Faerie Faith

by Silver James

  Something hard glinted in his hazel eyes, a flash of gold beneath the green flecked with brown that was hidden as he lowered his lids. He looked lazy and negligent, his mouth a sardonic slash as he stood and moved back to the kitchen, leaving her chilled and unsure.

  “I’ll not force m’self on any woman.” His jaw clenched as he spit the words.

  Gwyn drew her knees to her chest, arms wrapping around them. She tilted her head and rested her cheek atop one knee. Guilt flooded her. Had she led him on? Sumner complained she lacked passion, so how could she have teased Venn? Thinking of Sumner sent ice knifing into her heart. She’d been warm just moments ago. Now frost seeped into her very bones.

  “I’m sorry. I’m…Sumner…”

  “Sumner what?” Disgust dripped off his words.

  “Sumner says I’m frigid.”

  Venn roared with laughter. He closed the distance between them in a blink. Grabbing her hand, he forced her to cup the front of his jeans. His erection filled her palm and spilled over. “Frigid? No cold-blooded witch can do this to me, luv.”

  Gulping at his crass gesture, she stared at her hand, willing it to let go and return to her control. Her hand ignored her, laughing at her foolish wishes. She did manage to raise her eyes, to look at his face. Cocky and arrogant, he grinned down at her.

  She blushed, color flooding her face before she dropped her eyes. Venn watched her fight for control, a battle she was obviously losing since her fingers now caressed his erection.

  As if waking from a dream, she jerked her hand away and refused to meet his gaze. He settled beside her and tipped her face toward him with a finger under her chin. “The man you’re to marry has deemed you frigid?”

  Her gaze skittered away from his as she dropped an imperceptible nod.

  “Why would he say that? Ya were certainly blastin’ heat a moment ago.”

  She swallowed and licked her lips. His shaft twitched, and he longed to feel those luscious lips on him. Gwyn cleared her throat, luring his thoughts away from his need for her.

  “I…he…we don’t…” She swallowed again before raising her eyes to meet his gaze. “We don’t kiss.” The hand that had cupped him moments ago twitched. “Or touch.”

  Confused, his brow knitted, Venn studied her.

  “Are ya a virgin then?”

  She hesitated a moment before answering, as if weighing her guilt or innocence. Her chin rose to a stubborn angle. “No. Not exactly.”

  Venn laughed, a deep rolling chuckle that started somewhere behind his bellybutton and rumbled up through his chest. “Not exactly? Either ya’ve done the dirty or ya haven’t, girl.”

  Her eyes snapped blue fire at him. “Fine. Yes. I did it in college.” She muttered an additional word under her breath.

  “Once? Ya’ve made love t’a man just once in yer life? Was it yer prick of a fiancé?”

  Her face flamed. “None of your business.”

  His expression softened as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “But it is my business, cailín. No woman should be facin’ a life with a bloody tool without knowin’ what lovin’ should be like.” Venn lowered his voice, crooning to her now. “Let me show ya, luv. Let me love ya the way a real man loves a beautiful woman.”

  “Beautiful? You think I’m beautiful?”

  Her needy temerity ripped him apart. He wanted her in his bed, spread before him like a Christmas feast. He wanted to taste her, from her ripe breasts to the secret place between her legs. He would devour her before sinking deep inside her. She would scream his name before he finished. And then he would teach her how to please a man. How to please him. T’hell with the feckin’ arse who thought to claim her.

  Gwyneth Riley was his.

  Chapter Five

  Gwyn should get up, leave. This was wrong. She was engaged to Sumner—their wedding only weeks away. She curled her lips against her teeth, tasting Venn. There was something she needed to do. Oh, yes. Sumner. She needed to leave. Right. She’d do that in a minute.

  Instead, she simply stared at Venn, lost in his gaze. His eyes swirled with color, like murky water under a summer sun. The man was pure magic. He had to be to make her feel this way. Her breasts ached, desperate for his touch. She’d never understood her friends when they talked of damp panties. She did now. Hers were positively drenched. She wanted him on a soul-deep level.

  “I want to make love to you, Gwyn.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak emerged.

  He dropped his gaze to her chest, making her squirm. Her nipples hardened, and she swore her breasts strained toward him.

  “Touch me.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think.

  His clever fingers stroked across both breasts, the barest flick of touch. She moaned but couldn’t say whether it was from pleasure or disappointment. A moment later, his hand burrowed beneath her sweater and cupped one breast. The other was immediately jealous—until Venn raised the cashmere and fastened his mouth on her. He didn’t even bother to remove her bra. Need filled her, overriding the tiny stab of guilt hiding in her subconscious.

  Why should she care? Sumner had a mistress. Why shouldn’t she find some pleasure before she settled for a life she didn’t want?

  “Yer thinkin’ too hard, girl. I can hear it in m’own head.”

  “Make love to me, Venn.”

  “Aye, cailín. That I will.”

  With no effort, he lifted her. Striding across the room, he settled her on his bed, her back propped against a pile of pillows. With deliberate ease, he undressed her. His eyes skimmed her body from head to toe, lingering at her breasts so long she wanted to cross her arms over them, hiding them from view.

  As if he read her mind, he grabbed her hands. “I want t’look my fill, luv. Yer everything a woman should be.”

  Heat suffused her but she managed to stammer out, “You don’t think I’m fat?”

  Venn’s snorting laughter reassured her—somewhat. “Ah, luv. What shite has that prick been filling yer head with? I want a real woman who won’t break. I want breasts to fill my hands and m’mouth. I want a tòin and thighs to cushion my thrusts.” His gaze raked the length of her again. “I want you, luv. Yer perfect.”

  He stripped in a hurry, his raging erection left no doubt of his desire. He dropped kisses on her nose and chin, along her neck and shoulder. He trailed his tongue across her chest, swirling around one nipple before his mouth latched onto the second. Not to be outdone by his tongue, his hands caressed and teased. One cupped her orphaned breast while the other ruffled the curly thatch hiding her sex.

  Fingers explored the soft skin at the vee of her thighs before sliding between her folds to tease her. Her hips arched off the bed, and she bit her bottom lip to hide the moan. Venn slipped a finger into her, swirling it before it was joined by a second finger. She tensed, her thighs closing around his hand to keep him buried inside her.

  “Does it feel good, luv? You want this, yeah?”

  “Oh God, yes.”

  He slipped down her body leaving fiery kisses in his wake. He teased her inner thighs and spreading her, he gazed at her sex with rapt attention. Fitting his shoulders beneath her knees, he cupped her butt, lowered his head, and flicked his tongue across the nub above her entrance.

  Venn hummed as he licked and kissed her, his lips setting off little tremors deep inside her. His tongue teased before exploring other depths, stroking in and out. When she arched her hips, pressing against his face, he laughed. Horrified, Gwyn tensed and stared down her body at him.

  He peeked over her mound and winked. “Demandin’ li’l thing, arn’cha, luv?” Still chuckling, he lowered his and started the delicious torture all over again.

  Seconds—minutes—hours later, her whole body clenched, muscles screaming as they scrunched her bones. She cried out for breath but couldn’t fill her lungs. Her heart thudded to a stop. Oh God, she was dying. He was killing her. Black shadows gathered in her peripheral vision, crowding in until she c
ould see nothing. A falling star trailing a fiery tail illuminated her darkness. Then another burst into life. A third. A whole host of stars all exploding and raining fire across the backs of her eyelids.

  Gwyn screamed, shattering into shards. A low murmur crooned in her ear. A lulluby. He found all her pieces and put her back together. Kisses breathed life into her body. When she could see again, Venn hovered over her, and she got lost in the swirling depths of his eyes.

  “That’s m’luv,” he whispered.

  She lay boneless, her body no longer her own. She tried to speak, but only whimpers tumbled from her lips.

  Venn speared her, taking her in one long, penetrating glide. Her slick inner muscles wrapped around him like a silken glove. Gwyn didn’t move but for the flicker of her eyelids, and as they opened, he fell into the deep ocean of her eyes. She reveled as he did in the magical sensation of their two bodies joined so viscerally, so…elementally that it was impossible to tell where one started and the other ended, two souls finding their whole.

  Long moments passed before he moved his hips, withdrawing from her in measured increments. Gwyn moved then, her hands grabbing him and squeezing, trying to stall his retreat. She wasn’t strong enough. Out. Slowly. Surely. Millimeters at a time until only the head of his shaft rested between her swollen nether lips. And those squeezed around him, a last ditch effort to hold him inside.

  He slid inside her again, fast, smooth, burying deep. And he waited, his sac quivering against the curve of her lovely tòin. The cailín was his undoing, and he didn’t give a bloody tinker’s damn. He would follow her into heaven or hell if she so ordered.

  An insistent part of his brain thumped against his skull. He didn’t care about the women he bedded. Or hadn’t. He gazed down at Gwyn’s beautiful face, and that curious shifting sensation happened again—like one piece of a puzzle sliding to fit in the one next to it. His whole world narrowed to include her.

  Venn pulled out, a bit faster this time then plunged back in. She gasped and her eyes widened even more. Out. In. Faster and faster until they were both slick with sweat, and she shuddered and clenched beneath him two more times before he brought her to the peak once again.

  This time, he tumbled into the ecstasy with her, her body folding around him like a living blanket. Her face was buried against his chest, her arms clenched around his neck, and her feet hooked at the small of his back.

  This. He wanted this moment to stretch out for the rest of his life. If he never moved again it would be too soon. He brushed his cheek across the top of her head, silken strands of it getting caught in his shadow beard. His breathing matched hers, and he swore his heart attuned itself with the beat of hers.

  Shifting slightly, he rolled to the side taking Gwyn with him. She grumbled sleepily, but he got her straightened out and curled into his side, her head on his shoulder as he held her. He kissed her forehead and whispered, “Grá agam duit.” I love you.

  Chapter Six

  The dream came to him like a sleek cat prowling around the corners of his subconscious. One part of his brain watched, as curious as that cat—curious because he didn’t dream. Ever. The rest of his mind waited as the dream wound through his head like the cat rubbing around his ankles.

  Fog swirled with sparkling mist to offset the drab gray before parting. A circle of stone monoliths dotted the landscape—a landscape that felt both alien yet familiar. As sharp and bright as a laser beam, a ray of light stabbed through the churning clouds above his head. Following the light with his gaze, he tracked it past the stones. In the distance, a purple haze parted to reveal misty blue mountains. There was a sea beyond those mountains. How he know that, he couldn’t say.

  Warmth at his side pulled him back from the edge of the plateau.

  Gwyn. Her breath puffed across his bare chest. He’d never spent the night with a woman in his arms. Was this still part of the dream? He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her wonderful scent—cinnamon and coffee and something sweetly spicy like Irish gingerbread. She smelled of Christmas. Of winter. Of home fires burning in the hearth.

  Home. He had none. Didn’t want one. Until now. Gwyn was his home. His shaft stirred, and he longed to be connected to her again. He slipped inside her, as gently as that cat still prowling in the background. Venn inhaled, his lungs filled with a thousand scents. Heather. Roses. Peat. Rain. Sunshine. The perfume of flowers he couldn’t name but wanted to write songs about. And overriding everything was the scent of Gwyn. Rocking slow and easy, he made love to her. When they both tipped over the edge, it was a soft slide into ecstasy.

  Gwyn nuzzled his neck and drifted back into sleep. He followed her, his dreams filled with a love song he couldn’t remember playing.

  ****

  Gwyn held her breath as regret and guilt washed over her. What had she done? Oh, God. Venn. They’d had sex. And what glorious sex. She’d never felt like that. Never ever. A part of her heart shriveled at the thought she’d never soar like that again. Not with Sumner.

  Sumner saved himself for his mistress. His kisses were perfunctory at best. Her marriage to him was a matter of convenience. Gwyn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her life had turned into a Regency romance—and a bad one at that.

  The man at her side stirred, his lips brushing the top of her head. She remembered making love again—a sweetly soft experience half-remembered like a dream. Her inner muscles felt warm and stretched and satisfied.

  But it was morning now. Almost. The sky outside was that charcoal gray heralding dawn in the city. She slipped from beneath Venn’s arm. Carefully climbing off the bed, she darted away. Something popped in her chest—like a soap bubble, and she felt like she was coming out of dark tunnel. Free. Free of the overwhelming need to crawl back into bed with Venn. Free of the urge to climb on top of him, take him deep within her body and never move again.

  “What is wrong with you?” She murmured the chastisement. She had to get away, had to find her center, her sense of propriety. Oh, heavens! She’d cheated on Sumner. What if he found out? She knew him. He’d keep pushing, bullying her into revealing Venn’s identity. And then he’d take matters into his own hands.

  Gwyn couldn’t stand to see Venn hurt. Her gentle musician with elegant hands—hands that brought her to such loving ecstasy, time and again. Her beautiful poet who shattered her into a million pieces and then patiently put her back together again. Venn stirred, rolling to his side. She held her breath as he buried his face in her pillow, inhaling deeply before exhaling a sigh.

  Her heart stilled for a moment, then fluttered like the wings of a baby bird against her chest. God but she wanted to start every day just like this. She closed her eyes and tears burned the back of her lids. She had to get out of here, get away before she ruined his life.

  With shoes in hand, she tiptoed to the door, and was about to leave when guilt swamped her. Not over cheating on Sumner, but for walking away from Venn without a word. She found a yellow pad and a pen. Composing a quick message, she returned to the bed and laid her note on the pillow beside his head.

  Unable to resist, she bent and kissed him, a swift brush of her lips across his sinful mouth. “Goodbye,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  ****

  A shaft of sunlight fell across Venn’s face, and he threw an arm across his eyes to block it. Something crinkled beneath his cheek as alarm coiled deep inside. He jerked to full wakefulness.

  Gwyn!

  His heart thudded as he sucked in a deep breath. She wasn’t in bed with him. His gaze raked the apartment as the sense of emptiness settled around him, suffocating him with fear. Where was she?

  “Gwyn?” Her name echoed.

  Hurtling out of bed, he raced to the bathroom. The door was open. But no Gwyn. Vestiges of his dream drifted through his memory. Had he imagined her?

  No. He licked his lips, tasted her. He could still smell her on his skin.

  He searched each corner of the loft. A spot of yellow on a pillow still dented
from where her head laid captured his attention. Snatching up the offending paper, he read the words she’d written.

  “Noooooo!” His enraged roar rattled the panes of glass in the broad industrial windows. He crumpled the paper and threw it at the wall. It bounced off, gently, with a very unsatisfying pfft.

  Venn wanted to hurt something. Anger surged through each blood vessel in his body. How could she do this to him? Hadn’t he told her of his love? He sank to his knees as his rage claimed even his ability to stand.

  Oh gods! He couldn’t breathe around the pain claiming his heart. He wanted to tear out his hair. Pound his fists against the rough brick wall until they were bloody. He would find her. Bring her home where she belonged. She was his. HIS! Didn’t she understand that?

  Venn bowed to the pain, his chin drooping to rest on his chest as tears flooded his cheeks. He barely had the strength to swipe his fingers through the liquid. He stared at the moisture on his fingertips. First dreams and now tears.

  He’d never cried before.

  Chapter Seven

  Venn caught a glimpse of his face in the store window. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes. His hair hung in limp strands. He’d tried everything to see Gwyn. The doorman at her building threatened to call the police, and she refused to answer her phone.

  He’d taken to hanging out across from her building, hoping to catch a glimpse of her so he could approach her, talk to her, touch her. She was never alone. Whenever she emerged, either her feckin’ fiancé was with her or his damn bodyguard.

  Like a total fool, he took to following the pulp papers, gloaming onto every paparazzi photo and society mention of her. He hadn’t picked up a musical instrument in two weeks. And now time was running out. She would be married within days. The society pages were splashed with pictures of her god-awful wedding dress, talk of flowers and caterers, of food and wine and all the folderol of a nobbish wedding.

  But he knew. He could see it in her eyes. Haunted. Sad. Resigned. She didn’t love the bloody sod. She loved him! Venn was as sure of that as he was his name.