Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Oh, God,” he gasped, as his hands tugged weakly at her shoulder, “Marsha. Stop. That’s enough now, or else—”

  But she merely chuckled as she twisted away from his grasp. “I don’t know, Sam. You don’t sound very sure that’s what you want,” she murmured a little breathlessly against his skin, moving faster still, taking him deeper. A rising current of excitement seemed to grip them both. She felt him grow rigid all over, his hips heaved off the mattress and then he was pulsing within her mouth.

  “Oh, God, Marsha!”

  Her name blasted from his lips. The sound of his voice, and the waves of emotion that accompanied it, washed over her; as sweet and hot and uncontained as the juices that exploded in her mouth. The force of his orgasm rippled through her as well. She trembled at the impact.

  How was it, she wondered dazedly, that she could feel so connected to this man, in some ways... while in other ways he remained a complete mystery?

  Sam was still gasping for breath when he felt her crawl back up beside him. She ran her tongue lightly across his lips, and he opened his eyes to stare at her. He’d come so close to screwing things up with her tonight. He’d hoped to find some way to tie her to him; to bind her, or maybe blind her, so that when she finally did learn the truth she wouldn’t pull away. Yet, once again, she’d managed to turn the tables on him.

  “Amazing,” he mumbled.

  She was smiling serenely as she settled against his shoulder. “Mmm. So you said. And I thought, now that I have this amazing reputation to uphold...”

  He could only groan in reply. He’d known her a week – one short week! And now, he couldn’t believe how empty, how colorless his world had been without her. What, in God’s name, would he do if she rejected him?

  She laughed softly, oblivious to his worries. “Anyway, I know you don’t want to talk about him, and really, I don’t think about him very much at all, I promise you. But for so long Alex was just... the person I associated with sex. I mean, that’s natural enough, isn’t it? We were married, after all. And, well, he just sort of set the standard, low as it was.”

  Sam pushed himself back up on his elbow. He’d had enough of that topic. “Right. But now I want to be the one who sets the standard around here.” He’d meant for it to come out lightly, teasingly, but he couldn’t keep a note of fierceness from creeping into his voice. He knew she’d heard it, too.

  “Oh, Sam.” She smiled at him sadly. Whatever she planned to say next, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it.

  “Shh,” he commanded, softly. “From now on, I want to be the one you think about and talk about and dream about.”

  “I don’t think I ever actually did dream about Alex,” she mused. “I just sort of got sucked into his dreams. Now, Jerry on the other hand—”

  “Don’t,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Don’t talk about any of them tonight.”

  She shut up obligingly, and bit her lip as he straddled her thighs. “My turn,” he told her, softly menacing, and then grinned as he felt the anticipatory shimmer that ran through her. “Two can play that game, you know.”

  Marsha stared up into Sam’s smiling face, and felt her heart begin to pound. He didn’t even need to touch her now to elicit a response. He merely had to look at her like that, and memory and imagination did the rest. He lowered himself on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head with his hands. And slowly, softly, he began to kiss her. Such deep, delicious kisses.

  Her head spinning, Marsha closed her eyes and surrendered to the feel and the taste of him. To the heat, and the weight and the tingling currents of energy that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.

  Then, while she was still wanting more, he pulled his mouth away from hers and moved on. Trailing his way slowly down the length of her throat, leaving a warm string of kisses across her chest, stopping only when he reached her breast.

  She cried out at the light, teasing touch of his tongue as it circled her aureole; arching her back to bring him into closer contact. Her fingers itched to pull him down to her, but his hands held her immobile while he continued the gentle torment, first at one breast and then the other. Now tugging at one nipple with his lips, and now flicking the other with his tongue. And now with his teeth, just barely, barely rasping both of them.

  “More!” The strangled noise that escaped from her was more growl than groan. And despite everything they’d done in the last twenty-four hours, it still embarrassed her to hear herself sound so depraved. Until he lifted his head to smile at her, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

  Emotions roiled within her; need and desire, stronger than any she had ever known. The desire to dissolve the boundaries between them was overwhelming. She wanted to merge, not just their bodies, but their hearts and minds. And their souls, as well. To be that look in his eyes, as well as its cause.

  “More, Sam, please... .”

  “Anything you say, angel,” he promised, releasing her hands so that he could cup both her breasts, lightly squeezing them together as he buried his face in their fullness. His touch grew more demanding, but her legs were trapped together between his thighs, and the heat and need that gathered there were making their own demands on her as well. Her hips strained against him.

  “Oh, God, Sam,” she pleaded, her fingers flexing on his back. “Oh, now. Oh, please now.”

  He lifted his head again. “What, right now?” he asked, still teasing, but she could tell he had to struggle to keep his tone light this time, and the knowledge that he, too was coming close to losing control, pushed her even farther toward the edge.

  “Yes,” she moaned, “Oh God, yes,” as he spread her thighs with gentle hands and carefully fitted himself to her opening.

  She wrapped her legs high on his back as he began to move within her. Slowly at first, his voice a ragged whisper in her ear. And everything inside her clenched tighter at the sound of his words. “From now on,” he panted, moving faster now, each thrust carrying them higher and higher, “This is what I want you to think about, when you think of making love. This. Tonight. Right now. Is what I want you to remember. Always. You and me, Marsha. Together. No one else. Just you. Here. With me.”

  She felt the tension inside him escalate until she could barely breathe. His need for her wrapped itself around her heart so tight – he was pleading with her. She could sense the intent behind his words, but could not fathom his meaning. What was he trying to do? Why was this so important to him?

  It didn’t matter. She had no choice but to answer his plea in the only way she knew how. Energy poured from her in a heated rush as she opened her heart to him, and offered herself up, body and soul. Was it only her imagination? Or did his heart respond in kind?

  Their auras merged. Light exploded around them. Colors ignited in a blazing storm – mixing and melding – changing them both forever.

  “From now on,” Sam rasped. “You got that?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes!” she promised, as she felt the first spasms rock them both. From now on. Forever. For the rest of my life.

  “Oh, God, Sam!” she cried out, clutching him ever more tightly. The climax rolled on, and on until she worried it might never end. What have you done to me? she wondered, as it finally slowed; as she felt him go limp in her arms, her name barely a whisper on his lips this time, like a prayer. And, dear God, what have I done – to us both?

  But there was no point in worrying about it now, she thought wearily. What was done, was done. She knew the promise he had wrung from her would hold her with all the force of a vow. And if he didn’t return her feelings? If she’d been wrong, and his heart had remained locked to her; if all of the changes she’d sensed had been on her part, alone? Then the rest of her life was likely to seem very long and unbearably lonely.

  * * *

  A long time later, Sam felt her stir in his arms. “So. What color was it, anyway?” she asked softly.

  “What color was what?”

  “Your hair, of course.” />
  “Oh. It was black,” he yawned, nestling closer.

  “That figures,” she chuckled. “I should have guessed.”

  He pressed a kiss against the side of her head, and slipped back to sleep, still smiling at the sound of her rich laughter soft in his ears.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  * * * *

  The sky above Dan’s head was clear, pale, barely blue. But there were clouds moving in to form a mackerel sky. And flights of gulls – in small flocks, or all alone – winged their way across it, heading inland. It was too early in the season for the winter storms to begin, but just the same, the signs were there.

  He sighed and returned his attention to the work he was doing, transplanting seedlings. A job that left him free to work in the quietest, most isolated parts of the nursery. A job that required no assistance, no conversation, no consultations, and very little thought. The thoughts came anyway.

  “You have to talk to Nick,” Lucy had insisted the night before, as she snuggled against him in bed; and just as he’d begun to feel the tension that gripped him ebb away, she’d brought it all surging back again.

  “About what?” he’d snarled, as he twisted away from her. “Shit, Lucy. What’s wrong this time?”

  “He’s still running around like he’s cheating on her. He has to stop it.”

  “Lucy... c’mon, if he doesn’t care how it looks to your folks, and she doesn’t care; why the hell can’t you just ignore it?”

  “Because she’s pregnant.”

  What? “Oh, fuck. Well, now that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Way to go, Nick. Jesus.”

  “Dan!” Lucy sounded shocked. “Is that all you can say?”

  Guilt made him feel even grumpier than before. “Well, what the hell do you want me to say? Congratulations?”

  “Nothing,” she snapped, really angry now. “Not a damn thing. You know what, Cavanaugh? You’re right. Don’t talk to Nick. And while you’re at it, don’t bother talking to me either.”

  “Suits me,” he’d muttered as he felt her turn her back to him.

  Christ, he thought again, as he felt the tension inside him ratchet tighter. How much more complicated could this fucking mess get?

  How many pregnant women do you think I can marry at the same time?

  The words he’d spoken to Paige, half in jest, so many years ago, came back to haunt him. He hadn’t believed her, of course, when she’d told him about the baby she said they were having. He’d known she was lying. What were the odds of something like that happening, after all?

  But what were the odds of it all happening, again? Would Paige have had the nerve to try and pull that stunt with Nick? She had nerve enough for pretty much anything. But Nick would not have found the situation at all amusing. Dan was sure of that.

  Nick would not have been able to laugh at any threat to his marriage, no matter how imaginary or insignificant. He wouldn’t have seen the absurdity of it. The Grecos, Dan thought bitterly, rarely saw the humor in anything.

  Nick would most definitely not have made jokes about it, as he had done. No, Nick would just kill the stupid bitch.

  Dan slammed the trowel he was using down on the table. No, he fucking would not either! That was not possible. That was just lack of sleep talking. Lack of sleep and tension and fear. And guilt.

  And frustration, he thought, remembering Lucy’s unyielding back against his spine; just when he’d needed her the most...

  Maybe he should just get it over with? Tell her everything he’d been worrying about and hope for the best. Nothing was worth this cold emptiness between them. She’d rant and scream, of course, but in the end? He was pretty certain he could wear her down. Maybe he’d just go call her now? But the sound of footsteps approaching forestalled him.

  He looked up. Oh, shit. “What are you doing here, Nick?” he asked, coldly. “I can’t really talk right now, I’m busy.”

  “I can see that,” Nick answered, dryly, glancing pointedly around. “Real busy.”

  “Did you want something?” Dan focused on the root ball of the plant he’d just taken from its pot.

  “Yeah. That would be the point of all the messages I left you all week. You’ve been avoiding me; how come?”

  “Like I said. I’ve been busy.”

  “Dan...”

  “Hey, Lucy’s been so tied up helping Scout with your wedding, she hasn’t been in to work at all. Not once all month. You think that hasn’t made for more work for the rest of us? Think again.”

  “So, now you’re blaming Lucy for your screw ups?” Nick’s voice was dangerously cold. For the first time that morning, Dan took a good look at his wife’s cousin. What he read in the other man’s face was not reassuring. He looked like someone who could do murder, all right.

  “Exactly, what are we talking about, Nick?” Dan drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms defensively.

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “I’m not in the mood to play games.”

  “Paige Delaney.”

  Oh, fuck. Dan took a deep breath and steeled himself, willing himself to stay calm. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, as levelly as he could.

  Nick stared at him for a moment, almost blankly. And then, “Oh, I think you do,” he said, his voice even colder and more angry sounding. “I think you know a lot more about Paige than anyone’s ever guessed.”

  For a moment, Dan felt his gaze falter. This was Nick, he thought desperately. Nick! The man was Godfather to his daughter, for Christ’s sake. They’d shot hoops together and fished, and gone camping – hell, they’d been friends for years. This couldn’t be happening. Except that it was.

  “Well, Nick, if I did know something, or if I thought I did... I think you know I’d be the last person to talk about it,” he said at last.

  “That’s your solution? You wanna try and keep this a secret?”

  Dan ground his teeth together. The mocking tone in Nick’s voice angered him. Shit, he’d just given the man his word that he wouldn’t expose him. What call had he got to sound so pissed off?

  He glared at him angrily. “Why? You got a better idea? We’re family, Nick. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Don’t talk family to me, you son-of-a-bitch!” Nick snarled at him suddenly, making Dan glad for the potting bench standing between them. “I’m not the who’s put my family at risk here.”

  Adrenaline pumped through Dan’s veins. Jesus Christ, the man was a hair’s breadth from going postal. He wondered if he was carrying a gun? “Hey... now, take it easy, bud. Just calm down. No one needs to know anything about this, and no one needs to get hurt, okay?”

  “No?” Nick sneered. “How about Lucy, then? You don’t think she could get hurt?”

  Dan froze at the mention of his wife’s name. “What about Lucy? Don’t bring Lucy into this, Nick,” he warned quietly.

  “Why? You think she’s not gonna figure this out at some point, Dan? Of course she will! And then she’s the one who’s gonna be hurt. Isn’t she?”

  Nick’s voice had gone cold again, and Dan stared at him in horror. He was threatening Lucy? The bastard was threatening to hurt Lucy? Son-of-a-bitch!

  Horror transmuted itself to rage in an instant. With a cry of absolute fury, Dan threw over the potting bench and launched himself at Nick. The force of his attack knocked both men off their feet. They hit the ground in a flurry of flying fists. Their struggle brought them into contact with several large objects, and Dan was only distantly aware of a series of thuds and crashes.

  “You son-of-a-bitch, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” he raged as he felt his fist connect with Nick’s face. A moment later pain exploded across the side of his head as Nick landed a blow with a broken board he’d picked up from somewhere. Dan’s legs gave way and he found himself seated on the ground, too stunned to get immediately back to his feet. He glared at Nick, who stood, hands resting on his thighs, panting heav
ily a few feet away.

  “I don’t give a shit if you did kill Paige, you stupid bastard,” Dan rasped. “But if you even think about hurting Lucy, so help me, Nick, I will take you apart. Limb from fucking limb.”

  Nick shook his head to clear it, as the implication sank home. “What?” he stared at Dan unbelievingly. “Dan – what the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You heard me.” Dan tried to stand, and then appeared to think better of it; he collapsed back onto the ground with a groan.

  “Yeah,” Nick frowned at him in confusion. “I heard you, all right. But... Jesus, Dan. I didn’t kill Paige.”

  “Right,” Dan agreed pleasantly. “Of course you didn’t. Whatever you say, Nick. I still want you away from Lucy, though.”

  Nick eased himself down to sit on one of the fallen tables and stared uncertainly at the man in front of him. “Dan, could we please get a grip here? Why would I want to kill Paige?”

  Dan sighed wearily. “I don’t know, Nick. You said you came out here to talk about her.” He shrugged. “So, fine. Talk.”

  “What I wanted to talk about was what went on between you and her.”

  Dan raised one eyebrow. “Me and Paige? Ancient history, man. What d’you wanna talk about that for?”

  “How ancient?” Nick pressed.

  “Sixteen years,” Dan muttered using his shirtsleeve to dab at the blood on his face. “Shit, what’d you hit me with anyway?”

  “So you two weren’t carrying on some kind of affair all this time, then?”

  Dan eyed him contemptuously. “You think I’ve been cheating on Lucy? Tell me, bud, do I look like a man with a death wish?”

  “Well...”

  “Fine. Don’t answer that.” Dan shook his head. “Of course I wouldn’t cheat on her. Hell, Nick you know better than that. And I wasn’t cheating on her sixteen years ago either, in case that’s what you’re thinking. If Lucy and I hadn’t been broken up at the time, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Paige. Or anyone else, either.”