by Tawny Weber
Inside her.
“Have me,” she breathed against his throat. “Have me now.”
To ensure he wouldn’t say no, she reached down between them to curl her fingers over the hard length of his erection. Velvet covered steel filled her hand, made her mouth water.
“Rose...”
“Now,” she begged, the need so tight inside her that she was afraid she’d break into a million needy pieces if he didn’t satisfy her soon. “Please, now.”
He left her for the briefest of moments and she watched as he made quick work of protection. Then he was back, poised between her thighs, angled over her body. Those gorgeous eyes staring hypnotically into hers.
He reached between their bodies to glide his fingers over her throbbing nipples, circling and tweaking each before skimming down her stomach, over the soft curve of her belly. Into the damp curls between her thighs.
Like a whisper, his finger glided over the aching bud nestled there.
Rose whimpered.
He rubbed that bud between two fingers now.
Her body shook.
His fingers shifted, thrusting inside her wet core.
She cried out her pleasure, tried to clamp her thighs around his hand to pull him deeper. But Sam froze. His body, his fingers. Rose’s breath shook, but she loosened her legs. As soon as she did, his fingers swirled, dipping deeper.
His thumb rubbed her aching bud in time with his dancing fingers. One thrust, two, then three. Lights burst in Rose’s head, pleasure sparked and unfurled deep in her belly as the climax took her.
Sam’s smile was so satisfied, just seeing it almost made her come again. He leaned down to take her mouth, his kiss long and slow. Tongues coiled, teased. Teeth nipped, scraped.
Finally—oh, God, finally—he pressed the tip of that long, hard erection against her.
Slid it into her.
Slowly, he thrust deeper.
All the while, he watched her.
She was at the mercy of those eyes. She’d do anything when he looked at her like that.
And she held all the power, she realized as she watched those eyes cloud with a joyful sort of passion as he slid into her body. He’d do anything for her. Anything.
Her breath caught in her throat, fear choking her at the idea of someone giving that much. As the need tightened in her body, her nipples ached and her thighs trembled. Tiny orgasms shivered through her.
She arched her hips higher, undulating, trying to urge Sam to thrust harder. To take her over the edge. She had to go fast. She needed to go now. Before he saw too much. Before she wanted too much.
She closed her eyes as fear coiled around the passion in her belly. She brought all her attention inward, inside. Into her core as she tried to identify what else she was feeling. What that surging energy was that threatened to overtake the passion, that threatened to use it. To use her.
Every thrust took her higher.
Every cry of delight was accompanied by a rainbow, as if the crystals dancing in the windows were sending multi-colored blessings through the room. Rainbows that reached through Rose’s closed eyes to shimmer and spark and intensify the need swirling through her system.
“Look at me,” he demanded in a guttural tone. Afraid he’d stop before she reached the peak, Rose forced her eyes open and met his gaze.
And sank in those dark blue depths.
She could see worlds in his eyes. Magic and inspiration and passion. Everything she saw, she felt.
And felt so deeply.
Passion intensified, building and climbing and grabbing at her with a constant demand for more. As her body craved, the lights shimmered faster.
The rainbows weren’t passion sparked imagination, she realized as the lights danced around their bodies.
The room swirled with colors and light and music. She held her breath and tried to hear over the sound of Sam’s labored breaths and the drumbeat of her own heart.
Chimes and flutes and sweet strings moaned in time with their passion. Rising, climbing, tightening.
Higher with every thrust.
Stronger with every slide of Sam’s body inside her own.
Everything within her clenched, tight and needy, as Rose arched higher to take him deeper.
Sam groaned.
He thrust harder.
Rose exploded.
Pleasure shattered through her body, ripping away her resistance, tearing away every bit of her control until Rose could only cry out through a throat raw from panting.
“Again,” Sam muttered, burying his face in the curve of her throat. His words reverberated through her, sending the needs coiling like snakes again, waiting to snap. “Come again, Rose. I want to come with you.”
She caught her breath when he reached between them to cup her breast. His hand was so hard, so warm as it gently squeezed in time with his thrusts.
Rose’s nipple pressed into his hand, begging. In answer, he rubbed, circling and teasing.
Rose went over so fast, so hard, that she screamed.
Her body shook.
Rose grabbed tight onto Sam as the bed shook, too.
But when the room shook, she didn’t know where to grab. Or what to do. The only option she had was to ride the power.
More rose petals appeared, these drifting from the ceiling like the palest of pink snowflakes. Even as she came again, as her body convulsed with pleasure, Rose reached out to catch one of the velvety flowers in the palm of her hand.
Real.
The flowers were real.
The pleasure coursing through her was real.
The man groaning his release into the welcoming warmth of her body was real.
And the magic...
Rose curled her fingers tight around the petal, her other hand rubbing Sam’s back, smoothing and soothing him in the aftershocks of his orgasm.
The magic was real, too.
The only answer her mind couldn’t quite grasp as she sighed with one last climax, was whether the magic was his.
Or hers.
Chapter Seven
Oh. My. God.
What had happened?
What the hell was that?
Moving as silently as she could—more silently than she’d realized she was capable—Rose slipped out of the bed. Ignoring modesty, she scooped clothing as she hurried, bare butt naked, from the room. Holding her breath, clutching the bundle against her chest, she stopped at the bedroom door just long enough to look back and make sure Sam was still asleep.
Oh, he was so gorgeous.
Pure, delicious masculine beauty.
Those muscles, that skin. The combination was like silk over granite. She wet her lips and gave herself as long as a heartbeat to regret leaving him.
Then she walked out and quietly shut the door.
And leaned against the wood, her clothes still clutched tight and her heart racing.
But her mind wouldn’t—couldn’t—settle. Too much had happened, so much she didn’t understand.
Deep breaths, she finally told herself. Deep breaths and get some damned clothes on.
So she sucked in one long slow breath and held it. She let it out and tried another. By the third, she was able to push away from the door and, clothes still clenched tight, stumble for the bathroom.
A part of her wanted to throw her stuff on and scurry out of the apartment before she saw Sam again. She could probably even get out of the café without having to face anyone. To just pretend it was all a dream.
But something inside her, something newly awoken in a flash of unexplained light, demanded that she face it with her eyes wide open.
So Rose bundled her hair high on her head and took a warm shower. She simply focused on the feel of the water sluicing over her skin instead of the thoughts and questions still circling. On the scent of verbena from the soap sliding like silk over her body instead of the fears sparked by those questions. She put all her thoughts on the air, warm with steam, as it filled her lungs instead of on vague memories.
<
br /> Ten minutes later, dressed, tidy and ready to face the questions in her mind, she stepped out of the bathroom. And blinked in surprise. She’d figured Sam would be out here by now, waiting.
Instead, she frowned at the door she herself had closed. Was he still in there? He wouldn’t have just left the apartment, would he?
No. She might not be completely sure of what had happened, but she was positive that Sam had too much integrity to sneak out on her.
Which meant that she had however long it took until Sam came out to think things through.
To figure out what had happened.
She dropped onto the couch, letting her head fall back onto the fuzzy cushion, and closed her eyes.
And, now that her head was clear, opened her mind to the experience. Somehow it was easier to think about what had happened if it was dark.
Not the sex.
That she could happily relive—in her mind or in person—a million times over. That’d been incredible. Sam had been incredible. He’d made her feel incredible.
But not quite incredible enough to get past the rest of what had happened.
The glow. The rose petals. The shimmers dancing in the air. The feeling inside her, bigger than any orgasm. It’d overwhelmed her, engulfing them both with light. A light that’d fractured and exploded with her climax. She’d opened her eyes, hoping to see the light, and instead had watched as more rose petals had rained down from the ceiling to cover their bodies.
As much as she’d like to think that Sam had caused the lights, the flowers, the sensations, she knew she could only lay the orgasms at his feet.
The rest had been her.
She didn’t know how, but she knew she’d been the cause of those weird happenings.
Nerves clenched at her stomach as she tugged her hair free in order to comb her fingers through the tresses as if that’d straighten out her tangled thoughts.
Maybe Sam’s own words could help her figure it out.
Rose tried to remember where he’d tossed that notepad. The small table by his chair, she thought, pushing up to cross the room and check. Yes, there it was. She pulled the pages from the drawer and settled back on the couch to see if she could find a clue as to what had happened.
She yanked the wrinkled pages free, smiling a little as she read over a few of the sexy ideas he’d listed. They hadn’t gotten to all of them, by any means. She tilted her head to one side to inspect the clever little drawing he’d sketched. He wasn’t much of an artist, but she had no problem recognizing the various positions in his artwork.
Mmm, she had a feeling that sixty-nine could become her favorite number if they gave that a try.
Giving herself over to the pleasure of imagining that for a second, she set the torn pages aside. Her gaze fell on the rest of Sam’s notes.
Leah and Stephen.
Bring Rose to Coeur d’Alene by Valentine’s Day.
Save friends.
Needs to be free from Millicent’s clutches.
What the hell?
Rose’s smile dropped away as the words sank in.
She might not be able to explain the magic or where it’d come from, how it’d happened.
But she could recognize what the words on this paper meant.
Even as her breath locked in her chest, as tears burned her eyes, she knew.
Sam was using her.
Staring at the closed bedroom door, Sam adjusted the pillows behind his head. His body was about as loose and satisfied as it could get, but he was still frowning.
When Rose had slid from the bed, he’d expected her to grab her clothes and race out of the room.
He’d been right.
He’d figured it’d be two, three minutes, tops, before he’d hear the front door snick closed.
Instead, he’d heard the shower.
When the water shut off, he’d been sure it’d take her maybe ten minutes to dress, do whatever tidying women did after a shower, then head out the door.
Instead, he’d heard her getting comfortable in the living room. He’d heard a drawer open and close. Even as his mind registered the sound, an alarm blared in his mind.
Shit.
He threw off the sheet and flew to his feet.
Shit, damn, hell.
Sam grabbed his jeans, hopping from foot to foot, yanking them on as he raced for the door. He managed to stop himself long enough to button his pants before he turned that knob, but was still verging on breathless when he stepped out the door.
“Hello.” Rose’s greeting dripped ice. Fitting, since her expression was as frosty as a winter morning.
“Hi.” He tried charm first, amping up his smile and crossing to give her a kiss in the cheek. He was glad his lips didn’t freeze to flesh, but the cold chill was enough to put him off his stride. At least, that was his excuse for blurting out an inane, “How’re you doing?”
Duh. She was obviously pissed.
The question was, why?
He had a pretty good idea, but hoping he was wrong, he kept his smile in place and dove right in.
“You seem a little out of sorts.”
“Do I?” She tilted her head to one side. Although her hair fanned down her arm like a golden blanket, she didn’t get any warmer. “Do I really?”
Yep. She really did. Sam looked around for evidence, but although the room looked just as bizarre as always, he didn’t see any clues.
“Are you going to explain why you’re angry?”
“Why did you take so long to come out?” she asked instead of answering.
“To tell you the truth, I was drowning in stunned pleasure for a while,” he said, hoping for a smile. He got a chilly stare. “Then I guess I was wondering how you’d react when I saw you. I went back and forth between the idea of you throwing yourself in my arms to confessing that was the best sex you’d ever had, or you being pissed about it.”
He waited a beat before shrugging and dropping into a chair.
“Looks like I was right.”
“About that being the best sex I’ve ever had?”
God, he hoped so. Because it’d been the best he’d ever had.
“About you being pissed. Thankfully, you’re doing it the smart way.”
She blinked.
“There’s a smart way to be angry?”
“Sure there is. Smart anger means you’re mad and you feel pretty solid on your reasons to be mad. But you’re not storming out of the room without listening. You’re not throwing things at my head and cussing the air blue. Those would be bad.”
“And that matters, why?”
“Because you matter, Rose,” he admitted, one hundred percent sincere.
“Because whatever led us in there,” he pointed to the bedroom, “that matters. Because this feeling we’ve got between us matters. Because I know you. I care about you—probably more than is good for me here—but I care about you. I want what’s best for you. Which means that while you have every right to be angry over whatever has you upset, I’m glad that you’re not so angry that you won’t give us a chance to set it right.”
From the way she tilted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest, she definitely looked like she was reconsidering the idea of throwing things at him. Sam held his breath, waiting.
“Tell me about this,” she finally said, reaching over to pull the notepad he’d been writing in out from under a pillow. She pointed it at him like a weapon. From the way sparks of light shot from it, he knew it just might be one if he didn’t handle things right.
“I told you I use writing as an exercise,” he said slowly, looking into her eyes and baring his own in hopes that she’d see the truth there. “I call it a brain dump. I write everything that’s in my head, anything I’m concerned about, all my plans or hopes or thoughts down in no particular form. Then once it’s all out of my mind, I am able to take a step back and find the right path, the answers I need.”
Rose gave him a long look, then rolled her eyes.
“I
know what a brain dump is. I knew what you meant when you called all your sex ideas a writing exercise. What I want to know is what all this is here about Leah and Stephen. What is your connection is with my mother’s parents and how does that play into what you’re doing here. What does it have to do with what we did in there.”
“What we did in there,” Sam echoed her gesture toward the bedroom, “has nothing to do with anyone except you and me. Set that aside from the rest.”
He waited for that to sink in, for her to give him a reluctant nod of agreement, then he continued.
“So, the rest.” He took a breath, wanting to make sure he said it all right. This was his only chance to convince her to come back, to do what was right. Not just for her family, but for her, too. “I’ve talked about the town often enough that I’m sure you know that I’m from Coeur d’Alene. It’s a great town filled with amazing people. Two of those people are Leah and Stephen MacBriar.”
“You’re friends with my grandparents,” Rose confirmed. “Setting aside the fact that you’ve never mentioned that before, what does that friendship have to do with you being here?”
“I didn’t hide my friendship with the MacBriars. I do book signings and events in their store all the time. They’re great people that I care about a lot. People who care about you, Rose. Who want to know you, who were heartbroken when your mother insisted they stay out of your life.”
“She said they were a bad influence.”
“Because they’re magic.”
Rose opened her mouth as if to protest, then sighed.
“Tell me.”
So Sam told her everything he knew. The story of her parents’ whirlwind romance. Of her father’s fear of the magic, her mother’s need to fit in with everyone else. He told her what Stephen had said about Leah’s heartbreak when Effe had taken Rose away and demanded they stay out of her life. He shared more about the town, about the magic there. Finally, he explained about Leah breaking her hip, the trouble the store was having, and how Rose’s grandparents needed her help.
Finally, out of words and out of breath, he stopped. And waited.
“Okay,” Rose finally said. “A lot of what you’re saying fits with stories my mother told me, and once you add the magic element, it all makes sense.”
