The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  Simon wrapped his arms around her, surrounding her in his warmth. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Probably. It’s forcing me to remember. I still dream that you’ve left me. The pain was unbearable when I’d thought I’d lost you, first because of my deception and then to death.” His breath warmed her hair as he spoke.

  They’d never spoken about the events in San Francisco. Cara assumed Simon had gotten over them. Apparently she was wrong. Circling her arms around his waist, she clasped her hands together in the small of his back and pressed him closer until she could feel every peak and valley of his torso. The familiar citrusy scent of him comforted her.

  “I’ll never leave you, Simon. I promise,” she said. Flattening her hands on his back, she pushed a loving blast of energy into him.

  The tightness drained from his shoulders and his body relaxed against her. “Thank you for easing my mind,” he said softly.

  She smiled, loving his purity of spirit and beautiful soul.

  “I love Kai. Just not in the same way. That chapter of our lives is closed, but his soul is as connected to mine as yours. I’m in love with you, and only you.” She kissed the back of his hand. “If I hadn’t jumped in front of Kai, at least one of us would be dead right now.”

  “Fair point. I’m grateful to Kai and forever in his debt,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve never felt emotions like the ones I have for you.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  His energy shifted, the heaviness cleansed and swept away. He sat down and pulled her into his lap. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, why is your engagement ring on a chain around your neck?”

  She reached up to finger the ring on the chain for what felt like the hundredth time that day and took a deep breath. “The ring doesn’t fit anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Simon frowned.

  “I’m growing…”

  “Have you spoken to Kai?” he asked, his brow etched with concern.

  She nodded and wrapped her arm around his neck. “Yes, this morning. We’ll do more tests next week. Constantina thinks I might be going through something like Nephilim adolescence.”

  “Hmm, that’s possible. I’ve noticed that you’re getting more muscular, but it’s hard for me to notice changes since I see you every day.”

  She sighed. “If it wasn’t for my clothes and shoes, I’m not sure I would’ve noticed, either. Sienna’s making the wedding dress in three sizes, just in case.” Cara pulled her hands away and wrung them in her lap. “I’ve noticed some other changes, too…”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve never been so hungry before. I’m tempted to eat everything that’s not nailed down. It’s crazy. And then there’s my hormones… I’m surprised I haven’t worn you out with all the sex we’ve been having.”

  She thought better of adding any comments about all the sex her body seemed to want with anyone male, regardless of how she felt about it.

  He buried his face into the soft skin of her neck and nipped. “I’m enjoying that part,” he said in a deep, sexy growl, hugging her close.

  His lips sent a tingle across her scalp and she giggled. “Lucky for me. Now, if I could just stop growing.”

  “You have a long way to go to catch up to me,” he said, his lips turning up in a wry smile.

  She laughed and dropped her arm, poking him in the ribs. “I hope that’s not meant to make me feel better. No way I want to be six feet seven and built like a linebacker.”

  He looked slightly offended. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Yes, if I’m talking about you—not if I’m talking about me. How big do Nephilim women get, anyway?”

  “Not as large as males, but females could be as tall as six feet two.”

  “Oh, great,” Cara crossed her arms over her chest and sulked.

  Simon gave her a squeeze and kissed the side of her head. “I doubt that will be the case with you, my love. Don’t panic until we know more. Let’s wait and see what happens, and then we’ll get your ring sized.”

  “Stop being so pragmatic; it’s not helping.”

  “I’ll love you even if you grow to be as tall as I am,” he said, chuckling at the thought.

  Having fun at my expense—we’ll see about that, she thought and gave him a wicked smile. “Well, you won’t be laughing if I’m the one carrying you to bed.”

  His laughter gave way to a slack jaw before he stood and swept his arm under her legs in one deft movement, his blue eyes darkening with desire. “Let’s hope that day never comes. Why don’t we forget the port? I’m feeling the need to express my relief from this afternoon.”

  Brilliant idea. She threw her arms around his neck as a rush of heat hit her core, anticipating his naked body next to hers in T-minus sixty seconds.

  “Lead on, Sexy Nephil,” she said, happy for those extra hormones as he carried her toward their bedroom.

  No man could ever take his place.

  Chapter 17

  BRETT

  New York City. Greene Street Loft. Thursday, May 23, 12:00 MIDNIGHT ET

  BRETT SAT ON THE BED in the guest room listening to a steady stream of high-pitched expletives pour out of his cell phone.

  “Calm down. Rox. Rox. Roxy!” Brett yelled, holding his cell at arm’s length to prevent a busted eardrum. He’d had a hunch it would be a mistake turning his phone back on.

  “Where were you? You blow off an interview with Rolling-fucking-Stone magazine! What the fuck’s the matter with you?” she screamed.

  How could he even answer that? “It’s a long story,” he replied in a weary voice. He’d forgotten about the 7:00 PM photo shoot and interview, along with all of his other commitments for the night. They all seemed much less important than everything else that had been unloaded on him today.

  “Whoever you have your cock buried in, she’d better damn well be worth it!”

  Brett pulled the phone from his ear and eyeballed it with disgust. “I’m hard to offend, but you just fucking managed it, Rox. I think you know me well enough that, one, if that was the case, I wouldn’t have answered the fucking phone! And two, as my best friend and publicist, you’d damn well know who I was sleeping with! And three… fuck you!” Brett’s face flamed by the time he finished his tirade. There was only one woman he wanted to “bury his cock in,” and she was taken, thank you very much.

  Roxy let out a deep controlled breath. “You let everyone down tonight, King. But you’re right. I do know you better than most. It’s not like you to no-show on me twice in two weeks. So what the fuck happened tonight?”

  Brett ran his hand across his face and swore to himself. “Someone tried to kill me.”

  “What? And you didn’t call me? Are you okay? We need to get—”

  “I’m fine, but I’ve been in freakin’ lockdown all day. Angel and Paco are with me and they’re playing bodyguard for the foreseeable future,” he said, cutting off her rapid-fire line of questioning.

  “But Frank, the Beacon—”

  “Frank’s already in the loop. I’ve hired a private security company, and they’ll have the concert covered inside and out. Angel bought out the entire first row. Everyone will be either a friend or with the security team.” Brett decided not to mention his date with Frank in the cage at Skylar’s MMA studio when he got home to make up for his little disappearing act, or the twenty-five thousand dollar bonus he’d be paying him out of his own account.

  “Shit,” she said quietly.

  “Rox, you’ve got to keep this out of the tabloids at all cost. I’m not kidding. And don’t tell the band. I’m the only target.”

  “Got it. Will you be at the rehearsal tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” There’s no way the guys would play his three new tunes on Saturday night without it.

  She blew out another stunned breath. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will, and sorry about the interview. My head
’s been somewhere else.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I understand. Next time, call me and… stay safe, King.”

  Brett turned his phone back off and tossed it into his duffel bag. Sighing, he looked around and noticed the artwork for the first time. He eyed it with appreciation. He was glad he’d called dibs on the bedroom behind Simon’s studio, letting Paco take the guest room next to the master bedroom where Angel would sleep until Saturday night. Since Simon and Cara planned to stay at the loft after the party, he wanted to create as much physical space between him and them as possible. The last thing he needed was to overhear any vigorous lovemaking.

  What a fucking day. When he’d seen Chloe bolt through the gate that afternoon, his heart had soared. He’d known Cara couldn’t be far behind. Those few minutes they’d spent together before all hell broke loose had been great. He would’ve given anything just to have a few more of those minutes, enjoying her company in blissful ignorance rather than having his reality ripped right out from under him.

  His brain was still on overdrive trying to figure out all the shit that had gone down today.

  Constantina invited him to come with Cara and the others next week to a place she called the Sanctuary. According to her, what he’d learn there could change the current course of his life. He’d reserve judgment on that one. At least Michael had filled him in on some of the basics of what it would mean to be a Messenger once he went through the ceremony… if he went through the ceremony. Despite the insanity of it all, he wanted to learn more… about himself and his real father. What the hell. He had the time. He’d planned on taking a month off anyway after the concert. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose. In all honesty, he hadn’t felt this alive offstage for the last couple of years. Although, he could do without the near-death encounters, and a potential battle of biblical proportion.

  Not to mention, he needed to get over this crazy attraction to Cara. The feel of her in his arms even for a few seconds this afternoon—wow. She made him feel safe and… wicked desirable. If only she weren’t engaged…

  He stared at the ceiling not tired in the least. Screw this. He hauled himself off the bed to do a “Louis and Clark” around the apartment.

  Wandering into Simon’s art studio, he snapped on the overhead light. Canvases of all sizes lined the walls in various stages of completion, some barely started, and some fully framed ready to be hung. Covered by a drape cloth, a large canvas rested on an easel positioned in front of an antique, one-armed daybed.

  Brett peeled away the edge of the cloth, revealing a woman’s arms poised over her head, languishing in a comfortable repose. A quick jerk and the cloth fluttered off the painting to the floor, unveiling a naked Cara lying in a seductive pose, her eyes filled with passion and promise for the painter.

  Brett’s heart rate spiked. This was the landscape he craved to have waiting for him in bed at night…

  Like watching a train wreck, he couldn’t look away. He studied the canvas, knowing this was as close as he’d ever get to seeing Cara naked. His breath caught, his eyes traveling over the painting, drinking her in. Breasts, full and beautiful with perfectly pink nipples, a waist curved in to narrow hips and a flat stomach. Lower, a perfectly manicured thatch of hair the color of autumn leaves led the way to what he could only imagine was a slice of heaven. Hands down, she was magnificent… and someone else’s.

  The lucky bastard, he thought. Too bad his timing was for shit. Fuck it; no use pining over another man’s woman. He draped the cloth back over the canvas and snapped off the light.

  With a heavy sigh, he made a beeline for the wine tower in the kitchen to grab a bottle of red, a glass, and a corkscrew before heading back to his room.

  His intention was to drink enough to pass out and not dream about Cara lying naked in front of him.

  Chapter 18

  MICHAEL

  Brooklyn, New York. Friday, May 24, 8:30 AM ET

  MICHAEL DRAPES HIS ARM around Sienna, consoling her in the small recording studio inside the San Francisco safe house. He’s taken her over to a small love seat, the only piece of furniture among the microphones and musical equipment. She feels so good, fragile, and warm, fitting against his chest like she belongs there. Instinctively, he tightens his arm around her delicate shoulders.

  He brushes a piece of her silken black hair behind her ear, and tips up her chin to see if her tears are gone. He can’t bear to see her cry. Her tears sidestep his defenses, resounding with the broken pieces of himself that he keeps securely hidden.

  She lifts her gaze. Her sky-blue eyes, surrounded by wet spiky lashes, lock on his. His eyes drift down to her rosy lips, only inches from his. A single breath hangs in the air between them. Before he can think, he leans in and kisses her. At first, his lips melt softly into hers, and then, overtaken by an uncontrollable passion that has been building since they first met, he increases the pressure. His tongue parts her lips, hungrily deepening the kiss. Desire flares inside him like a flash fire, coursing through his veins with white-hot heat.

  “Michael…” she moans, responding without hesitation. Michael draws her closer. Reaching down along the slender curve of her back, he presses her into the hard muscles of his chest. His breath comes in ragged pants as his desire suddenly overwhelms his senses, unleashing a primal urge inside him.

  Without warning, every internal alarm sounds, freezing him in place. His inner voice screams that he isn’t worthy—that he’s damaged goods.

  She cups his cheek, and her eyes graze his lips before licking her own. “I want you, Michael.” Her free hand caresses the hollow of his spine above his backside, sending chills over his skin. His fingers clutch her silky hair with longing, releasing the scent of jasmine. More than anything, he wants to believe her.

  Coward, he chides himself. She’d never want you if she knew the truth. The scent of cinnamon fills his senses, nearly crippling him with shame. He fights back hard with every fiber of his being.

  No, she’s different, another part of his brain counters. It won’t matter to her, you’ll see. Prove you’re worth something.

  “Are you sure?” he whispers and holds his breath.

  Her fiery gaze locks on his and she kisses his lower lip. Nuzzling her cheek next to his, she whispers back. “More than you know.”

  Her warm breath on his ear sends a shiver down his spine, and the dam breaks inside him, flooding him with the courage to push down his debilitating doubt. His muscles relax. If this is what she wants, he was hers for the taking.

  “I want you, too,” he confesses, his voice deep and gravelly. Gently, he pushes her back onto the sofa and leans over her.

  Her eyes are welcoming and filled with anticipation. Here like this—beautiful, desirable, and vulnerable—there isn’t a man in his right mind who wouldn’t fall all over her. He’ll show her what she does to him and how much he wants her. He’ll give her enough pleasure to erase her fears. Enough pleasure to keep her from looking too deeply inside of him.

  No more thinking. He lifts the clingy, low-cut shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor. His breath hitches as he looks at her with yearning. He’s denied himself for too long.

  Reaching around, his fingers find the clasp on her bra and unhook it, releasing her firm breasts—perfect handfuls.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, glancing up to see the shy smile on her lips.

  Her tanned nipples stand erect and waiting, calling for him to taste them. They should be savored, he thinks.

  Glancing over at his wine, he dips his fingers into the glass. Dripping with a fine Sancerre, he reaches down and rolls the taut peaks between his wet fingers.

  She closes her eyes and arches her back, moaning with pleasure. His groin fills and tightens.

  He leans in and hungrily licks and sucks the wine from her breasts, kneading them with his fingers and passing his thumbs over the hard tips as his hands and mouth work in tandem. Her delicate skin tastes sweet on his ton
gue underneath the cool sharp taste of the wine.

  She lets out a small cry and threads her fingers into his hair.

  “I need to see the rest of you,” he breathes. Leaning back, he pushes up her skirt and, in one fluid movement, removes her thong. His gaze slowly travels up her long, shapely legs before settling in between them.

  “Mmm.” A sound of approval rises from his throat at the intoxicating sight of her. She is almost fully bare. He hasn’t seen a woman with a Brazilian since he modeled. From this vantage point, he has a clear view to her delicious folds, wet and glistening, as they call out to him like a siren’s song.

  His erection swells to capacity, screaming for release from inside his jeans and threatening to exit through his waistband. He reaches down to his belt, but she’s already there, unbuckling it with astounding speed.

  Before he can react, she takes him firmly in her grasp, and her mouth engulfs him in warm bliss. His breath comes in panting gasps as his nerve endings nearly explode with need.

  “No. Not yet.” He moans low in his throat. Gathering every shred of control he has, Michael carefully extracts himself from her grip.

  She shoves his clothes to his ankles. Stepping out of his pants, he kicks them aside and quickly removes his shirt.

  A mixture of vulnerability and lust flashes in Sienna’s eyes. “Take me, Michael, right now.”

  He’s only too happy to comply. But he wants to taste her before he buries himself into her wet heat. Gently, he pushes her back onto the sofa.

  Returning to his wine glass, he takes half a sip and dives down onto her, mixing the crisp wine with her wetness and drinking it. He revels in the silky softness of her inner thighs against his cheeks and her musky sweetness on his tongue as he explores her cleft and soft, sexy folds.

  Her head drops back, and a curtain of black hair shimmers behind her. She cries out and grasps his shoulders. “Please, Michael, don’t make me wait!”