by Rhodan, Rhea
When her words had no effect, she tried to wiggle herself loose. Her body hummed with awareness. The bare skin of her bottom was in direct contact with lightly-haired, well-muscled thighs. The tickle of an unshaved nuzzle against her throat sent shivers through her body.
“Aw, Cayden. You feel so good. I’m never letting you go again.” Soft lips and the dart of a hot tongue on her throat, the roughened tips of callused fingers stumbling over ties, then smoothing low on her bare back evoked another, more powerful, round of shivers, and the beginnings of an ache.
An ache there was no time for. “We need to stop—”
“No, we need to keep…” His voice was muffled against the skin above her breasts.
Cayden fought to fit the words between panted breaths. “—your bleeding.” What was wrong with her? Clint aroused her as no man ever had, but this hunger bordered on frenzy.
“Love me, Cayden. Here. Now.” Clint fell back and pulled her to sit on top of him, drawing the gown off her in the process. Those rough fingertips rasped over her nipples when he palmed her breasts, coaxing the air to fill her lungs.
The better part of one of her generous thighs was pinning a white wrapping at his waist. “Your burns. I’m hurting you.”
He groaned and she tried to roll away. His hand gripped her wrist and pulled it gently, inexorably, behind her. “I’m burning all right,” he murmured in her ear, “feel that?”
She did, and he was. A wave of heat rolled over her, making her damp with sweat and desire, and an overwhelming need to soothe. She slid carefully down and knelt between his legs so she could get a better look at his wrist. Only that wasn’t what drew her eyes like a great big hard-as-iron magnet.
Clint’s hips jerked as if her stare actually touched him. “Please, oh God, please, Cayden.”
She licked her lips and swallowed to keep from drooling. Her brain was screaming something about blood loss, while her body whispered just a taste. It took tremendous effort to wrench her gaze away for even a flickering glance at the knife wound, which didn’t appear all that life-threatening from this angle. Before she realized it, her tongue was questing, then her mouth and throat were working steadily to keep what they’d found.
His breath hissed. His hands flexed rhythmically in her hair. She fell in with the beat, hummed along with the tune thrumming in the air, the earth, her body. Until it was all there was, all she was.
After a while Clint muttered, “More, damn it. I want it all.” Long fingers gripped her butt hard, dragging her back up across unyielding muscles. He crushed her lips onto his with a hand at the back of her head, while his other hand separated her thighs with slow coaxing pleasure so intense she started shaking and couldn’t stop. When she was sure she’d die of it, both large hands moved to her hips, lifting her onto him. His teeth nipped her lip, and his tongue thrust into her gasp at the same moment he slid fully home.
His powerful forearms flexed as he moved her up and down in a new, slower rhythm. Any thought she might have had regarding wounds was lost while the earth rose and stars fell. Ever-mounting waves of need crested in sharp-edged ecstasy, rolled in troughs of gentle ease, only to rise and swell again, ever higher, ever deeper, until she no longer knew if she was awake or dreaming.
Cayden yawned. Early morning light trickled through the leaves. Birds were singing long, beautiful melodies. She could feel the Crossing’s contentment, as well as her own.
Most of her was warm, lots of her was sore, all of her was exhausted. She was lying on her side, her back snuggled against Clint’s front, her head resting on the firm pillow of a large relaxed bicep in the crook of his bent arm. His other arm sheltered her shoulder, one palm resting low on her belly. Considering they were both lying naked on the ground, it shouldn’t have felt so comfortable, or so comforting.
She turned the hand to examine the wound on his left wrist. Only a thin white line, so white it seemed to glow in the sparse light, remained. Twisting under his arm, she searched for the bandages protecting his burns and found only smooth white skin.
“You keep squirming like that, luscious little witch, you’re going to wake the dragon.” His deep drowsy voice rumbled through her pleasantly. He pulled her tighter against him and she felt the evidence of said waking dragon. Certainly appealing in theory, but…
“I’d love to, but my aches have aches. And I think my eyes are full of flaked-off makeup, or a pound of sand.”
He shifted to his back and stretched, then propped himself up on his elbow and smiled at her.
He smoothed what was surely a dreadlock by now from her forehead. “Must be sand, your mother had them wash your makeup off.”
“Seriously?”
“It seemed to be her major concern. Second was the social inconvenience of you being pregnant with my child.”
“I can imagine. How did your parents take it?”
“Mom was mooning over knitting patterns of tiny hats, shoes, and jackets last time I saw her.”
“Gran says there’s magic in knitting, but neither one of us have the patience to learn it. What about Lewis?”
“As soon as I made it clear I was marrying you, he was thrilled.”
“Clint, about that—”
“That is non-negotiable. You are marrying me. Pretty much everything else is up for discussion.”
“Including how our daughter is raised, in terms of her heritage and legacy?” That was non-negotiable for her.
“As long as she knows she always has a choice, I don’t see a problem.”
Cayden’s stomach chose that moment to emit a long growl.
Clint’s laugh bounced around the trees. “She’s taking after me already.” His gaze locked on her belly.
“What?”
“Your oak tat. Those itty bitty acorns weren’t there before.”
She looked down. “It does change with the seasons. Those are definitely a new addition, though.” He got up. “Where are you going?”
“To find my shirt for you to wear on the drive. Jeans are enough for me.”
Still lying on her back, Cayden caught a glimpse of a hospital gown hanging from a branch. “They’ll be worried.”
“Your grandmother will have come up with something to tell them, I’m sure. We’ll go to my folks’ for breakfast and some clothes, then we can go check on her. I bet she wants to get out of there ASAP.”
Clint found his shirt on the other end of the glade. Undamaged, if somewhat less white than it had been last night, it was longer on her than some of her dresses, more than enough to cover her for the drive into Boston. He insisted on carrying her down the hill. She’d never seen the big SUV whose locks thunked open when he clicked the key. She raised her brows.
“I’ll tell you all about it, along with the conversation I had with Dean Cumberland, on the way.”
When he opened the door to lift her in, Nevermore flew in to perch on the back of the headrest behind her. He eyed Clint’s bare chest with considerably less enthusiasm than she did. “Cayden like stupid naked Keeper love magic. Nevermore like feathers.”
“Not so stupid. It was strong enough to put Clint back in his body, heal it, and bring mine all the way over here.”
“Make Connecticut first aurora borealis.”
Clint cocked his head at Nevermore. “Good call, buddy. You know, I think my mom’s raspberries are ripe. If you promise to control yourself, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Nevermore have own good word mother Keeper.”
Clint squeezed her hand and shook his head. “My dad is not going to know what hit him.”
“Father Keeper, clueless—”
“Nevermore!”
Epilogue
“No, Muriel, you are not helping me plan the wedding, Moira is. And if you and Todd aren’t one hundred percent sweetness and light to C
lint’s parents at all times, Clint and I will elope in the tackiest chapel in Las Vegas. After which, I will send the photos to every newspaper on the East Coast, including the Boston Herald.” She was bluffing. Cayden would never do that to Moira, who had burst into happy tears when Cayden had asked for her help in planning the wedding.
Her mother’s face went pale under her Chanel makeup and the carefully engineered lighting of the formal parlor of her parents’ house. Clint was sipping some ancient scotch Cayden had made Robert fetch him from the cellar while her father sat staring at the contract she’d handed him. Clint’s quick wink informed her he enjoyed seeing her mother uncomfortable.
“But”—her father frowned over the paper—“this says that either you or your fiancé, whose father performed manual labor in this house—”
“Damned fine labor, at that. Nicest work in the place.” Clint set the glass down on the sideboard.
Her father swiped a hand over his forehead and went on “—could rescind visitation rights at any time for any reason, in addition to revoking any and all custodial rights to our granddaughter should anything happen to either one or both of you.” He looked up at her. “You do realize if I sign this, the child will never see a penny.”
“She won’t need it. After he made arrangements to have Buchanan’s Crossing made an historic site, Uncle Dean made Clint a full partner in his new venture, including all of Clint’s employees. He’s also underwriting the costs of my fencing school, including all new equipment, and an annual full scholarship college fund. He’s already started a trust fund for our daughter, too. Before you attempt to interfere, I should tell you he and Gran are in Scotland, planning historic renovations on ancestral land over there. No need to be too concerned, though, they’ll be back in time for the wedding.”
“Why on earth is he doing all that?”
“Because he’s sorry for the trouble he and his father caused. Because he wants to make a new start. Because he wants to make himself happy doing things for people other than himself. Because he wants to be part of a loving family he’s related to by blood.”
“Sounds crazy, but if you say so. Now why on earth would we want to sign this?” He tapped the sheaf of papers.
“Because you want your granddaughter to be someone you share yourself with, not merely another possession? Because maybe the idea of taking her sailing just to see her laugh could mean more to you than molding her into something for you to show off? Maybe you want to buy her a pony and board it, just because she wants one so badly she dreams about having one at night, then cries in the morning when she wakes up and finds out it wasn’t real. Because making her happy might actually make you happy too.
“And Muriel, maybe you’ll sign this because you want to hold your granddaughter in your arms and inhale her baby scent. When she’s older, you might want to take her shopping, without all the criticism and strings attached, or just having the nanny do it.”
She wasn’t bluffing any more.
“This is a chance for both of you to demonstrate to Clint and me that our daughter will be safe with you. Because if you don’t, she already has a pair of grandparents who can’t wait to give her everything they have.”
Her father snickered, but held his tongue. Baby steps.
“I’m talking about love here. Sign that paper if you two have any to spare. It’s too late for me, but I am offering you a chance with your granddaughter.”
Arching eyebrows caused faint lines on her mother’s forehead. “Will you be raising her to believe in…?”
“Her maternal heritage? Her legacy? Her abilities, whatever they may be? I know what you’re afraid of. Your secret’s safe with me.” Cayden looked pointedly at her father, then back to her mother. “As long as you don’t foist your issues with it on my daughter.”
Her mother tsked and smiled pure ice. “I don’t know why you insist on clinging to that silliness. No one believes such nonsense, anyway.”
Cayden returned the smile perfectly. She’d seen it often enough. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
On the mantle, her parents’ wedding photo began shuffling toward to the edge. The wind kicked up outside hard enough to rattle the tall windows, and Todd’s pipe in the ashtray started smoking.
Cayden took in the alarm on her mother’s face and broadened her smile without warming it. “As I was saying, there’s no knowing the magnitude our daughter’s abilities will attain, considering the combination of Clint’s background and mine, together with the influences she’s been exposed to.” She leaned back into him, squeezing the strong hand wrapped protectively over her increasing belly.
“What on earth is she talking about, Muffy?” Her father looked at his wife with such a typically bewildered expression, Cayden felt herself wanting to forgive him for most everything.
A sweet, soft, sigh of surrender escaped her mother’s lips. “Just sign the papers, darling. Our granddaughter will simply have to be easier to get along with than our daughter. She couldn’t possibly be more difficult.”
About the Author
Rhea Rhodan resides in Minnetonka, Minnesota and has been telling herself stories since long before she could write. She attended the University of Minnesota with a focus on Journalism, then Brown Institute for Broadcast Journalism. After many adventures, misadventures, and a couple of short marriages, she found the love of her life in Regensburg, Germany, and has been living happily ever after since.
She journaled those adventures extensively (some might say rabidly) beginning in middle school, but didn’t combine her writing and story-telling until several years ago, when one of the stories grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she gave in and wrote it. Having tasted freedom, her muse refuses to return to the confines of her head, and has successfully turned the tables, keeping her at the keyboard to appease it.
Her stories always had a twist of magic or a touch of the paranormal. Why the romance? Because she believes in happy endings, and helping people imagine them, helps them find their own.
She welcomes feedback and fan mail :>). You can join her on Facebook, too. Rhea is always happy to meet new friends.
www.rhearhodan.com
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If you enjoyed this book, you might like her debut novel, a Musa Publishing Editor’s Top Pick, Finding Grace, available at Musa Publishing and at popular on-line retailers.
