Sinfully Supernatural

by Multiple

  Callum nodded.

  “I should have guessed,” Angus said, disgust dripping from his voice. “You bedded her.”

  He might feel guilty about what happened, but he didn’t care for Angus’s tone. “I think this discussion is over.”

  “Of course he slept with her,” Anice said. “He’s in love with her.”

  Panic clutched at his throat, but he swallowed it away. “I am not.”

  Anice gave him a sad smile. “In all the years we have lived, can you remember a time when you ever took a chance like this? Phoebe has the ability to figure this out on her own, and she’s brilliant at puzzles. So, you took a chance and bedded her. Callum Lennon just doesn’t do that. Fletcher, yes.”

  “Hey,” Fletcher said. “I object to that. I was attracted to her.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t act on it. And, even if you did, it wouldn’t surprise me. What does surprise me is that the one person who has ironclad control did bed her. And because of that, I say he’s in love.”

  Fletcher snorted. “There’s no such thing as love for us.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Callum said, sick of the discussion. “We’ll wait until she finishes and sees what she says. Now I have work.”

  He strode to the door, but Anice stopped him with one comment. “There’s nothing wrong with being in love.”

  His heart squeezed at the thought. To have that privilege, to be able to think of a future with a woman, was almost too tempting. It was a dream that would never come true. Even if they were to break the curse, they had no idea what it would do to them. They really didn’t know if they would die on the spot or age normally. He couldn’t tie a woman to him when he didn’t know what kind of state he would be in.

  “You heard your brother,” he said without turning around. “That’s not for us.”

  Not wanting to hear any more from them, he slipped out the door and found Belvidore.

  “I take it she didn’t run away screaming?” Callum asked.

  He shook his head. “That one isna a coward.”

  Callum studied the old servant. Belvidore’s great, great, great grandfather had been Callum’s first servant upon returning to Scotland. His family had served the Lennons for years. Every one of them thought it was their duty to protect all the Lennons.

  “You didn’t like her when she came. What changed?”

  “You know it is our way to be suspicious of outsiders. Last night, though, she wanted to go to the authorities. She was right upset for you, Laird.”

  “She stayed by my bed.”

  “Of course she did. That is one woman who wouldn’t leave a man just because of an injury. It would have hurt her if you hadn’t recovered.”

  “She thought I’d faked it.” Callum sighed. “What a bloody mess.”

  “Not everything goes according to plan, Laird.”

  Callum studied the servant, surprised by his candid tone. “How do you mean?”

  “You and I both know about destiny.”

  Too uncomfortable with the conversation, Callum started walking in the direction of his office. But, as usual, Belvidore followed along. He had something to say, and he would not give up until he did. His father had been the same way—and the whole bloody lot of them.

  “She might just be yours, Laird.”

  Callum shook his head. “You know I don’t believe in that. This curse will never be broken. We will live like this forever. No matter what we do.”

  His voice had risen to a shout. After the last twelve hours, he didn’t have the patience to deal with another person telling him what to do about Phoebe.

  “Laird.”

  He glanced at Belvidore.

  “You only have to have hope.”

  Something stirred deep within him. Something that was too close to hope. And he didn’t have time for that or the pain it would cost. He had given it up too many years ago. He couldn’t deal with it coming back in his life again.

  “I lost that years ago.”

  Belvidore stopped walking and laid his hand on Callum’s arm. He stopped and looked at the servant. Belvidore rarely spoke his mind, unless asked.

  “Dr. Chilton might just be worth the chance.”

  Everything in him wanted that. He wanted to take a chance on a woman who not only matched him in spirit and intellect, but in passion. But it wasn’t to be. Each time someone suggested it, the need to roar in pain was getting harder to stifle. Could his family not see what this was doing to him? He needed to be left alone to his own devices. To lick his wounds.

  “Laird, she might be worth it, but don’t forget, that you are worth it, too. That is if you have the courage to actually take the chance.”

  With that, he left Callum standing alone in the hallway, uneasy and irritated.

  * * * *

  Callum was still thinking about the conversation several hours later as he stared out his bedroom window. He knew there was something about Phoebe that called to him, that told him she was supposed to be with him. He had thought it stupid to even consider the idea. They did not have soul mates. The Lennons had known they would never be married. The five of them were trapped in their hell. What person would want to spend their life with a thirty-five-year old who never aged? Not one of them had been willing to take the chance to spend their lives watching their spouse die. Only a masochist would want that.

  But God help him, he did. He wanted nothing more than to have Phoebe with him. He didn’t know if it was love, didn’t understand that emotion. All he knew was that there was something in him that needed her. Needed that contact. If she were gone, he would go out of his mind. It was insane to think that a woman he had never heard of six months ago had so much control over his happiness.

  Before he could get too melancholy, there was a soft knock on his door. Even without being able to see her, he knew it was Phoebe.

  “Come in.”

  She opened the door slowly and slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. She was holding the books in her arms and watching him with wide eyes. He could not read her expression. Dammit, he hated it. Phoebe had studied people like that for the time she had been in his house. He knew that it was her way. Now, though, she looked wary, beyond wary, as if worried that if she said the wrong thing, he might do something to her. She did think he was a freak.

  “You’ve read it,” he finally said when she kept looking at him. She nodded but still did not speak. If he felt like he was on display earlier, now he definitely felt as if there was something wrong with him. He waited for her to say something, to ask a question or yell at him. She still said nothing. Silence was usually his friend, but at the moment, he wanted to scream just to break the stillness.

  He swallowed that urge. "Do you have anything to say?"

  She studied him, her mermaid gaze traveling from his head down to his toes and back up again. Then she set the books down on the table.

  "Can I ask you a few questions?"

  He could not pick up anything in her tone, so he nodded.

  She opened her mouth then shut her mouth. The tension rose in the room, and he could feel his temper fraying inch by inch.

  "What? Just spit it out."

  Her eyes widened. "You were born in the year 1730?"

  "Yes."

  "And you fought at the Battle of Culloden? That would make you fifteen at that time."

  He shrugged. "It was a different time."

  She stepped forward and shook her head. "No. Well, yes, it was. But you were to be laird. Even then they would have known it would be your role. They would have not let you fight. You were the oldest cousin, and still young for something like that."

  He sighed. "I defied my father. My grandfather."

  "You went without permission."

  He shrugged again. "Of course. Every other young man was going." And he could still remember the irritation and embarrassment of being left behind. He had friends leaving who were just months o
lder than he, but they were allowed to prove their masculinity.

  She stepped closer. "Yes, I agree. And I know there were a lot of young men who did. But someone like you, in line to run the clan, you would not always be taken. You would be left behind to ensure that the line would last."

  "I wanted to go."

  She nodded in understanding. "How did you do it?"

  "I stole away in one of the supply wagons. I was prepared, I had been trained so there was no reason not to go." The memory of that trip, of the fear of the battle to come, and the anger of his father flashed through his mind.

  "You broke a rule."

  "Yes."

  "And you would have been witness to some horrible things,” she murmured. “What happened?"

  “What?”

  “You went, and from what I just read, you were the only one who survived. Actually, it was thought you had died with your father and uncles. So, what happened?”

  "I was injured, knocked unconscious. I didn't wake up until we were on a ship to the continent."

  She opened her mouth but he’d had enough. His skin was crawling, and he itched from the inside out.

  "Don't you have anything to say? Anything outside of the realm of your bloody studies that would be interesting to you? Do you always think like an encyclopedia?"

  Her face whitened. "I'm very sorry. I have been accused of that before. I understand that I seem cold to most men. It is the only way I know how to work."

  He finally saw beyond his own hurt and saw her. The pain in her tone and her gaze told him that he had said something to injure her. It was the one thing he didn’t want to do.

  "I apologize. I dinna mean it like that.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I feel like a freak."

  "A freak?" Her gaze softened, and her voice faltered when she spoke next. "You are far from a freak. You're..."

  She shook her head as if afraid to speak her mind.

  "What?"

  She stepped up closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body and breathe in the sweet scent of her. The only thing that came to mind was that she was close enough to grab.

  "You're a treasure." Her tone was filled with admiration and wonder.

  "A treasure?" he asked, trying to ignore the way she was looking at him.

  "You know what you are?"

  He shook his head, unable to speak.

  "You're a bloody Celtic legend. Living, breathing...a treasure."

  He heard the interest, but it still rubbed him raw.

  "I am a man. A real man. Flesh and blood and just like every man out there."

  She shook her head. "For years you have held the family together. You’re the one who keeps them safe."

  Dammit, he didn’t want this. Not now. "Don't mistake me, Phoebe. I am no saint."

  She smiled. "Saints don't have the control you do."

  Uncomfortable with her almost hero-worship gaze, he said, "You're believing in fairy tales, lass. You have no idea what I have done to keep the family together."

  She nodded. "And the servants?"

  "No. They live normal lives."

  "But you make sure they have a living, keep the clan together. I noticed that many of the servants are loyal beyond what you’d expect of a regular servant. Especially Belvidore."

  "Yes. ‘Tis my duty."

  "You keep saying that, but that shows just what a remarkable man you are. You have so much money. In your lifetime, even in your extended lifetime, you couldn't spend it all. A lesser man would run off, live it up. You stay. You take care.” Her smile faded. “I know personally I would never match up. I've done things in my life that are questionable even for me, but for you they would be unthinkable. You would never do it."

  She looked so sad, so lost. It was enough to push him over the edge. He didn't want her thinking he was some kind of saint who did everything right.

  "Dammit, Phoebe, I am not some kind of hero to be worshiped. Like I said, I am a man." Unable to keep his hands off her, he grabbed her by the upper arms and tried to shake some sense into her. "Don't think I can't be ruthless. Test me on it and you’ll regret it."

  She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. The touch sent sparks of heat racing through his blood. The smile she offered him sunk into his soul, fed his need.

  "But don't you see? That is what makes you extraordinary. Most men would use it to their advantage. You do it to protect. It makes you one of the most wonderful men I have ever known."

  Tears simmered in her eyes, and it hit him then that she meant it. That it wasn't some kind of hero worship. She admired him for who he was, what he was. It was more than he had ever had from another woman in his life.

  With a groan, he yanked her against him and crushed his mouth against hers. The taste of her exploded within him and drove the craving he had for her to new heights. In this one moment, he wanted nothing else than this. To feel her lips on his, taste her desire on his tongue. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily.

  The tears had dissolved and passion now filled her gaze.

  "Phoebe?" he asked, his voice raw with need.

  She shook her head, and his heart sank. She might want him, but she wasn’t going to take another chance on him. Then, she slid her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. Rising to her toes, she kissed his chin. She gave him a brilliant smile that stole his breath.

  “Take me to bed, Callum."

  Chapter Ten

  For a moment, Callum didn’t move. Phoebe waited, her breath backing up in her lungs at the intensity in his blue gaze. Then, he crushed his mouth to hers. Desperate need filled Phoebe as she tasted it on Callum’s tongue. She had never had a man act as if she were the only thing in the world he needed. Phoebe's world spun as Callum lifted her into his arms and then turned to almost race to his bed. He practically threw her on the bed, and she laughed as she bounced on the mattress. He gave her no time to catch her breath. He slipped over her body, pinning her against the bed. He kept his eyes open as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she would pass out. Gently, almost reverently, he kissed her. First softly, sweetly, almost too sweetly. She slipped her tongue over his lips. He groaned her name then closed his eyes and took her mouth in a hot, wet kiss. She closed her eyes and let herself be taken.

  As with every time before this one, she was lost in the kiss, in him. Even before she knew about him, she was enthralled. Now, knowing the man, knowing what he was, she was beyond enthralled.

  He pulled back then slipped his hand down the front of her shirt to cup her breast. With those wicked hands, he unbuttoned her shirt. He pushed the fabric aside and sighed.

  "No woman was made so perfectly for me as you."

  She must have made a sound because he looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "What? You doubt me?"

  "I know my appeal is limited."

  He shook his head. "You aren't a very smart woman. All those Ph D's taught you nothing. But I am going to teach you more than you need to know."

  He bent his head and grazed his mouth on the sensitive skin that rose above her plain cotton bra. Sparks of heat lighted through her blood. Bloody hell, the man was barely touching her and she was already losing control.

  He slipped his tongue between her breasts, and she shivered. Without removing her bra, he moved his mouth over her breast, teasing her nipple. By the time he was done, she was squirming and her bra was damp. He lifted himself from her then undid her bra. He pulled off her skirt, pantyhose, and panties, and she found herself laying there naked while he was still fully clothed.

  She opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

  "No. No modesty. He slipped down her body, caressing her with his hands, his mouth. As always, she responded, but this time, the connection was stronger, the need almost overwhelming. He slipped off the bed and pulled her to the edge and without waiting, set his mouth against her sex.

  Wave upon wave of
heat rolled through her. Desire spiked as he continued the sensual assault. Soon he stood abruptly. He tore at his clothes until he was standing in front of her completely nude. Lord, the man would never cease to amaze her. Sinewy muscle encased with the most amazing golden skin. How did he get every inch of himself to look like he walked around in the sun naked?

  His erection jutted out a drop of his pre-come wetting the head. Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to his cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, and he groaned. With one stroke, he shuddered. Having this kind of control over him was an empowering feeling. She leaned forward and took him in her mouth. Before long, he was pulling her back. He grabbed a condom, donned it, then covered her with his body.

  He entered her with one hard thrust, and she moaned in pleasure. She had never been so completely taken by a man before.

  "Sorry, love," he said, then he gave her a gentle kiss. "I can't seem to control myself around you."

  She shook her head. "I don't want you to."

  He groaned and dropped his head and started to move. With each thrust, she felt his passion rise, grow, pushed to the edge. He rose to his knees, and taking her by the hips, he thrust deeper, harder.

  "Phoebe, look at me."

  She couldn't obey the order.

  "Now, look at me," he fairly shouted.

  With much work, she did as ordered. His eyes were intense, the stark lines on his face easy to see.

  "You are the only woman to know me, know the real me."

  The intensity in his voice, in his gaze had panic backing up in her chest. Fear clogged her throat so she couldn't talk.

  "You are in my soul, and I am in yours."

  He continued to thrust into her, pushing her higher than she had ever really been before. She shook her head again, unable to accept what he said. She loved him, loved him beyond anything, but he would hate her soon enough. She couldn't let him think there would be anything else.

  He wouldn’t accept it.

  "You're mine, Phoebe. Mine to love, mine to keep. We are one for now and forever."

  He thrust into her hard, pushing her over the edge. Her body convulsed as her orgasm took her to new heights. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. As she felt herself coming down from it, he was still moving, still pushing her. She hadn't recovered from the first orgasm when she felt herself thrust into another one. She screamed his name this time, and his fingers dug into her skin. He followed her that time, thrusting into her one last time.