by Ann Macela
Slowly, so slowly, he retreated. Slowly, ever so slowly, he advanced. Once. Twice.
On his third thrust, she crushed his coat lapels with her hands, dragged his lips down to hers, and used her legs to pull him into her—all the way.
She tightened the muscles surrounding him.
And his control disintegrated.
The world dissolved in a rush of fire and energy and magic as he thrust into her again and again, as she arched to him again and again. Faster and faster.
He broke the kiss—they had to breathe.
She moaned a “No-o-o-o,” and captured his mouth again.
Power intensified, built within him, raced between them, and finally burst in a simultaneous climax that lasted forever.
And ended in a sweet oblivion.
Marcus came to his senses lying on her, breathing like he’d run a marathon in a minute’s time, with the most marvelous euphoria he’d ever experienced. He was still inside her and could feel her aftershocks—small contractions that rippled through both of them. Heaven.
When his breathing slowed, he realized he must be crushing her and levered up on his elbows. She opened her eyes. When their gazes met, she had a dazed look. As he watched awareness return to her, he felt the world crash in on him.
Oh. My. God. What had they done? What had he done?
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Gloriana blinked at the man above her. What was he doing up there? What was she doing down here on the floor? She frowned, searching her mind for memories.
He moved back, and she felt him pull out—out—of her body. He lowered her skirt, drew up his pants, zipped, and buckled. Before she could assimilate those facts, he said something. She had to concentrate hard to understand.
“I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened,” he said.
Sorry? What was he talking about? She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked down at her body, with her splayed legs and him kneeling between them. He retreated until she could bring her legs together and sit up.
“Holy …” she muttered. She didn’t raise her eyes to his, but she had to clear her throat before she could ask, “What happened? You were hurting, and I was rubbing your chest…”
“And you touched my center, and all hell broke loose,” he finished. “I couldn’t stop kissing you, and when our centers came together …”
“I couldn’t get close enough to you, and I wanted you badly …” Her voice quavered slightly on the last words. She could hardly believe she’d said them, but their truth vibrated through her.
“As I wanted you.”
She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. She finally looked him in the eyes. His blue gaze was definitely warm, and some other emotion lurked behind the heat. He turned his head before she could identify it.
Memories came rushing back. “My mind simply shut down after that. I remember impressions of heat and magical power … and need … and then you were … and I was … ecstatic.”
“I managed to remember to ask you …” He sounded hesitant, unsure, not like himself at all.
“And I said yes,” she stated firmly, and he seemed to relax. She tugged her skirt down some more and shifted her legs underneath her.
He stood, seemed a little wobbly at first, but steadied and held out a hand to help her up.
Her knees shook as she rose, and he put his other hand on her arm until she said, “I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again after he let go of her. “I never meant for it to go this far.”
“Me, either.” She ran a hand through her hair again; the curls disobeyed her attempt to calm them.
She glanced down. What was that by her feet? Oh, no … She felt her face grow hot when she bent and picked up her panties—her white cotton bikini panties. Not exactly the sexiest things to be wearing to … to whatever that was. Damn, she had to get her mind working.
She looked up to see him staring at the panties with the oddest look—sort of a sexy longing, if that was possible. Wadding them into a ball in one hand, she put them behind her back.
“The imperative certainly upped the ante,” he said. “We have to talk about what happened.”
“You’re right.” She nodded and sighed. At least his mind seemed to be functioning. She, however, needed some space. “Give me a little time to myself first, please.”
He blinked at her for a few seconds, finally said, “Right. I’ll go over to my suite and be back in a few minutes. Is that okay?”
She nodded again and started for the bedroom.
“Take all the time you need.” He picked up her key card lying by her purse. “I’ll take this with me to get back in easily.”
“Fine.” She stopped in the doorway, looked back over her shoulder, and said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She shut the door behind her and, eyes closed, leaned against it for a moment. Discombobulated and bewildered, that’s what she was. She opened her eyes and looked at the panties in her hand. Embarrassed, too. And something else … but what? No matter, she didn’t have time to think about it. She wanted a shower.
She threw the panties into her dirty-clothes drawer and quickly stripped. Leaving her clothes scattered on the bed, she walked into the bathroom. As she closed its door, she found herself face to face with her reflection. Her body didn’t appear different from the way it usually looked.
It certainly didn’t feel like her old one.
She felt somehow more alive, more vibrant, more … something. Until she finally looked into her own eyes in the mirror.
Satisfied, that was the “something.” Satisfied.
“Marcus.” When she said his name out loud, the satisfaction grew until she was literally tingling all over and almost dizzy. Her condition had to be similar to eating one of the more potent euphoria-producing plants.
She also felt sticky and sweaty. Muscles in unusual places ached, and even though they’d touched in only two places—very significant places—she could still smell him, even taste him.
First a tooth brushing, then a shower, that’s what she needed.
With the hot water beating on her, she washed thoroughly while her thoughts seemed to float—until she rubbed the soapy washcloth between her legs.
Oh. My. God.
What had they done?
They’d mated!
No, no, no. Mating wasn’t possible. Practitioners were not capable of having sex with other practitioners—unless they were truly soul mates. It was the one true test of being soul mates. She and Marcus had agreed that particular test was too dangerous to try.
But they’d actually done it. They’d had successful sex. Oh, didn’t that change everything? What were they to do about their problem now? All their protestations and plans had been kicked into the next county.
So, what was she doing standing here? He’d be returning any minute.
She hurried to finish her shower and throw on clean underwear and the jeans and shirt she’d worn earlier. A brush through her hair did nothing to tame the wet curls; at least she wasn’t dripping. She slid her feet into her flip-flops and opened the bedroom door.
Wearing his afternoon clothes, Marcus was entering her suite. His blond hair was darker, still wet, so he must have showered, too.
They stared at each other for a long moment—until they each took a deep breath and broke the connection. She could feel her center humming.
They couldn’t stand there looking at each other all night. To get moving, she fell back on the manners her mother had drilled into her. She walked into the suite’s kitchen and said over her shoulder, “Have a seat. I’m going to have some water. Would you like something?”
“Water would be great.”
Pleased at her ability to sound normal when feeling the opposite, she took a couple of water bottles out of the fridge and filled glasses with ice. Thank goodness he hadn’t followed her into the small space. They didn’t need to be physically close to each oth
er again.
He sat on the couch, and she placed the glasses and water on the coffee table. When she sat in a chair across from him, she almost gasped when certain muscles protested. They both opened the bottles, poured, and drank.
Gloriana put her glass down first and contemplated her strategy. Best to address the situation head-on, she decided. She propped her elbows on the chair arms and clasped her hands in front of her. When he had also placed his glass on the table, she looked straight at him and stated, “We have a problem. A big problem.”
He leaned back against the couch, his arms stretched out to either side along its back. His expression was grim, his gaze guarded, but his voice mild when he spoke. “If I understand correctly what happened, the imperative took over our minds and bodies and/or aroused us to the point that we became a man and a woman at their most primitive. We had no other thought or recourse except to have sex.”
Gloriana almost snorted. Wasn’t that exactly like a man, especially a professor? Reduce a totally emotional event to a cut-and-dried statement that didn’t even begin to consider the ramifications of the situation. Lulabelle had warned them about intellectualizing too much. Here was a perfect example.
“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him from speaking. “That’s beside the point. The problem is that we had sex successfully. We mated. Therefore, we must be soul mates, and the imperative has not made a mistake.”
His mouth dropped open, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and he stared at her as though he’d been punched right in the stomach. His face went completely white.
“Do you have another explanation or theory?” she asked. “The rules say that a male and female practitioner who are not soul mates cannot consummate the union—they are not physically able. Period. Having successful sex is The Big Test. If the imperative was wrong about us being mates, as we’ve been thinking, we wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
He’d closed his mouth, still looking astounded and appalled. After several seconds, during which she could almost see him analyzing her words, looking for a way out, and finding none, he took a deep breath and spoke softly, “You may be right.”
Oh, wonderful. Denial. Not this time, buster. “What do you mean, ‘may be’? Am I right or not?”
He grimaced and rubbed both hands up and down his face. “I’m not sure we should go that far. Nothing about the whole fiasco has made sense. It may still be the imperative dictating our actions.”
“That’s bull and you know it,” she said. “If we weren’t soul mates, we wouldn’t lose control like we did under the compulsion to mate. Maybe the imperative hasn’t been forcing us to do anything. It simply gave us a shove.”
“Some shove.” He crossed his arms again and pulled them tight to his body. “The entire situation is abhorrent to me. Not only am I involved in something I swore I would never be a party to, it’s making me into someone I don’t even recognize. I have never, ever lost control of myself like that. In my book, what I did to you was akin to rape. I apologize again for subjecting you to that experience.”
So, that was what he’d been afraid of. She’d let him off that hook, but not the other. “Marcus, that wasn’t rape. We both wanted it. Badly. Get that thought out of your head.”
“All right. I’ll accept that you don’t consider it rape. The imperative, however …”
He wasn’t listening to her—or rather he wasn’t hearing what she was saying. She’d try another approach. “Look at it another way. Is it really the imperative controlling us, or are we using the SMI as an excuse? I never heard a word about the phenomenon creating soul mates. It recognizes them somehow, and the imperative gives them a nudge when they come together. After that, the desire to become mates takes over. We came together, the attraction kicked in, and bang, we mated.”
Where he had been inscrutable before, now she could trace every emotion across his face. Relief that she didn’t think he had raped her. Horror at her next suggestion and its ultimate conclusion.
“I hate to agree, but I have to admit, you have valid points,” he said in a hoarse voice, like he was forcing each word reluctantly past his lips. He was looking everywhere except at her. Finally he brought his eyes—fear and dread still present—back to hers. “Your line of thinking brings up the other mating rule—no artificial barriers. Assuming that was a mating, no matter what the usual averages are, could we be bonded with that one episode?”
She stared back at him while her thoughts flew to Daria and Francie. “No, I don’t think so. My sister and sister-in-law told me their bonding, the actual decisive act, was transcendent, almost an out-of-body experience. While what we went through was strong, I don’t think it was that powerful.” She paused to assess herself before saying, “I don’t feel differently toward you.”
He relaxed with a whoosh of air from his lungs. “I don’t either—to you, I mean.”
“There is one point I simply don’t understand. From everything I’ve learned and every instance I’ve seen, the soul-mate bond is all about love. The two mates love and cherish each other. The feeling increases they grow closer. I can’t see how what we’re going through has anything to do with love, though. The only emotion in evidence is lust. Where’s love in the equation? I certainly don’t feel like I’m ‘in love.’ Do you?”
He was quick to answer. “No, I don’t. I feel manipulated. I’m willing to agree that we would have been attracted to each other even if we weren’t practitioners, but we are. Practitioner mates certainly never need much coercion.”
Typical man—he still wasn’t listening and was back to that “forcing” idea, so she tried again. “Is it really coercion? Or are we simply overcome by the soul-mate attraction and doing what comes naturally? Oh, I’ll admit the SMI’s aggravating us, but it doesn’t do that when we hold hands or kiss. How do you feel this minute, this second? Not in your head. In your body. I feel pretty damn good.”
He gave her a thoroughly black look.
“Well?” she pushed.
“I feel… satiated,” he mumbled.
“No aches or pains?”
He shook his head, stared at his hands.
Another matter raised its head as her brain made connections. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“No barriers. I never activated my birth control spell.”
“You could be pregnant?” If it was horror in his eyes before, now they held total terror.
“It’s highly unlikely,” she reassured him after a swift calculation of dates. “To be on the safe side, however …” She hurriedly cast the spell and felt the correct effects. “There. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” When he didn’t look completely convinced, she repeated, “Yes, I am sure.”
He sat there like a lump.
“Okay, what next?” she asked, hoping to get him talking again. “We’re soul mates. Where do we go from here?”
He frowned, but she couldn’t tell if it was at her questions or the situation. “It appears from the Rhinedebeck tale that we can successfully refuse both the imperative and the mating. In that episode, the blame and the consequences came down on the man, not the woman. That’s fine with me. There’s no reason you should suffer at my intransigence.”
“Let’s be scientific here and look at the facts,” she retorted. “One instance like Rhinedebeck does not make a trend. That couple hadn’t mated—according to the evidence we have. Don’t forget, the imperative is already giving me pain, too. Why won’t it continue to do so? If you reject me, there’s no guarantee that I’ll ever have another mate. What am I supposed to do? Go out and find a non-practitioner to marry, like he did? I don’t think so.”
He glared at her. “Are you saying you want me to give in?”
“No. I simply think we have to consider all the possibilities for why we’re in this jam.”
“What’s left to consider?”
“Why you’re implacably against the
concept in the first place.”
His face went blank as he sat straight up and crossed his arms over his chest again. “That’s my business and mine alone.”
“It certainly looks like ‘your business’ has put us both into a mess of major proportions. All of our other disparities can probably be negotiated or handled or ignored, even the totally different approach to magic. Lulabelle says she knows a number of couples who have lots of diversities and contrasts. Maybe we ought to give the process a chance.”
He said nothing, but didn’t seem able to meet her eyes.
Okay, she’d try yet another tact. “At the beginning you suggested approaching our exploration scientifically. How can we do that when you’re withholding what may be the most important variable—the reason for your refusal?”
“I can’t see that my dislike of the whole concept has any bearing. Something—the phenomenon and its imperative enforcer, the universe, whatever—has decided we’re soul mates. I refuse to give in to those dictates. I’d feel the same, no matter what. It’s nothing against you personally. It’s become a matter of principle to me. I do not want and will not take a soul mate. Becoming mates would be a disaster for both of us. There must be a way out of our dilemma.”
Moving the man off his “principle” was like trying to move a giant redwood tree with her bare hands. What else could she do but keep trying? “How do you prove that your reasoning is sound unless you put it to the test?”
“All our talk is getting us nowhere,” he said and stood. “Let’s research deeper into the whole subject of soul mates and touch base during the week before we leave for Atlanta. I’ll go on Friday to put in some time at the library there.”
She stared at him. What could she say to those statements? He was totally walling himself up. She truly did want to scream.
He met her eyes for only a few seconds before walking to the door and opening it. “I’ll talk to you in Austin.”
She watched him leave and close the door after him.
Coward. The man was a coward.
And she was willing to bet real money that he was over across the hall packing to leave tonight.
