by Daisy Banks
She breathed fast in the effort to match his swift long stride. “Is there a reason to hurry?”
“No, I wanted to wake myself up a little.” He slowed his steps. His eyes gleamed as he turned to her. “It’s good to taste the fresh air.”
A shiver raced down her spine. Somehow, his mood had changed. She fought off the desire to run, to sprint off toward the distant trees, offering him the challenge to catch her. The last time she’d felt like this they’d shared the kind of lovemaking she’d thought just fantasy. “Magnus?”
“No,” he replied. “I want you to see the trees. Once you have, we’ll talk about permanence.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You know why.” His gaze fixed on hers. “Help me, please, don’t tease. It’s not a good idea, not today.”
She longed to roll with him in the bed of leaves, but the image in her mind closed under the shutter of his words. Another time. Another day. She focused on the trees, all of them beautiful in the last phase of this year’s leaf. “I’ve never seen such magnificent colors or such shapes.”
“These are probably the oldest oak trees in the grounds. They’ve had lots of time to grow in the way they wish.” Tucking her hand through the crook of his arm, he smiled. “Some of these are century’s old, one or two may be more ancient still.”
Looking up to his smile, she nodded. His need to feel a part of time should be fed. Perhaps she might find a way. Now he’d mentioned it, she’d work hard to try to arrange a visit to Egypt for them. He’d traveled in his youth and could again. Surely, in Egypt he’d have a sense of time greater than his own.
“Yes, that would be an adventure we both might enjoy.” He strode on beside her.
“You heard my thought?”
“Did I?”
“Yes, I didn’t say anything aloud, yet you answered me.”
He nodded. “I did tell you our link would deepen.”
“Yes.” She stifled the new rash of concerns this brought. “So you did.”
Chapter 3
Heartbeat pounding, he raced over the mossy grass toward the slender figure who headed into the dense thicket of trees. Pale like moonlight, her slim legs moved fast as quicksilver. How he’d delight in stroking the satin smooth flesh of her thighs, teasing in between when he caught her. And catch her he would. When he did, she’d plead for his forgiveness, promise she’d never run again. He’d believe her, of course, until the next time.
The widening gaze, her eyes shining bright as she glanced over her shoulder before taking her first step into the shadows, increased his expectations. She filled him with determination. This tempting minx would howl for him.
How her dreams thrilled him. This one was proving as delightful as the others she’d gifted to him and allowed him to share. Full of life, vitality, and Sian, always Sian, no other woman had ever, or could ever, torment him in the delicious way she did.
The close-knit trees, with thick shadowy undergrowth, slowed his rapid paces to match hers.
A gentle breath, one not his own, told him where she hid. Less than an arm’s length from him he caught a flash of the pale dress. He ducked down into the undergrowth at the base of a tall chestnut tree. Amber, ochre, rust, and orange, the autumn woodland colors complimented his mate’s pure beauty. Her brandy wine, corkscrew curls cascaded over her shoulders. The rich, creamy lace gown clung tight to her slender waist, molded to her rounded buttocks. She clutched a frothy curdle at the front of the ankle length skirt up above her knees to lessen the impediment of her dress in her barefoot attempt to escape him. All of her image sent his blood rolling in eager excitement. He took a deep breath to force himself to calm. Sian knew him well enough to provoke his desire with ease. This little fantasy lured him toward the culmination hot and hard.
Her calves formed solid muscles as she stood on tiptoe. She took a step, then two more as she hiked the skirt higher. Her slender thighs elongated with her movement, sent a shiver of desire through him.
She glanced from side to side, taking a slow examination of her surroundings. Her breasts moved in the rapid rhythm of quarry at bay. His palms itched to soothe her torment, to tease her nipples until she whimpered. He smiled, for she seemed to have no idea he crouched so near. Her arousing aroma reached him, quickening his pulse. A tiny stir in the air from her body heat alerted him when she took a step closer.
The snap of a twig, as he moved his weight onto his front foot, sent her into flight like a hind from the hunter. She dashed off with a low cry. He paced after her, for memory told him the name and fame of this place. Strange that the woods of Symonds Yat would appear in her dream. She must have a memory of this famous beauty spot. He smiled again.
The escarpment’s edge was bounded by a wide swath of forest. Below the top ledge were several more levels in hefty graduated steps, each set with more woodland until the final outcrop offered the courageous a place to plunge into the deep river, carving its way through the valley. She’d left herself no room to maneuver. Run as she might, she would only find a descent she’d rather not make without wings.
She’d flown, but in a machine. Might she fly in their dreams? What a thought. He increased his pace as he followed her, more eager than ever to see what she might do. The autumnal sun still held heat. He scanned the bracken-trimmed cliff top.
“Magnus!”
The cry sped him onward. He dashed along the ledge in search for her.
“Help.”
The call held no real distress or fear. Another feint from her. She had the delightful capacity to dissemble like any eighteenth century Venetian courtesan. He could do nothing more than love her—stealthy, clever, and provoking as she was.
At the next shriek, he paused to look down. There, some way below where he stood, Sian’s white-knuckled hands clutched a thick tree root protruding from the black soil of the bank. He could also see a small ledge under her foot supporting her weight.
“Ah, so helpless,” he said as he ambled along. “I have to say, there are times when I worry about your psyche.” He crouched, reaching forward to grasp her.
“I slipped.”
A smile to delight him curved her cheek as he caught her beneath the arms and hauled her up. Once she stood on solid ground, he covered her mouth with his and lowered his hands until her sweet rounded ass sat in his palms. With her caught fast in his embrace, he swept at the back of her skirt to brush off the dirt, until she squirmed and whimpered in their kiss.
“I’m afraid, sometimes your desire to be captive is too much for me to refuse,” he explained before he gave her a hearty swat.
Green diamond bright, her widened gaze met his. Her lips parted with a gasp of surprise. The trees took on a hazy hue; the leaves falling to the forest floor became mere smudges of brown such as a child might paint. “Do you wish me to take control of the dream?” he asked before he kissed the warmth of her neck.
“No.”
She angled her head, caught his lips, and took them captive with hers. The delight of her kiss swept away any need for further words. Abandoning their kiss, he hoisted her in his embrace, stepping away from the ledge. Her small feet scrambled in the leaf litter, as he backed her fast into the smooth bulk of an ash tree’s trunk. He hauled the delicate lace gown up as he pinned her in place. He wedged one thigh between hers, nudging and rolling against her pussy. His cock swelled solid in four heartbeats, eager for her. He molded his palm to her breast, enjoying the rigid lump of her nipple. “Now or later?”
She gave a small groan.
Answer enough for him.
His blood sang in his ears, for she wore no knickers. She hooked her thigh high and tight around his, clutched him closer. He needed no more encouragement. Fingers working quickly, he unlaced the hide breeches to free his erection to seek its warm, moist quarry.
“Oh, God.” She stilled as he sought her entrance. “Mag
nus, there, oh, yes.”
He held back for a second.
“Now, please. Oh, please.” She tilted her hips to try to guide him inside.
Triumph warmed his chest at her pitiful whimper. “Are you sorry you ran?” he asked, before he smothered her mouth with his, drowning her attempt at a reply. He shoved his erection deep into her with one smooth lurch forward.
Sian clasped his shoulders with her fingers digging deep. Her sweet pussy welcomed him inside. She gave a low throaty moan.
Pleasure.
Hot delight.
Perfect.
Wonderful.
He pulled back from her. “You are all mine,” he said, holding on as she arched back against the tree, grinding her hips to his. The swift pulses inside her took him hard and fast. Orgasm raged, stole consciousness, breath, so everything dissolved in pleasure. He clung to the light with one fingertip as his body powered into hers to give her everything he could.
Together, they sank down from the smooth ash tree onto the bed of silky grass.
* * * *
Clasping his face between her palms, Sian kissed him. Still locked together, they rolled on the rumpled bed. “Magnus,” she gasped. She relaxed in his arms, the sensual pleasure of the dream rolling though her until she closed her drowsy eyes.
“Reality challenges our dreams. I need you.”
His erection swelled inside her. The thick hardness engorged to make her catch her breath. Lifting himself up onto his arms, he eased in and out of her. He probed. His eyes glittered. The spark she found in his gaze added to the tingles. She reached up to caress the firm muscles of his shoulders before she wrapped her arms around his neck. His first deep thrust made her eager for more. He took up a rapid pounding pace that forced her down into the mattress with each reentry.
He’d never been like this before. His deliberate movements gave no allowance for her to dictate their pace. Tonight, she’d no choice but be receptive. He pummeled her, obliterated any thought she might have but him. She closed her eyes, her rapid breath racing with his.
Orgasm clenched her muscles so she clasped him tight inside her, to fight to hold his hot flood deep within. She dissolved into blissful perfection. “I adore you,” she moaned. His flow slowed, and she eased her thighs clamped on his waist.
His heavy breaths hid any words she could recognize, but his satisfied groan filled her with pleasure. Closing her eyes, she drifted on a tide of satisfaction.
* * * *
Sian woke to light spilling in from between the wide curtains. Moving her stiff limbs, she spread her thighs so she could pull back to ease away from him. He mumbled in his sleep. Sighing, she sank down with a soft moan, and eased her aching muscles. Good God, she’d spent months doing yoga, but tonight it hadn’t helped at all.
Was an all night lock with your partner wolfie or tantric? Who the heck knew? He’d sure made her wonder.
Her wish for a chase through the woods when they had visited Hatfield began all this. She’d enticed him in the dream she’d led, but perhaps she’d not repeat the scenario for a while. The low sound of her name spread contented warmth through her. Turning toward him, she hooked her leg over his and rested her arm about his waist. She sprawled onto her stomach to go back to sleep.
A fresh call of “Sian” pried into her peace. A shiver raced down her spine, but she fought off the enticement to another dream, because this one came from someone other than Magnus. The screechy voice was somehow familiar. It belonged to someone with glossy dark hair and cold eyes, a person who yelled so loud the noise grew to painful howls. Silly, it couldn’t be Franklyn. He couldn’t call to her, not from the rest home. Another shriek echoed but she ignored it.
As if she’d dream with a howler. Too tired to consider more about the interruption in her thoughts, she edged closer to Magnus’s warmth.
He tightened his arm about her and sleep blotted out everything else.
Chapter 4
The tenth of November, the day for the film shoot, drew nearer, and although Sian’s preparations for the event were impeccable, Magnus’s concerns grew. His recollection of the day she first came to the house, all business, bold and sassy, regenerated. How he’d wanted her despite it, or because of her reaction when he faced her down. Courage like hers was rare. Heaven help him, he’d discovered more of its depths these last two months. Sian’s bravery gave him hope, and he took a gamble on it. Faced with her sheer determination, he had tested fate and chanced she might leave him after he’d explained to her why he lived alone as he did. He remained uncertain if he should accept the joy of the love she offered. There were few people like Sian.
Each dawn, as the shoot-day approached, he dwelt on the need to find another place to spend his time during the days when the whole camera team, the musicians, dancers, sound crew, and all the many others she’d explained would be necessary for the film, came to the house. The prospect of so many disturbed his equilibrium. He’d not invited so many strangers into his home for more years than he cared to think about. Though he did his best to disguise his apprehension, without a doubt, Sian knew.
“Magnus, it will be fine. You can come to watch the filming if you want. Think of the event as if it were a step back through your vacation pictures. I promise the costumes will bring back happy memories.”
He shook his head. “Thank you for the thought, but no, I’d rather not. Perhaps I’ll spend the day researching decoration for the renovation of the conservatory.”
“If you’re sure. I’ll keep the crew to the schedule. Everyone will be out of the house and off the grounds by six-thirty, no later, I promise. That way we can have dinner and the evening together.” She offered him a smile filled with confidence.
“Wonderful, I’ll look forward to dining with you.”
“Hmm…” She stared at the letter she’d opened. “Here’s some information you might want to look at, too.”
He accepted the papers. “Green Girls?”
“Yes, in answer to my advert regarding the walled garden. It won’t put itself to rights, and as much as I enjoy looking at it, I don’t think we’ll resurrect it alone. In my opinion, we need specialist help. I like the look of this group.”
He assessed the business card, professional enough to be encouraging. Opening the sales literature, he gave it a quick glance. “Every employee is a descendant of a Land Army girl?”
“Yes, it’s their advertising gimmick. They all had relatives in the Land Army in the war. You must know of the Land Army.”
He nodded. A wave of helpless adoration hit him at this new example of her happy knack of finding his weak spots. If she’d been a tigress in another life, he’d not be surprised, because Sian sank her claws into him with loving relish, tearing into his open heart. “Yes, I have recollections of the Land Army, my dear. I was quite active during wartime. It was easier.”
“Anyway, what do you think of their price list, their offers?” She nibbled at a piece of toast.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve not much knowledge to make a comparison.”
“Well, I think they’re impressive. I thought it might be a good idea to contact the director, Martha Raynalds. I checked her resume on their website. It looks good.”
“Very well.” He flipped the pricing pamphlet over and caught a glimpse of the photograph of the director. “Dorothy Fowler?” he whispered.
“No, Magnus, Martha Raynalds.” Sian got up from her seat at the breakfast table. “I have to do one final e-mail swoop of the team this morning. Then, once I get all the ‘I’m so happy’ replies, I’ll know everything is ready for the shoot. I’m itching to get it over with.”
He smiled in response to her enthusiasm because he wholeheartedly agreed. Once this music film was complete, he’d close the door on Gorsewell Productions and so would Sian. His concern with her taking over the arrangements for the filming rema
ined. If, while he recovered at the rest home, Franklyn Gorsewell so much as squeaked in her dreams, he’d face a reckoning. After this film shoot ended, there should be no more reason for Sian to have any contact with the obnoxious lout.
Though she’d not said, not since the dreadful night when Franklyn had woken from the drug induced coma and the evil wretch had invaded her dream, he knew the jealous bastard still tried to lure her. Only yesterday Franklyn had called to her. Gorsewell was playing with the dream interactions. Magnus had sensed the slimy maggot’s presence once or twice in the aftermath of the dreams he’d shared with her as he and Sian had slept.
The night he had sought vengeance and attacked Franklyn, he should have finished him off.
He closed his eyes at the image of the blood-splattered apartment. Such a powerful memory should have held a kernel of satisfaction, but it didn’t, only a deep fear at what the beast’s bite could do.
His initial gut instinct after Gorsewell attacked her in the dream, had been yes, here was one he would have to subdue. The visit to the hospital with Sian at the beginning of October had set him wondering at the possibilities. Franklyn suspected him for what he was—he’d sensed it. Hence, he’d given a sharp heads-up to a potential werewolf to know his place when in the presence of his creator.
When he returned home with Sian, along with easing her fears, he’d tried to dismiss his initial thoughts as an overreaction to the situation. So much medical interference, the drips, the drugs, the blood transfusions, surely they must mean Franklyn remained a man.
They must.
Perhaps he should do a little investigating the day the film crew was here when Sian was busy. He’d find out what Gorsewell was up to in the rest home where he recuperated from his injuries. The wish that he’d gnawed at Gorsewell’s shoulder for longer nagged, an ever present concern. A huge sigh left him, for if Franklyn were to become a werewolf, his and Sian’s life would never be the same.
