“Aye, love,” he murmured into her hair.
Leaning backward, he shifted so his head would rest against the armrest. He carried Isabelle with him. His feet still rested on the floor, the sofa’s length too small to accommodate his size. The position put her body in line with his and gave her room to uncurl her legs.
On a soft sigh, her body went limp. “You feel good.”
He could not swear he heard her correctly, her words were so soft, but his blood warmed all the same. Smoothing her hair over her back, he chose not to respond. If he had misheard, he would only embarrass himself. If he had not, he was quite certain she would not wish to discuss the slip of her tongue. Best to let her relax, as she so obviously needed to do.
He focused instead on what she had revealed. ’Twas no question about his beliefs in her claims. The seraphs’ gifts were strong. Clearly, hers was the ability to prophesize, and she had learned how to distinguish between the acts of the subconscious and messages granted from the Almighty. Only Anne had come to the Templar understanding her gift. That Isabelle should be so in tune with hers spoke to the strength it would eventually hold. In time, she would see more clearly, understand the details she could not decipher in this nightmare.
But who was the child? She said naught about recognizing the voice. Naught about when this dream might take place. He did not care for the possibility the child might be in a cemetery. Only Azazel would lure an innocent into a place where the dead rested. There were too many such locations where Azazel gained power, as well.
He did not care for the spaces between Isabelle’s ribs either. He frowned as his fingers slid over pronounced bone. God’s teeth, he could not stomach her suffering. ’Twas his duty to protect her. Without even knowing, he had already failed her, a fact he could not accept. If he had not walked away, mayhap he could have prevented her current torment. At the very least, he would not have to concern himself with what distance was proper and what amount of closeness he should offer.
She twitched in his arms, and the fingers she had curled into his shirt loosened. Despite himself, he smiled. To hold her like this was an unspeakable pleasure. For a little while, he could pretend mountains did not span between them.
The tingling in his legs, however, would not let him stay in their current position. Hating to disturb her, he curled forward, cradled her body in one arm, and guided her knees over his other. Then he stood and headed for the sleeping chamber. Isabelle murmured something he could not interpret, but the way she snuggled closer hinted she found no protest with his movement. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the top of hers.
At the doorway, he nudged the light switch with his elbow, cloaking them in only the soft light the lamp on the nightstand emitted. Caradoc lowered her to the mattress, released her legs, and pulled the covers back. With great care, he then slid her the rest of the way into the bed. She lay on her side, as he knew she preferred to sleep, the way he had cradled her leaving her facing his pillow.
He could not help but smile. She belonged thus.
Before all the turmoil that brewed inside him could fester, he quickly discarded her shoes. It took only a heartbeat of indecision before he decided she would sleep more comfortably without her jeans and stripped them off. Through sheer force of will, he managed to cover her body without noticing more than the scrap of red that identified her thong underwear.
Those bits of cloth he loved almost as much as he loved her. ’Twas great play to use his teeth to—
At the abrupt tightening of his groin, he stopped the thought and expelled a hiss. She had not come here for pleasure. He would be damned if he robbed her of the sleep she desired.
Gritting his teeth, he crossed to his side of the bed, snapped off the lamp, and shucked his jeans. As he pulled his shirt over his head, a flicker of light from the balcony doors announced an incoming storm. For Isabelle, there could be no more perfect combination for a night of slumber. Like he enjoyed sleeping with the fresh air on his skin, she slept deeply when the heavens clashed.
Caradoc climbed into the bed, careful not to jar the mattress. As if she could sense his sudden presence, she scooted toward him. Her hand fell so close to his chest her pinkie grazed his skin. Her nose nearly touched his. He inhaled the sweet perfume that clung to her hair and tried to ignore the increasing swelling of his cock.
“Ah, Isa, I have missed you,” he whispered.
Another flash of light brought with it the long low roll of distant thunder. It also illuminated the room enough he glimpsed her face, the angelic innocence that clung to regal cheekbones and a slightly upturned nose. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder, and he caught a lock of it between thumb and forefinger. He lifted the silken strands to his lips, dusting them with a kiss.
“I know you do not believe me, but I hate that I caused you pain. I never meant for it.” In the darkness, he found the freedom to speak what she would not let him say. The words brought comfort to the ache within his gut, even if she could not hear them.
Dropping the lock of her hair, he covered her hand with his own. “I would spend the rest of eternity making up for the years we have been apart.” His throat closed, choking his whisper, as a plea worked its way out of the depths of his heart. “If you would but give me the chance.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed down the emotion. ’Twas no good to beg for opportunities when she could not hear his words. In the morning, when she had rested, he would try again. Mayhap a dreamless night would make her more willing to listen.
His heart ground to a halt as Isabelle’s mouth captured his. Nay, ’twas a dream. He had fallen asleep. This coaxing of her lips could not be real.
Her teeth pricked into his lower lip. Tugged.
Nay, ’twas real. Zounds!
On a groan, Caradoc looped his arm around her waist, tucked it beneath the side she lay upon, and dragged her flush against his body. Her curves molded around him like custom crafted armor. Gently sloping hips meshed against his, parted just slight enough that beneath his boxer-briefs the tip of his hardened cock nestled against warm flesh. Full breasts pressed into his chest, her nipples sharp little buds against his skin, despite the covering of her sweater. Their abdomens touched, bare skin to bare skin.
Her hands, however, worked free. She caught his face between her palms, lifting up, kissing him as if she were starved for the taste of him.
He mirrored her, sliding his hands into her hair as he too rose off the pillows. Urgency flowed between them, charged by the flashing light, the calamitous rumble of the clouds. Too much time had passed between them, too many wounds left to seep without salve. Too long had they gone without the one fulfillment that rendered arguments insignificant and bonded them in ways that defied definition. All that remained was need. Raw, aching, and unquenchable.
He matched the hard demands of her mouth. Answered the seeking thrust of her tongue with equal hunger. His hands slipped from her hair, glided down her arms, and latched onto the hem of her sweater. She leaned away only long enough to allow him to pull it over her head. Then she was in his arms again, her mouth on his, her hands reaching behind her back to release the clasp on her bra. He set his hands over hers and slid the thin straps down her shoulders to her elbows. Gasping for a breath, he broke the kiss to guide the straps over her hands.
Lightning triple-fired, giving Caradoc a mind-numbing glimpse of smooth, creamy skin and rosy nipples. He longed to feel their weighty softness in his palms, to feel the hard points against his tongue. Countless dreams did not compare to the reality of warm flesh and sweet flavors. Leaning forward, he traced one taut silhouette with his index finger. His mouth followed the slow descent until he reached the hard bud. He closed his lips over it with a quiet groan.
Isabelle’s gasp rang out over a clap of thunder. Her fingers latched into his hair, pressing his head closer as she arched her back. Beneath his lips, her heart beat like a drum. Bent near to her body in their sitting position, the scent of her arousal flooded his no
se. She let out a low moan that vibrated against his tongue.
His body answered like she had cracked a bullwhip. His cock pulsed. Desire surged through his veins.
As if she could hear the roaring of his blood, she pushed at the waistband of his boxer-briefs and guided them over his hips until the mattress forbade further removal. Denied the opportunity to linger at her breast, Caradoc released her nipple with one last meaningful suckle and kicked off the rest of his clothing.
Before he had fully settled back onto the mattress, Isabelle was in his lap, her thong removed, her wet flesh rubbing against his eager cock as her breasts rubbed against his chest. He slid his hand beneath the graceful slope of her buttocks and lifted her until the tip of his shaft aligned with her slick opening. Lowering her, he slid into her tight sheath on one prolonged thrust.
God’s…blood…
Caradoc’s body shuddered in time with hers. His breath lodged somewhere between his lungs and his throat, and he opened his mouth, gasping for air. Isabelle’s fingernails scored into his shoulders, her equal efforts at breathing evidenced in her tight grip.
And then she moved. With her legs wrapped around his waist, she gripped with her thighs and eased herself up the length of his erection, erasing Caradoc’s ability to hold on to his control. He gripped her waist, thrust up high into her warm wet depths.
A soft cry slipped off her lips.
He guided her into a steady motion, bringing her body down as he lifted his hips, raising her up as he sank away. She moved in time with him, their rhythm punctuated by her soft gasps. Each little noise, each grip of her hot flesh as she took him deeper pulled innumerable feeling from inside him. Sensation gathered. Built to intoxicating levels.
His thrusts became harder. Her gasps transformed into quiet mewls.
Beyond the balcony doors, the storm echoed the tempest that raged between them. A bright flash mirrored the specks of light that lit behind his closed eyelids, and as thunder crashed overhead, ecstasy burst through Caradoc. It carried him through time, transporting him past the barrier of three years without Isabelle, and collided with a force that turned his lungs into a vise and stilled his heart. He groaned with the power of it, his voice blending with Isabelle’s sharp cry of pleasure.
As their bodies stilled, and his senses slowly returned, he felt the flutter of her flesh around his cock. He wound his arms around her slender frame and gathered her in his arms. Soft kisses fell upon his cheek. Her hair caressed his arms. He opened his eyes and pressed a tender kiss into the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
His Isabelle. His seraph.
Sensing now was not the time for words, he sank into the pillows, taking her with him. He closed his eyes to the loving caress of her palm against his abdomen and the pelt of rain against glass.
Chapter 18
The light tap of raindrops lured Isabelle from tranquility. Warm comfort enveloped her. Her mind was still. More silent than it had been in longer than she could remember.
She opened her eyes to the corrugated expanse of Caradoc’s chest beneath her cheek. Her palm laid on one taut pectoral, ivory skin a contrast to his sun-kissed muscling. She inched her fingers to his collarbone, cupped his shoulder, and caressed the thick rise of his bicep. Mm. Masculine perfection. She’d missed waking up like this.
Turning her face into his chest, she breathed in the lingering scent of sandalwood. No more comforting aroma existed in the world. She pressed a kiss to his warm skin and rubbed her cheek over his heart before snuggling into his embrace and letting out a contented sigh. No nightmares. No dreams at all.
Heaven.
Slowly, Isabelle took a mental inventory of her body and the numerous places she connected with Caradoc. Her torso blanketed his from shoulders to waist. Each breath they shared brushed his abdomen into hers. Each exhale drew them apart. Her right hip lay against his left, putting her left thigh atop his. The rest of her leg twined between his. She rubbed his calf with the arch of her foot, then smiled as his soft cock stirred near her hipbone.
The gentle motion of his fingertips against the base of her spine announced his awakening. She tipped her face up to look at his, admiring long thick eyelashes that dusted over noble cheekbones. His mouth was soft, the corners lifted with the faintest hint of a smile.
Content to bask in the silence, Isabelle merely watched him drift between full wakefulness and the deep slumber he’d been in moments before. Her body felt heavy, the longing she’d been unable to escape sated. The sensation took her back to the previous night, when she’d pretended sleep while he undressed her and put her bed. The emotion that had filled his whispers had shattered what remained of her resistance. Provoked all the things she’d been trying to hide from not only him, but herself as well. She couldn’t ignore him, nor the love they’d shared, any longer. Her kiss had resulted in cataclysmic bliss.
Ecstasy she didn’t regret.
Isabelle’s eyes snapped open and the feeling of absolute perfection plummeted out the soles of her feet. Oh, holy God. She’d done it again—slept with Caradoc without any protection. How stupid could she get?
Shoving to her hands, she shook off his arm, sat upright, and buried her face in her palms with a groan. She hadn’t been on birth control then, nor was she now. Let alone the fact she’d been pining for Caradoc, a baby pretty much killed any chance at a sex life. Protecting herself had never entered her mind.
Caradoc’s hand glided up her spine as he sat up beside her. “What troubles you, love?”
“You.”
“Me,” he repeated flatly. His hand fell away with his sigh. “You regret last eve.”
Well, not exactly. Just the stupidity involved with her unthinking decision to satisfy desire. But explaining all that brought September up again. For the first time in weeks, she was hungry, and she didn’t intend to have that conversation before she could gobble down a whole tray of food.
Instead, she scrambled to the other side of the bed and swung her feet off the mattress. “We can talk about this later.”
As she reached down to collect her jeans, Caradoc’s arm banded around her waist and hauled her back into the bed. Before she could squirm out of his hold, he pinned her on her back, sank the full weight of his body into hers and trapped her in place. “Nay, Isa. By all that is sacred, you shall listen.”
“I don’t want to listen.” She pushed at his shoulders, aware she was being deliberately stubborn.
He squeezed his knees together, imprisoning her thighs, and captured her face between his large hands. “Aye, I well know that. But you shall.” The harshness of his voice gave way to genuine tenderness that flowed through the gentle caress of his thumb across her lips. “Three years have passed since I made the mistake of leaving you. A day has not passed that I do not regret that choice. I have thought of naught but you.” He lowered his head, feathered his lips over hers. His words became a whisper. “Dreamed of making love to you. Of hearing the ecstasy in your voice. Feeling my own.”
Sinking his chest into hers, he slowly straightened his legs until their bodies were flush, the evidence of his desire hard against the juncture of her thighs. “I have watched my brothers fall in love and wished that I could go to you. I shall not let you leave believing the love we shared in England was meaningless.” His mouth fluttered across her shoulder. “’Twas more meaningful than you can comprehend.”
His heartfelt confession should have softened her brimming anger. It should have made her wrap her arms around his waist, spread her legs, and welcome him into her body once more. The hum in her veins evidenced her immunity to him, but instead, his words sparked incomprehensible anger. He said one thing. Did another. For three years, she’d given everything she had both financially and emotionally to September. Not once had he called. Not once had he done anything to imply he spoke the truth. No matter what he said now, the brutal reality was that he’d abandoned her.
Isabelle shoved at his shoulders determined to break free. Against her wil
l, all the pent up resentment erupted. “If it was so meaningful, Caradoc, you shouldn’t have left me to raise your child alone!”
His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
Isabelle went utterly still.
* * *
Like great balls of solid iron weighed down his body, Caradoc inched upright, supporting his weight on his hands. A child? He stared down at Isabelle as every last fiber of his being ground to a halt. Her eyes held his, matched in their wide surprise. The rigid nature of her body mirrored the tension in his. Seconds passed like hours before his throat loosened enough he could choke out, “What did you say?”
She expelled a short breath and rolled her eyes toward the top of her head. “You heard me,” she mumbled.
“Aye, I heard you say you bore my child when you know such is not possible.” Annoyed beyond all measure, he pushed away from her and rocked back on his heels. “I am incapable of fathering children. My seed is sterile. So tell me, Isabelle, whose child did you bear?” Try as he might, he could not control his temper. The thought that she had borne another man’s bastard ate at something so deep inside him, he thought he might implode. She belonged to him. No other had a right to touch her. Yet, she had clearly given herself to another.
“What the hell?” Isabelle rocketed upright, dragging the sheet to her chin to cover her breasts. “How dare you accuse me of lying! Your vasectomy obviously didn’t work. Her name is September, and she’s almost three years old.”
He gritted his teeth so tightly he expected them to crack. If the child were so young, it could only mean one thing—she had been pregnant when she came to him, or had not shared the same three weeks he had if she could take a lover so soon after they had parted. “Was it the man you came to Kiddington Hall with? James was his name, as I recall.”
Color rose to her face, crimson fire that shot out through the narrow slanting of her eyes. “James? You think I slept with James? Good God, Caradoc, he’s twice my age and has a wife!”
Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars Page 15
