How fast could he bring her to orgasm? Now that was a question worth pondering. She kissed him, her hands on his shoulders as she pressed up and down, trying to fight the slower rhythm he wanted. “More, Sam. Faster, God, please.”
“Baby, keep making noises like that and I won’t be able to wait.”
“Who’s asking you to?”
His laugh was husky. “We’re gonna get arrested.”
“Leland’ll have my ass. Be worth every embarrassing minute.” A moan escaped her lips.
And then he slid a hand between their bodies, his broad palm covering her hipbone to hipbone. One calloused pad slid into the top of her folds, rasping her clit.
Cait’s head jerked back; her body went limp. Impaled on his cock, her hips sliding forward and back, grinding her sex against his, she let go, letting the pleasure wash through her, wave after endless wave.
When she came back to herself, Sam had her folded against his chest. His cock was still hard and pulsing inside her.
She lifted her head. “Sorry about that.”
His teeth flashed again. “That you left me behind? Selfish of you.”
They’d sat there, panting hard. And she’d known there was no way this was the one and only time they’d succumb to their longing. However, instead of becoming a distraction for their professional partnership, they’d melded together like a single entity, working like a well-oiled team.
They’d married quietly, telling Leland but not announcing the event widely. Although he’d made noise about splitting up their partnership, the threat was always “After you wrap up this next case.”
Until her past found her. And the voices that had been an ever-present, indistinguishable murmur grew louder and more distinct.
Cait had battled for her sanity the only way she’d known how. She drank, grateful for the peace the alcohol provided, however temporary. The deeper into the bottle she fell, the more Sam had drawn away, confused and hurt.
She’d been unwilling to share the reasons for her fall. And toward the very end, when the voices and drinking became almost constant, she’d been unable to keep it from interfering with her job.
The night a uniformed officer had been killed, she’d heard him calling her toward the shooter. When she’d found Orlando Cruz and drew her gun, she knew there was no going back. She’d told the truth at the administrative hearing that had followed the shooting, about how she’d found Cruz when no one else had known where to look, and damned herself.
Leland had pressed her to resign, to save her father’s name from being tarnished.
Nothing had ever been the same between her and Sam. He’d finally left her for good because she’d stubbornly refused to get help.
Cait rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. “This can’t be it,” she whispered. “We’ve just found each other again. There’s so much left to say.”
Footsteps padded nearby.
“Go away, Morin.”
“Not Morin, sweetheart. But you might want to be nicer to him the next time you see him.”
Cait’s heart stopped. Her head turned to find Sam, dressed in his dress shirt and trousers, striding toward the bed. When he sat on the edge of the mattress, she gasped, because his weight caused it to dip.
She reached out a shaky hand and felt solid muscle wrapped around steely bone. Her heartbeat raced, and she sucked in a breath. If she blinked, would he disappear? “How can this be? Is this real?”
His dark gaze steady, Sam shook his head. “We only have now.”
Her heartbeat continued to thunder inside her chest. “This is his shop. Time stands still.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Gonna stay here forever, Cait?”
Although she knew the lie she spoke, she said the words anyway. “If it means I can have you? Yes.”
Sam’s chest rose around a deep inhalation. “Morin worked a little spell. Drew me here.”
“A summoning.”
“Not quite. For as long as the candle he burns lasts, I’ll be with you.”
Cait drew a ragged breath. “No! It’s not enough.”
Sam swallowed, but then forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Baby, we shouldn’t waste time railing against what we can’t have.”
For as long as Morin’s candle burns. Cait sniffed, then forced away her tears and her denial. She offered Sam a nod, telling him she understood.
He reached and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I love your hair. Love the color, the thickness.”
“Love pulling it,” she said with a little smile.
As his smile deepened, his eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Yeah, I do.” His fingers wrapped around a lock and tugged. Then he smoothed his fingers along her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “First time I met you, I knew I was in trouble. So much fire in your green eyes. So much attitude—every bit of it bad.”
She chuckled, surprised she could manage to laugh. Then her breath hitched. “I was groaning inside. You were too good-looking. A distraction. And the longer we worked together, the harder I struggled to hide the fact you turned me on.”
“I didn’t see you fighting it. Those glances, always so busy checking me out. Wanted to tell you to stop, but then I’d have to admit I’d noticed. Besides, I was doing my own looking too.”
Her strength returning, she pushed up to sit beside him. “I wanted you, but I didn’t expect to fall for you. We were supposed to be nothing but sex. Nothing complicated, but…” Her head dipped as her cheeks grew hot.
Sam smiled and scooted closer. “I tried to keep it light. But the first time I slid inside you, I didn’t want it to end. When you came apart in my arms, your orgasm was so damn beautiful. You were beautiful.” His head bent toward hers, his gaze lingering on her face. “I fell in love with you.”
“I sensed it.” Cait let a small smile tilt her lips. “I was afraid of things getting sticky. But you were always there for me. And you surprised me. Rough sometimes, but so careful. You gave me exactly what I needed to shake me up and pay attention.” She gazed upward, her eyes filling. “I know loving me wasn’t easy,” she whispered, forcing the words through a dry throat.
“No, you’re not easy.” He bent his head and kissed her mouth, letting loose a long sigh that drifted across her mouth and warmed her cheek. “I wouldn’t have respected easy. Our involvement wouldn’t have lasted. You kept things interesting, always changing. I never knew what direction you’d go next. Sometimes, the relationship scared me. Most times, it made me angry, but we both liked the results.”
They smiled, mouths close.
Cait’s eyes blinked to clear her vision. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Always.” He closed his eyes. “That candle’s burning.” Sam settled his hands at her narrow waist and smoothed up her shirt.
Although they trembled, she raised her arms and held still while he stripped away her shirt and bra.
He rose and removed the rest of her clothing, and then his own. When he bent again, she opened her arms.
Sam lay down beside her, tucking her gently against his chest. “We should talk.”
She shook her head, not wanting the real world to intrude. Didn’t want the image of his wizened, unrecognizable body intruding. Smoothing her hands over his broad chest, she drew nearer and pressed a kiss on the muscle right over his heart.
“I don’t want you going back there,” he said. “I don’t want you hurt.”
Again, she shook her head. “How can I just walk away after what he did to you?”
Sam’s eyes closed, and he drew a deep breath. “I didn’t feel much. Once I was hurtling through the air, down that hallway, I blacked out. I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Stop.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.
“I want you to know I didn’t suffer.”
She leaned closer and pressed her mouth against his to shut him up.
For a split second, his mouth remained firm, but then he gro
aned and opened, his tongue pushing into her mouth. He rolled over her.
Opening her legs, she welcomed him inside. As he began thrusting, their mouths moved in greedy circles.
Her arms wrapped tightly around his back, fingertips digging into solid muscle. He was so solid, so real. Right here. Now. How would she ever let him go?
A sob ripped through her.
Sam leaned back so he could connect with her gaze, his own softening. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t.”
His features blurred, and she blinked fast. “I’m sorry. For everything. For letting you down. For pushing you away. We wasted so much time.”
Sam’s eyes filled and overflowed, a tear dropping onto her cheek. “No regrets, baby. I don’t have even one. Don’t be sorry. You’re the strongest person I know. Stronger than me. You can do this. You can move on.”
Their hips moved together, the sweet coupling deepening. Sam’s body shuddered as he came, and Cait watched his face, committing his features, his changing expressions, to memory.
When he fell against her, he kissed her shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You always took care of me first. Always.” She caressed his jaw. “Let me give you this. No regrets,” she said, her voice thick and watery.
Despite the shadows around them, the moonlight filling the chamber, she knew the moment had arrived.
A golden flicker of flame shined in his eyes. A sad smile stretched across his face. He withdrew and then gave her one last look, filled with longing and promise. And then his body wisped away, lightening atop her.
Breath caught in her throat, she dropped her arms to the mattress, watching as he faded away.
When she was alone again, she didn’t move. She lay with his scent wrapped around her. Her tears slowly dried on her cheeks. Cait O’Connell sniffed once and then sat at the edge of the bed, reaching toward the floor for her clothing.
“I’m sorry, Cait.” Morin’s voice came from the spiral staircase.
She ignored him, finished putting on her clothes, and then walked toward him. Muscles heavy with sadness, she raised her hand and pointed a level finger at his chest. “I don’t accept this is over. You and I know there are ways. We just have to find one.”
Morin stood rigid for a moment, and then held out his hand.
She pressed her palm in his, accepting a firm squeeze.
She looked him directly in the eye. “There’s something you want, Morin Montague. If you help me, I’ll help you.”
His nod was short, sharp. “I’ll make a pot of tea.”
17
Although time stood still outside Morin’s strange little shop, inside Cait was aware of its passage. Twice, they refilled the oil lamps scattered on the sturdy wooden tables in the library. Once, they stopped to eat roast beef sandwiches made with the fresh-baked loaves that appeared inside his bread bin.
“Reanimating his corpse isn’t feasible,” Morin said, his eyebrows quirking at her dark glare for his frank choice of words. “The thing will be to find some way of preventing his death in the first place.”
A memory popped into her mind. She thought about the elevator door opening to the past. “Or maybe somehow ‘catching’ him when he arrives in the past.”
Morin’s dark brows rose higher. “You’d have to be there—with the demon—when it happens.” Mouth set into a tight line, he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You’d simply be caught in the same vortex, your body twisted up with his. Hardly a workable solution.” Morin closed his Book of Shadows, the heavy leather binding giving a thud rather than a snap. “There’s nothing in there.”
Sighing with exasperation, she glanced up from the book she’d been combing through. “Why couldn’t these be written in plain English?”
“They are. Maybe you should have spent more time studying them rather than mooning over me. You wouldn’t have so much trouble translating.”
Frustration gripped her chest, and she frowned. She had to find a way to do this. “Morin, there’s nothing here. Nothing helpful.”
Morin tapped the table with a finger. “Think about the spells you’ve read, the books that describe them. Until someone actually tried it, that spell didn’t exist.”
“But you’ve said so yourself, there’s power in a spell when it’s practiced.” Maybe talking this out would help it make more sense. “The more often the words are spoken, the stronger the spell becomes.”
With slow moves, Morin nodded. “Because the energy of the person doing the casting mingles with the words. The spell is no longer just words but a wish spoken aloud, imbued with a power all its own.”
Cait blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t wait for a spell of my own making to earn bonus points for every time it’s used. It has to work the first time.”
Morin leaned over the table, his dark eyes sparkling under an arched eyebrow. “So you have to make sure that you are imbued with all the power you can harness.”
She gave her head a shake and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give it a rest? I’m not getting naked with you again to draw down the moon.”
His chuckle was rich, a jarring sound in the pall that had fallen over them as they’d searched. He sat back, shaking his head. “You’ve already taken everything I can give you. Expended a lot of it. Now you have to be the one to go to the source. The well, so to speak. Draw your own powers, my dear. Draw it from the ether. Wear it as a garment of your own making, not a borrowed cloak.”
“See?” she said, aiming a hard glare his way and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the problem. When you speak, poetry is natural. When I try, the words that come out are complete crap.”
“It’s not how pretty the words sound, Cait. It’s the depth of feeling, the energy your emotions give the incantation.” He waved a hand. “But you’re right. This spell is more than words. Because you’ll be defying time and death, you need something to focus the power, an object.”
Cait thought hard. “Like the bellows I used to suck the demon out of Leland?”
“Exactly. Any ideas?”
“This is all about time. About defying it. A watch?” She glanced at her wristwatch with its digital face. Definitely not the candidate. “Something old. With hands.”
“A pocket watch?”
She nodded and then sat back in her chair. Uncertainty edged her thoughts. What powers did she really have? She should have been practicing for this all her life. “Are we kidding ourselves that I can make this work?”
“How much do you love Sam?”
Cait held her breath against the instant tightening in her chest. A tightness that threatened to choke her. Just the mention of his name opened a new wound. “More than anything or anyone. Morin, if this doesn’t work…”
“No more ‘if.’ Doubt will leach away power, corrupt it. And pretty words and a pocket watch aren’t enough. An offering must be made. A proper tincture. Ceremony and pomp. This ritual is important, and you have the time to do this right. The Powers will demand a sacrifice, whether it’s tangible and bloody or simply measured in effort. This is the reason why the gods demand trials.”
“Like Psyche’s trial in the Underworld—”
“Hercules’s twelve labors.”
Naming what she had to do eased her mind. She smiled across the table. “Thanks. I was beginning to panic. Afraid there wasn’t a solution.”
He braced his arms on the table and leaned forward, his gaze intense. “But don’t go thinking that every time you lose something to death that you can drag it back.”
“I know.” She inhaled and let out her breath slowly. “I might have only one shot—if The Powers grant it.”
“They might extract a payment. Some future travail.”
From a distance, the sound of the kettle whistling called.
Morin’s head tilted toward the sound. “I’ll be right back. Be thinking of ingredients, ones that are relevant, symbolic.”
With a task to accomplish, the sense of panic disappea
red. She nodded and pulled the lantern closer. The golden light flickered in the glass like it had in Sam’s eyes a moment before he’d faded away.
A movement at the corner of her eye had Cait glancing over her shoulder. But no one was there. “Hello?” she called out, thinking it was too soon for Morin to return.
She was tired and jumpy, that was all. She shook her head and bent over the old book, fingering the edges of its yellowed page.
A breeze, warm and scented with jasmine, brushed against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned toward the scent. She closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s perfume. “Mama?” she whispered, then opened her eyes, but no figure appeared.
A thump sounded right behind her, and she jumped in her chair, pulse kicking up. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a book resting on the floor. Had the breeze dislodged it from the case? She hadn’t been careful replacing books as she’d taken them down, one at a time in her desperate search.
Sighing, she pushed up from the table and walked toward the book. The moment she reached down, the cover flew open, the pages flipped, sounding like the shuffling of a card deck, until one page stood straight up and fell.
Well, that was weird. Cait held her breath, picked up the book, and held it with both hands so she could read the opened page. As her gaze scanned the text, her heartbeat pounded. “Morin!”
“Right here. Hungry again? You only ever sound like that when you’re famished.” Morin stepped closer. “What is it?”
“Read this,” she said, shoving the book at his chest, her finger holding it open to the page.
Morin scanned the words, his features sharpening. He read it again, and when he glanced back up, he said, “That’s it.”
Cait grinned. A tiny kernel of hope bloomed deep inside. But she hesitated to give it a voice.
An answering smile stretched across his face. “I think it might work.”
“And you were right about that watch.”
He shook his head. “I must have read it at some point. Using it makes sense.” His eyes rounded. “Is there still time? The spell must be cast within twelve hours.”
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