Despite it all, the hard, cold truth was that Lann was perfect for her. After everything he told her, she still trusted him. Instinctively, she knew he wouldn’t harm her. She trusted him with breath play during sex. She trusted him with her life. With a jolt of her heart, she realized that she more than trusted him. She was in love with him. She’d fallen hard and fast. It was a new record for her. Her heart had betrayed her more effectively than ever.
When the door between their rooms opened, she gave a start. Lann was dressed in a silk gown, carrying a tumbler with golden liquor. He studied her over the rim of his glasses as he approached.
He handed her the glass, sat down next to her with his back leaning against the headboard, and pulled her into his lap.
“Drink that,” he said. “It’ll take off the edge.”
She sniffed the drink. “Whiskey?”
“Scotch.”
She regarded him from under her lashes. “Are you still angry?”
“I’m not angry.” He sighed. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to soothe you?” He stroked her hair, playing with her curls.
“I owe you an apology. It was just … overwhelming.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m the one who needs to be sorry. I thought you were ready.”
She wanted to be everything he needed, but she couldn’t deny he’d frightened her. Anyway, it wasn’t as if they were building a relationship.
“You don’t think I’d hurt you?” His voice was pained. “Is that why you asked me if I’ve ever killed someone?”
She bit her lip, contemplating her answer before saying, “When I told you I trusted you, I meant it. There’s just so much about you I don’t know. There’s this thing with the media, and that you said I could be in danger. I can’t help but wonder what you’re really involved in.”
His arms tightened around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“The people you’ve killed…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“I told you about my past and about how I grew up. Surely you’re not naïve enough to believe I have no blood on my hands?”
She barely contained a shiver. “What about now?”
“Don’t sound so hopeful.” He kissed her nose. “I’m no saint. In my line of work, that’s what’s sometimes required.”
“Are you a secret agent or something?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said with regret.
She burrowed against his chest. “Are you often in danger?”
“You know the answer to that,” he said softly.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Shh.” He kissed her lips. “Drink the Scotch.”
She took a sip. Warmth filtered down her throat and settled in her stomach. The tenseness of her body thawed a bit.
“Do you want to talk about what happened in the vault?” he asked, his voice tender.
“I guess I panicked.”
“It’s called erotic asphyxiation.”
She froze. She was familiar with the term.
“All we did was some breath play. It wasn’t more than what we did at the lake.” He tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. “You told me you liked it, and I thought you were ready.”
“The lake was different. I had my sight and my hearing, and I wasn’t restrained. Today frightened me.”
“All right. We won’t do it again.”
“I did like what you did at the lake, but I wasn’t helpless. Being blindfolded and handcuffed took it too far on some psychological level. The pleasure was intense, so much so I lost track of time and reality. The shock set in afterward.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart.”
“I do trust you.”
He was quiet for some time.
“Lann?”
“It’s very important to me that you trust me. Your fear is understandable. We’ve only been together for a month. If we had more time…”
She bit her lip. “Do you need it to turn you on?”
Gripping her chin, he turned her face to him. “I do what I do to turn you on, krasavitsa. Whatever I do is more for your benefit than mine.”
“Then what do you need?”
He took the glass and left it on the bedside table. “Seeing your pleasure is all I need.” He removed his glasses and brought his head down slowly until their lips met. He always knew how to steal her breath.
When he finally let her go, he said, “What would you like to do tomorrow? Would you like to go flying?”
They had one week left. He still hadn’t spoken about the following Sunday, about her leaving, or the technicalities thereof, such as how and at what time, but she forced it from her mind.
“What about the media?” she asked.
“Fuck them. I want to make it perfect for you.”
“In that case, let’s go flying.”
“Anything you want.”
Even though she had to, Kat couldn’t face working on her thesis the following morning. She’d started thinking of the days in numbers. It was Saturday, day twenty-two. It was as if she had a calendar imprinted in her brain, and every new morning she circled another number closer to thirty with a red marker.
To take her thoughts off the inevitable, she helped Lann evaluate books for a few hours, until he chased her off to work on her thesis after lunch while he continued with the task of inspecting his book collection. Since it was a weekend, they were alone, except for Alfonso, the security guards, and kitchen staff. They worked quietly in the library. From time to time, her gaze slipped to the door upstairs, and she couldn’t help the heat that warmed her cheeks during those moments.
An hour into the afternoon, Alfonso entered the room and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, a word with you please, Sir?”
The way in which the butler glanced at her told her that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of her, but Lann said, “Go ahead, Alfonso.”
She continued to type, pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping.
Alfonso cleared his throat again. “Shall I prepare the usual, Sir?”
“Yes.” From over her screen, Kat saw Lann flip down his glasses and stare at her. She averted her eyes, not breaking the speed of her typing, even if she was making plenty of typos. “I’ll need day and evening suits. Pack my coats.” He added, “And snow gear.”
Her heart shrunk painfully.
Alfonso nodded. “I heard it’s snowing in New York, Sir. Any chance the flight might be cancelled?”
“No. The weather will hold.”
“Yes, Sir. You’ve never been wrong about the weather.”
With an apologetic nod of his head in her direction, Alfonso left.
Lann walked to her desk. “I’m taking the ten o’clock flight on Sunday in a week’s time.”
She lifted her head and forced a smile. “Oh. I’ll wait to say goodbye then.”
When he didn’t speak for several seconds, she said a bit too brightly, “Have you managed to go through all of them?” She motioned at a pile of books on his desk.
“No. It’ll have to wait for next time.”
His voice was sad. Maybe it was because of more than just the books. Maybe he’d miss her or think of her sometimes.
He removed his glasses, left them on the light table, and held his hand to her. “Come here.”
She obeyed, getting to her feet and placing her palm in his. He led her to the stairs.
“Where are we going, Lann?”
“I’ve been watching you looking at this room all morning. I want your memory of this room to be a good one.”
“It is a good—”
He placed his finger on her lips. This time, he sent her in front of him, guiding her with his hands on her hips. He unlocked the door, and waited patiently for her answer—to enter or not. Making up her mind, she stepped over the threshold. He followed and closed the door.
“Do you want me to undress?” she asked when he didn’t speak for several long seconds.
“No, krasavitsa.” He reached for the buttons of her blouse. “I want to undress you.”
He removed her clothes first, then his. When they were naked, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently.
“Turn onto your stomach,” he said.
She did, expecting him to bring forward one or the other kinky sex toy, but instead he started rubbing her shoulders. He massaged her neck and back, working his way down her thighs, calves, and feet, until he had worked all the knots out of her muscles. She moaned contentedly when he slipped his hands under her body and turned her around to start the whole routine from scratch, this time down the front of her body. By the time he was done, she was both relaxed and impossibly turned on.
She took his face between her hands. “I want you.”
“You only have to say the word, my beautiful Katherine.”
He kissed her like it was their last time together, and then he took her so gently she would’ve sworn it meant something to him if she hadn’t known better.
They were about to drift off to sleep in the blissful afterglow of their release, but Kat didn’t want to waste a wakeful second.
She drew her fingers through Lann’s hair. “Come swim with me?”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Now?”
“Now.”
His eyes took on a teasing light. “Only if we swim naked.”
“What about Alfonso?”
“Alfonso knows when to disappear,” he said, already pulling her to her feet.
He marched naked to the door, waiting for her to follow. Just in case Alfonso didn’t disappear before they got to the pool, she grabbed Lann’s discarded shirt and pulled it on.
Lann put on some music, a Chambao Flamenco Chill album she liked, and poured them each a Pisco Sour. They sipped it in the pool, and when she grew chilly, they got out and lay down on the chairs in the sun.
She studied him from under her eyelids. His wounds were healing and his bruises were fading. If she believed he’d actually answer her, she’d ask him again about how he’d obtained those nasty marks. He seemed content with the silence, deep in his own thoughts, and she said nothing. Neither of them spoke about the future. As the sun started setting, she felt utterly depressed.
Day twenty-three, four, five, and the rest of them rolled by. Even if Kat tried hard not to think about Sunday, it was impossible to ignore D-day. She went through the motions during that last week—working, helping Lann, and enjoying dinners with him. She called Diana and lied, telling her friend that she was fine, that she hadn’t fallen in love with her Russian lover.
After the Valentine’s ball, she’d asked Lann to cut off her airflow once while they were having sex, and he complied by applying pressure to her neck with his hands, but he never again did it when she was handcuffed. Her orgasm was so intense that she blacked out for a few seconds. She tried to please him too, whenever she could. For the last seven days, they had sex so many times that she was as sore as the first night with him.
The media attention started to dwindle. There were fewer articles in the gossip columns and only one or two hardened paparazzi still camped out in front of the building in the hope of catching a stolen photo of the lovers. She hadn’t left the monastery since the dance at the Moneda and the day they went flying, and on Saturday, their last day together, Lann took her out in the glider again.
They soared over the Andes for a good hour before landing. Afterward he took her for a picnic in the mountains, and they returned to the monastery, hot and sunburned, in the late afternoon. They went for a swim and stretched out in the last rays of the sun to dry. When she was quiet, her mind always fixed on one thing. This was the end.
It was late before she wrapped a towel around her body and told Lann, “I’m going for a shower.”
She hoped it sounded like an invitation, but he said, “I have some loose ends to tie up, so how about I meet you for dinner at nine?”
She nodded, and he kissed her hand.
At nine sharp, Lann opened the interconnecting door between their bedrooms. Kat had dressed in her blue dress.
He gave her an approving look. “I love that dress. It reminds me of a time when you wore it without underwear.”
She smiled. “I’m not wearing any now either.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m torn between checking for myself to see, and feeding you.” His lips curved wickedly. “I’ll feed you first.”
He offered her his arm, very much like he had the first evening they’d met, but this time she accepted it gladly, letting him lead her downstairs.
Dinner wasn’t served outside, but in the dining room. The table was set with gold brocade, crystal, golden cutlery, and candles. The fragrance of rose oil scented the room.
“This is beautiful,” she said with appreciation.
“I wanted it to be special.”
She took the chair he held for her, glad that he didn’t elaborate on why tonight’s dinner was different. Alfonso served crab pie for starters, and Teriyaki steak with grilled root vegetables for the main course. Dessert was homemade Panna Cotta with raspberry sauce and ice cream.
She was content to sip her wine and listen to Lann talk. Despite the fact that he wasn’t usually talkative, he was skilled at making conversation, and she appreciated that he made the effort for her tonight, almost as if he sensed her inability to conjure words.
He didn’t tell her where he was going after Santiago or what he was going to do there. Instead, he told her about his plans to renovate the church as a second phase of the remodeling. While he spoke, he held her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.
“What are your plans for after you’ve completed your thesis?” he finally asked.
She tried to sound cheerful. “Hopefully I’ll get a job somewhere back in the States.”
“And then?”
She shrugged. “Get married, have babies, and never stop flying.”
“I wish you all of those things.” He let go of her hand. “Just fly safely.”
She was going to say something, but Alfonso appeared with their coffee and tea.
When she’d finished her espresso and Lann his tea, he said, “Would you like me to show you what I have in mind for the church?”
“That sounds good.”
He led the way to the neglected church garden. They walked among weeds and untrimmed rose bushes under the faint yellow light that fell from the porch.
“The landscaper hasn’t gotten around to it yet,” he said, “but when the garden’s done, it will look similar to the square with the statue in the first cloister. Only, instead of a statue, it will have the fountain. Let’s go inside.”
It was as if he needed to do this, as if sharing his plans for the church would somehow connect her to his future.
“Are you leaving the bell tower for last?” she asked.
“I’ll start with the tower.”
Inside the church, he flicked on some spotlights. Their footsteps echoed down the path that divided the aisles.
He stopped in front of a statue of Saint Thomas. “I love this one especially, for his eyes.”
She took a closer look. Indeed, his eyes were striking. They seemed haunted, lost, and lonely.
“Why does he seem so sad?” she asked.
“Because he doubts. He can’t believe until he’s seen a miracle with his own eyes.”
She contemplated the statement.
“Do you know the painting of Caravaggio?” he asked.
“The Incredulity of Saint Thomas?”
“Yes. I love that painting. Sometimes I go to Berlin just to see it in the Sanssouci Palace.”
She looked back at the face of Saint Thomas. “Do you believe in miracles?”
His voice adopted a sad note. “Not the kind I’d like to believe in.”
When she turned her face back to him, he was looking at her intently. Who was the man she’d fallen for really? Would she ever know?
They contin
ued their visit while Lann pointed out a few paintings and features as he walked her around the cathedral.
When they had done a full circle, he draped his arm around her shoulders. “I believe I have something to verify.”
She grabbed his wrist when he lifted the fabric of her dress. “Not here.”
“Why not?” he asked in a husky voice.
“It’s a church.”
“So it is.”
She slapped his hand away. “Have you no morals?”
“No,” he said easily. Taking her hand, he ushered her outside to the dry fountain and kissed her neck. “A better venue?”
“A little.”
She was rewarded for her less than one hundred percent enthusiasm with a gentle bite that had her crying out in surprise.
Turning her around, he bunched the fabric of her dress in his fists, and lifted it over her hips. When her naked ass was exposed, he uttered a sound from deep in his chest that sounded very much like a growl.
“You know what’s going to happen now, krasavitsa, don’t you?” he asked, bending her over with a hand on her back.
“Yes,” she said with a shaky breath.
He pushed her dress up to her waist, leaving her lower body exposed. “Tell me.”
“You’re going to fuck me.”
“How am I going to fuck you?” He traced her folds with a finger, and groaned with approval when he found her wet.
“Hard,” she said.
Bending over her, he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
She moaned at the promise, needing him as much with her soul and her mind as with her body.
“Don’t move.” His touch disappeared.
His zipper sounded, and then the ruffling of clothes. She felt his heat at her back before he’d even touched her again. He gripped her hip in one hand, and moved the other between her legs to cup her sex. She cried out when he pressed two fingers inside, massaging her clit with his thumb.
“How much do you like this, krasavitsa?”
She arched her back and pushed closer to him, rotating her hips.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Fuck my fingers. I want to watch.”
Spurred on by his erotic talk, she did what he demanded. He allowed her to move at her own pace until she was panting with her building release. When her inner muscles started to clench around his fingers, he withdrew his hand and slid down behind her to continue with his tongue where his fingers took off.
Aeromancist, The Beginning (SECOND EDITION): Prequel (7 Forbidden Arts Book 2) Page 14
