, she sat up, grabbed it, and ripped it open with her teeth.
“Pants off,” she said. “Now.”
He stood, and shucked his sweatpants and underwear with unseemly haste and….
Oh. My. She had no words. He really was the most beautiful man. All over. And she really was going to do this—hopefully without making an utter fool of herself. Provided she could recall the mechanics of a highly embarrassing sex-ed session with her roommates that had involved rolling a condom onto a dildo. She rose to her knees, positioned the condom on the tip of his erect cock, and slowly rolled it down his length.
His low drawn-out groan was all the evidence she needed to confirm she’d done it right so far as pleasuring your partner while you attended to practicalities went. Buoyed by her success, she lay back atop his t-shirt and beckoned in what she hoped was a seductive way. “Your move.”
He knelt between her thighs. She shivered, eager and just a little fearful she would disappoint him.
He blanketed her with his body, letting her feel how much he wanted her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured. “I would die rather than hurt you, Opal. Please let me make this good for you. Please.”
Her answering, “I’m not afraid,” was a barely-voiced whisper, and then he was levering himself up onto one elbow, positioning his cock at her entrance… and the blunt head was nudging her folds, parting them, pushing inside her. And though he was big and thick enough that he had to push slowly, carefully inside her, she was oh-so ready that there was no pain. And it was good—so very good—that by the time he’d seated himself to the balls she could feel that delicious, inexorable pressure building inside her a second time.
“Patience,” he said, and she swore she heard a smile in his voice. “There is no need to hurry.”
That wasn’t what her body was saying. No, it was saying things like “Move, damn you!” and “I want it hard and fast and now!” and she couldn’t help it; she dug her heels into the concrete surface, arched her back and thrust her hips to try and keep him inside her as he started to withdraw.
He hooked her left thigh about his hips, and then her right. “Trust me to make this good for you, Opal. Please. Trust me.”
“I do,” she whispered, and it was true. She did trust him. So she let him ease her down, let him take control and set the pace.
He started with long, slow thrusts that she thought would drive her insane… until he increased the pace, driving into her over and over. And then all logical thought fled as he propped himself on one elbow, leaving a hand free to stroke and flick her clit, and she understood what it truly meant to be driven mad by a man who knew exactly how to make the woman beneath him writhe and moan and shiver.
“Danbur, God!” He swallowed her cry with a deep, openmouthed kiss, and she was dimly grateful for that or doubtless there would be neighbors—or worse, Peter—running out to investigate the racket.
Another stroke, and another. One more, hard and deep. The chords of his neck distended as he full-body shuddered.
She had time to think, Wow. That was… wow, before he rolled to the side and scooped her into his arms, protecting her from the night’s chill.
She lay there on her neighbor’s porch, nuzzling the hollow of Danbur’s throat, naked and exposed to anyone who cared to investigate the shadows. And although it was a risky place to linger, she’d never felt more content. She inhaled, drawing the spicy-soapy quintessentially male fragrance of him deep into her lungs. And when she exhaled, her eyelids drifted ever so slowly shut.
She was almost asleep when Danbur moved away, but she barely had the energy to murmur a protest. She heard the scrape of clothing and guessed he was pulling on his pants. It occurred to her that she should get dressed, too, but then Danbur was scooping her into his arms and carrying her somewhere. And she didn’t care where because she trusted him, knew he would take care of her… and Sera, too. And so when sleep pounced she didn’t fight it.
Chapter Thirteen
Green Lane? Really? The street was hardly what Magda would call a “lane”. She pulled up to the opposite curb to park, and cast a critical gaze over the tidy townhome with its neatly mowed lawns and the modest garden dominated by a beautifully gnarled old tree.
Okay, so the suburb wasn’t what you’d call elite, but the girl wasn’t living in a dump.
She glimpsed movement and slid her sunglasses down her nose to squint at the duo rounding the corner.
A young woman. Blonde. Early twenties. Tall and slim. Great body. She held the hand of a kid dressed all in pink, sporting a Day-Glo-pink backpack. They’d obviously come straight from school.
The woman cocked her head to listen to something the kid was saying, and then she smiled….
A frisson skated down Magda’s spine. Past collided with present, superimposing a younger version of the woman, head thrown back and mouth wide with unselfconscious laughter, overtop the present-day one. And damned if Magda’s palms d
idn’t start to sweat.
It was her. Jordan Cast. And even in that appalling overall she looked like a million bucks.
Magda reached for the car door to act upon her first instinct, which was to teeter across the street as fast as her six-inch heels would allow, and launch into her proposition. Something held her back.
Her PA, Emilie, had had to jump through hoops to unearth this address. Jordan hadn’t made it easy. She’d changed her name, dropped off the grid, and had no social media footprint to speak of. She obviously hadn’t wanted to be found, and odds were high she wouldn’t be happy her past was catching up with her.
Best to take a moment and scope out the situation. Information was power, and Magda would embrace anything that gave her the upper hand—even if it meant par-broiling for a few more minutes in this ghastly rental sedan.
She relaxed against the seatback and fixed her attention on the kid.
It was hard not to be distracted by the little girl’s outrageously red, out-of-control hair. Hair that shade on a kid that young had to be natural. And that very red hair paired with all those shades of pink was enough to make any fashionista want to scrub her eyeballs. But then, as the duo drew opposite the car and Magda got a closer look at them, her analytic brain kicked in.
God, it was plain as the patrician nose on Magda’s expertly made-up face. She only had to look at the bone structure and physique, certain mannerisms.
Jordan Cast wasn’t playing nanny for someone else’s kid. She had a daughter.
Magda didn’t know much about kids but this one looked older than five. Nearer, say, ten. Maybe eight or nine? Hmmm. That could fit the rumor Emilie had unearthed. An unplanned teen pregnancy might explain why Jordan had turned her back on a career that had been poised to go stratospheric given she’d just been offered the Vonette exclusive.
Magda tapped a fingernail on her bottom lip. She’d give her favorite Jimmy Choo wedges to know who the kid’s father was. But that was a mystery for the über-efficient Emilie to solve another day. First things first.
She watched the duo meander up the path. And frowned when they veered toward the neighboring house, a shabby townhome that needed some TLC. Among other things. Such as an urgent garden makeover. Magda squinted at her organizer. Ah. She’d been spying on the wrong house. Well, then. With any luck, Jordan—
Jesus. She had to stop thinking of her as “Jordan Cast”. The girl’s real name was Opal Jordan Stewart. And it appeared Opal might jump at the chance of earning a decent income. Which should make Magda’s proposition even more compelling and enticing.
She waited for Opal and her kid to disappear into the house, and then waited ten more minutes for Opal to finish doing… whatever it was mothers did when their kids got home from school.
Time to rock and roll.
Magda freshened her lipstick, patted her hair, and grabbed the folder with the contract she’d had drawn up in the hopes that—
Hah. No “hoping” about it. She hadn’t gotten where she was today on hope. The contract terms were more than generous, and Magda wasn’t leaving until Opal signed it. And agreed to use the name she’d once gone by. Not that a refusal to use the Jordan Cast name was a deal-breaker, mind you. Magda only had to whisper in the right ears for people to make the connection and generate the kind of publicity that would guarantee an extremely successful launch.
She eased out of the car, slammed the door, and smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. Something fluttered at the edge of her vision and she instinctively turned her head. A man was watching her from the porch of the neighboring house—the one she’d mistakenly thought belonged to Opal.
Magda tossed her hair and flicked him a jaunty little wave. Let him look. She always appreciated an audience.
She sauntered up the path, hyper-conscious of his gaze. And as she raised her hand to the door, she couldn’t help peeking to check whether he was still watching her.
He was.
Magda shivered, but it was a delicious shiver— prompted more by a thrill than fear. He had a compelling aura about him. Very compelling indeed.
~~~
The chiming doorbell interrupted Sera’s bout of pouting, and Opal couldn’t help feel relieved at the interruption. Since the encounter with Danbur three nights ago she’d been constantly on edge, and prone to snapping at Sera for no reason. Patience was a little thin on the ground right now, and when it came to mid-week spelling homework, she just wanted Sera to get it all done. Now. With the minimum of drama. Which was proving impossible when the English language was anything but logical, and Sera seemed to mistakenly believe she should be able to spell every word correctly on her first try.
“W-W-Write it in the air… th-th-three times,” she told her daughter, whose expression leaned more toward “this is the end of the world!” than a misspelled word. She tweaked one of Sera’s pigtails and smooched the tip of her nose. “It’s a h-h-hard word. I’ll b-b-be back in a m-m-minute and you c-c-can have another g-g-go at it, okay?”
Sera heaved one of her Oscar-worthy sighs. “Yes, Mommy.”
Another chime of the doorbell—longer this time—sounded as Opal exited the kitchen, followed by a series of sharp raps, too. Jeez. Someone needed to learn the art of patience. Though if it turned out to be a certain man she couldn’t quit thinking about, then she might find it in her heart to forgive him. But only after she’d made him work for it. Just a little.
Okay, a whole lot.
She opened the door and the tentative, hope-filled smile curving her lips died an unnatural death. On the stoop stood an immaculately groomed, exquisitely dressed woman. With her take-no-prisoners knife-sharp bob, sculpted cheekbones and strong features, she could have gotten a job as an Anjelica Huston stand-in. Opal put her somewhere between fifty and sixty. And, given the expensive but tasteful accessories—that was a genuine Coach tote or Opal would voluntarily eat mac ’n cheese for a week—this woman was definitely not concerned about her shopping budget. She must have taken a wrong turn and needed directions.
“C-C-Can I h-h-help you?”
The woman blinked, and quickly hid the shock that had rippled across her features behind a wide smile. “I’m banking on it,” she said.
Damned stutter. Opal was sick to death of it. “If y-y-you’re… selling s-s-something, I’m n-n-not—”
“Do I look like a salesperson?” The woman brushed a hand down the front of her suit, paused, and pursed glossy bronze lips. She might have been frowning, too, but it was a little hard to tell given her familiarity with Botox.
“God,” she said. “I do. I look like I’m selling real estate! I knew I shouldn’t have let that smarmy little bastard sweet-talk me into melon.”
She seemed so genuinely dismayed that Opal felt compelled to reassure her. “It’s a b-b-beautiful c-c-color.”
The smile was back again, this time a little wry. “You’re very diplomatic. It is a beautiful color but you and I both know it’s all wrong on me. Magda Bliss. May I come in?”
Opal dug about in her brain for a polite excuse but Magda spoke first. “I’m not selling anything, I promise. But I do want to discuss money—enough to make life a whole lot easier for you and your little girl.”
It was Opal’s turn to blink and try to hide her shock. Why would this stranger mention Sera? How did she know about Sera in the first place? Bristling from the instinctive desire to protect her daughter, Opal threw back her shoulders and reassessed Magda through slitted eyes.
Magda chuckled. “You’re looking at me like a momma lioness protecting her litter. How do I know you have a little girl? Easy. I spotted you both walking home while I was sitting across the street in the car checking I had the right address.”
Ah. Opal forced her taut muscles to relax. Completely innocent, then. Except for the whole discussing money thing.
“Could we talk about this inside?” Magda tugged one of the thick gold loops dangling from her earlobes. “Less chance of being overheard by your neighbor. He seemed a l
ittle, ah, curious about my visit.”
Warmth rippled through Opal at the idea of Danbur watching her. Waiting for…. Whatever it was he was waiting for. God. Maybe he was waiting for her to quit obsessing over him like some love struck teen. Maybe the vulnerability she’d sensed from him, and responded to, was imagined. Maybe she was reading far more into their encounter than she should.
Bottom line? She’d offered. He’d taken. She was inexperienced and he… wasn’t. Little wonder she’d gotten carried away and allowed him to have his deliciously wicked way with her. It’d been fun—boy had it what! But it was just sex. Nothing more. People hooked up all the time without it dipping into deep-and-meaningful territory. And she needed to get a clue and accept that—like so many men—now he’d had her, he was no longer interested. They’d both gotten what they wanted. So that was it. Done. Over with. Move on.
Opal ripped the band from her hair and scrubbed her fingers over her scalp. Between erotically charged dreams about Danbur disturbing her nights, fretting over how to act if aforementioned man finally got around to paying her a visit, fending off Sera’s questions—it was Danbur this, Danbur that, Danbur, Danbur, Danbur!—and coping with her workload and unpaid bills, she was too weary to summon the guts to be straight up rude and send this woman on her way. Besides, her curiosity was piqued. Magda Bliss wanted something from her. Badly enough to wheedle her way inside.
Stepping back, Opal opened the door wider and gestured Magda inside.
“You won’t regret this, Opal. I promise.” Magda stepped over the threshold and peered curiously around her.
Opal weathered another little shockwave of unease. And told herself to quit being paranoid. Magda was probably an acquaintance of one of Opal’s clients. She probably wanted to offer Opal a cleaning job. Of course she would know Opal’s name.
Magda blotted her forehead with the back of her wrist and Opal fell right into the trap. “S-S-Something to d-d-drink?”
“A soda would be lovely. Diet, if you have it.”
Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 20
