Hearts & Wishes

by Shiloh Walker

  But the children and Chelly could become vulnerable. The past few years had seen an increase in violence, an increased desperation that concerned all of them. The North Council feared that if the renegade elves weren’t caught soon, they would grow frustrated. Frustrated people rarely thought well and they might set their sights on a different target—on Nik’s family.

  Rhys knew, though Holly did not, that those threats were part of the reason Nik was so terrified of letting his daughter venture out into the mortal world.

  Bryan, Chelly’s son through her first marriage, was luckier than Holly. An injury early in his life had landed him in the Reach, an injury that could have killed him, an injury that might have killed him if Nik hadn’t intervened and brought the boy to the Reach. That injury was healed through a blood bond with the elvish healer Ganessa, a bond known as elf-kin. It had saved Bryan’s life and changed it. Over the years, the bond had worked a strange magic that the elves didn’t completely understand, altering his DNA from that of a mortal. Scientifically speaking, Bryan was caught between elf and mortal, a completely human appearance but gifted with the long life, the enhanced speed and strength of the elves…and magic. Bryan was raised as all elvish children were, going into training for his magics when they began to appear just before puberty. By the time he was twenty, Bryan has shown a skill with magic that many natural-born elves couldn’t claim.

  Although Nik loved his adopted son, Bryan, as though the boy were his own, he didn’t freeze with fear when he thought of somebody trying to harm Bryan. Sexist, Rhys supposed but most of the elves came from a time when women were valued, coddled and protected.

  Much as Nik was doing with his daughter.

  “You look awful serious. Is there something wrong? Have I…”

  Rhys looked up to find Holly watching him with worried eyes. He realized that they were standing in front of the elevator and he had been brooding, off in his own little world. “No, precious. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was just thinking.”

  “Some serious, heavy thinking,” she murmured as the elevator doors slid open. Once more, the security drones scanned the two of them and then the elevator made its rapid descent down to the main level. The Reach had grown a great deal over the past century. Once, it had been possible to get from one side of the Reach to the other in a matter of minutes but now, it was more like a booming, mortal city instead of the simple village it had been for so long.

  More and more elves were traveling north to dwell within the Reach, safe from prying mortal eyes. It led to a need for more room, more houses, more jobs…and more to do. The elves of the Reach spent their days and nights working hard and when they had down time, they wanted to play hard.

  Which is where the Axis came in. The Axis was in the center of town, an entertainment complex complete with easily a dozen restaurants, half a dozen bars and a twelve screen movie theater.

  Normally one of the bars closest to the town’s center was where Rhys would have preferred to go. Even in the middle of the Festival, Rhys could find a table, no matter how crowded whatever bar or club he chose. Being the Claus’ second came with benefits but even before he’d taken this position, Rhys rarely had to wait in line, rarely had to wait for a table and rarely dined alone unless it was his personal choice.

  Most nights, he would have chosen someplace where the music was loudest, the women dressed in sexy little bits of nothing and the crush of bodies kept talking to an absolute minimum. But Rhys didn’t want to go someplace so loud and chaotic, not with Holly.

  So instead, he chose a place that had been styled after an Irish pub—lots of dark wood, lots of Irish whiskey and Guinness and music that played on quietly in the background instead of blasting through the night air. Taking a booth back in the corner, as far away from prying eyes and the front door as he could get, he waited until the dark-haired waitress had brought them their drinks before saying anything.

  “You know your parents are worried about you,” he said softly. It wasn’t what he wanted to talk with her about—actually, Rhys didn’t want to talk with Holly at all. At least not right now. What he wanted to do was hold her. Kiss her. Then strip her naked and fuck her until she cried out his name, until her face was glowing and flushed and all the sadness left her pretty blue eyes.

  Instead, he drank his Guinness and leaned back to study her face. She had ordered a half-pint of Harp and she stared into the pale liquid as though the answer to the universe lay just beyond the surface. “They don’t need to worry about me,” she said, glancing at him and then looking back at her drink.

  Cocking a brow at her, Rhys said, “Shouldn’t they? You’ve quit your job—didn’t even give any notice.” He grinned faintly. “You know, Bouchard came to see me. He was terrified that somebody had done something to upset you. Terrified that he was going to get a visit from your father over it.”

  Holly scowled. “I told him that wasn’t the case. Hell, everybody seems to think I’m going to go running to Da any time I get upset. What am I…seven years old?”

  “I don’t think that,” Rhys said.

  She shot him a sidelong look and then grinned faintly. “The way you push me, if anybody would have me running to Da in tears, it would be you.” Restless, she shifted on the long, thick cushion and said, “They don’t need to worry about me, Rhys.”

  “Are you so certain? It’s more than just your job, precious. You look sadder and sadder every time I see you. You’ve lost weight. You hardly eat. You look like you haven’t slept well in weeks…or months.”

  “I hardly ever sleep very well, Rhys. That’s nothing new. As to my job…” Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “It was boring me to tears.”

  “Then find a new one.”

  Now she snorted. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind one delicately pointed ear, she said, “Oh, if it were only that easy. Every time I’ve attempted to transfer to a new division, somebody runs and tells Da.” Then her eyes widened and she winced. “Forget I said that.”

  “Why? You’re allowed to complain from time to time, Holly.”

  Her shoulders lifted in a sigh, fell. Once more, she glanced at him. “Allowed, maybe. But it won’t change anything. Da wants me kept in headquarters where it’s nice and safe. I’m stuck there.”

  “Not so stuck. You did quit.”

  Finally, a faint smile appeared on her face, curving her pretty mouth upward. The sight hit Rhys like a fist, square in the solar plexus, and it took him a second to realize she’d said something else. “Yeah, I did.”

  An awkward silence fell. Rhys wanted to touch her. She looked so sad, so alone. Slowly, he slid his hand along the surface of the table and caught one of hers. Holding it in his, he rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “He means well, Holly. He just loves you so much.”

  But it wasn’t what Holly needed to hear, apparently. She jerked her hand back and slid out of the booth, grabbing her bag from under the table. “Yeah I know he loves me. But his love is killing me, Rhys.”

  “Are we ready to order, then?” a cheery voice asked.

  Holly glanced up as the waitress appeared. “Nothing for me, thanks.” Shaking her head, she looked at Rhys and said, “I’m sorry, Rhys. I’m afraid I’m not good company right now. I gotta go.”

  Turning on her heel, she headed for the door, striding away on long, sexy legs. Rhys caught up with her a few doors down. Panic swelled inside him as he realized Holly was crying.

  Crying. Huge, diamond bright tears shone in her soft blue eyes and then trickled down her porcelain cheeks. Swearing, he grabbed her elbow and led her into the alley just ahead, off the main road, down between two huge buildings currently in the middle of redecoration. Rhys, being the head of security in the Northern Reach, had master codes to get into every building and he punched the code into the first door he reached.

  Tugging against his hold, Holly sniffled and tried to pull away. “Rhys…”

  He shook his head. “Precious, do us both a favor and be quiet.
You want to run back home, lock yourself in your rooms and cry. You’re in a bad place and I can’t blame you for a bit of self-pity. But you spend too much time alone. If you’ve a need to cry this time, you’ll damn well do it with me.”

  She sniffed. Wiped away a tear. “I’m not crying.”

  Taking her hand, he led her inside and shut the door behind them. The long hallway was still in the midst of being painted but off to the right was a huge room with lots of fat, comfy chairs, low couches and four different TVs. A big sign on the far wall advertised—Affordable Luxury. Reserve your space today at High Reach, the premier home for the modern elf. A few pamphlets and brochures were scattered throughout the room.

  “Fine. You can not cry all you want, right here with me.” He led her to one of the low-slung couches and sat down, tugging on her wrist until she sank down beside him. Taking her bag, he tossed it onto the table nearest them and then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  To his surprise, she only resisted for a moment and then she cuddled into him. Cupping the back of her head, he murmured, “Go ahead and cry if you want to, precious. Being lonely hurts. The tears might help a little.”

  The humiliation was now complete, Holly decided as she leaned against Rhys’ side and sniffed, trying to blink away the tears before any more fell. He was wrong. Crying didn’t help. All it did was give her a headache and make her feel like a weak, whiny moron. This, though—leaning against his long, hard body, breathing in the dark, seductive scent of his skin—helped.

  The past four years, she’d been secretly drooling over Rhys.

  Drooling and dreaming.

  Maybe this is a dream, she thought as he slid his hand soothingly up and down her back. Made more sense than anything else. Especially when the strokes on her back started to drift—an occasional brush of his fingers across her nape, then down lower on her back, brushing the skin left bare between her sweater and her jeans.

  It was…nice.

  Very nice. It got even nicer when he started to fiddle with her hair, tugging out the band holding her braid, combing through the long locks in a lazy, almost absent manner. His voice, when he spoke, was rough and low.

  “You’ve got such lovely hair, Holly.”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. Keeping her eyes fastened on his chest, she didn’t respond. Holly was almost afraid to speak. This was the most contact she’d had from anybody, well, other than her parents, in years—ever. She saw people touching all the time—casual touches, friendly touches, intimate ones like the way a man would stroke a hand down his woman’s back, a possessive, loving gesture, a quick kiss shared before they parted ways, or sometimes, something a little hotter, a little more intense.

  Once, she’d gone to take her break a little early and had ended up walking in on a couple of coworkers. They’d pulled apart as though the Claus himself had interrupted them, moving with blurring speed to readjust clothing and then ducking out with muttered excuses.

  It all filled her with a sense of jealousy and a sense of curiosity. She wanted to be touched like that. She wanted somebody to touch her, somebody who didn’t care about anything other than her—just her. Somebody who could make her forget about anything but the pleasure, everything but the need.

  But she hadn’t gambled on it being possible. Rhys, once more, had proved her wrong. Under the slow, gentle movements of his hand, she forgot about everything but him. Everything but the way he smelled, the way he felt, the way it felt when he combed his fingers through her hair.

  Rhys’ own hair was a dark gold, shot through with strands of deep brown, black and red. It was long, every bit as long as her own. More often than not, he kept it pulled back in a braided queue but today it hung free around his shoulders. Unable to stop, she reached out and slid her fingers through the silky, straight strands. Rhys didn’t move but something changed—she felt the tension in the air spike. Nervous, embarrassed, she tried to tug away but the arm around her shoulder tightened.

  “Look at me, precious.”

  She didn’t want to. But that low, compelling voice didn’t give her much of a choice. Swallowing, she eased back, looked up to meet Rhys’ eyes. They were a vivid, brilliant green rimmed by a band of gold. Usually those eyes were as unreadable as a closed book but today they all but glowed with some unnamed emotion. The green of his eyes darkened and his pupils expanded as he stared down at her. Without speaking, he straightened up on the couch and rearranged her body so that she was no longer sitting tucked against him, but on him. His gaze lowered, fastened on her mouth and abruptly Holly realized something.

  Rhys was going to kiss her.

  Rhys was going to kiss her. Her. Oh shit. Her heartbeat picked up, slamming away inside her chest as he slid his hands up over her arms, her shoulders, one sliding through her hair to curve around the base of her skull, the other stroking down until he could cup her hip.

  This is a bad fucking idea, Rhys’ common sense shouted.

  But Rhys rarely listened to anybody’s advice—including his own. Instead of letting her go, taking her home and leaving her be, he pulled her closer, staring into her eyes as he covered her mouth with his.

  She was sweet. Sweet, hot…and untouched. He felt the hungry pleasure as it blasted through her body and he could sense the stunned, surprised reaction as she arched and squirmed against him, trying to get closer.

  Innocence was something he had little use for. Innocence too often came with a cost he wasn’t willing to pay. And with Holly…there were would be an even bigger cost.

  No woman had ever had a hold on his heart and he preferred it that way.

  Nice, easy, casual—that was how Rhys liked it. But as Holly’s mouth moved against his, he knew that he was about to take a serious departure from his standard operating procedure. Because he wasn’t going to pull away. He wasn’t going to send her off to her lonely bed and retreat to his own where he’d have another night of hot, sweaty dreams about his best friend’s daughter.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

  Fisting a hand in the tight, silky curls cascading down her back, he eased her away just a little.

  There was one chance that he would let go of her. Just a slight one. If she showed some sign that she didn’t want this, he’d pull back. Walk away and find somebody else to take over her training because he wouldn’t be able to get near her after this, not for a good long while.

  Already his cock ached with an intensity that nearly had him doubled over. Already his hands itched to strip her naked and explore the soft, sweet body currently pressed against him. But Rhys hadn’t ever taken what wasn’t freely and knowingly given. He wouldn’t start now.

  He held her gaze with his as he reached for the buttons that held her sweater closed, undoing them slowly, one at a time, when all he wanted to do was tear every shred of clothing from her body.

  “Should I let you go?” he asked quietly as he released the last button.

  “Go?” she repeated, her voice confused.

  He trailed one finger down her torso, stroked it along the lace that edged her black bra. “Yes. Go. You can stand up now and walk away from this.”

  Her teeth, small and white, caught her lower lip. Rhys had to resist leaning in and catching that soft, plump lip with his own teeth. Instead of doing that, instead of pushing her sweater off her shoulders and down her arms, he curved a hand over the back of her neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

  Thick, golden-tipped lashes drooped low over her eyes, shielding her gaze from his.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  A shy, nervous smile curved her lips upward. But instead of saying anything, she reached up and tugged at the open edges of her sweater, rolling her shoulders so that the soft chenille slid down her arms. Then she reached for the clasp between her breasts, releasing the bra. Her breasts swung free as she tugged the bra off and tossed it onto the couch beside them.

  As she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, Rhys groaned and close
d his eyes.

  It’s like kissing a bolt of lightning, Holly thought, more than a little dazed. Rhys’ arms banded around her, one arm at her hips, the other fisting in her hair and arching her neck back. His mouth slid over her skin, teeth scraping along her shoulder, his tongue stroking a hot, damp trail down over the curve of one breast.

  When his mouth closed over one nipple, Holly felt the press of darkness wrap around her. Dazed pleasure and a need that had been ignored for far too long suffused her entire body. When he bit down on her nipple, she gasped and arched against him. The orgasm took her completely by surprise, overtaking her body as she writhed and wriggled against him, moving her hips frantically. Between her thighs, through the layers of their clothes, she could feel him—the length of his cock, hard and thick—as she rocked against him. The hands on her body tightened and she felt him growl against her flesh. His teeth scored the sensitive skin of her nipple, just a little too tightly, but that sweet edge of pain only intensified what was happening inside her.

  He rolled, twisted and when she opened her eyes, she lay on the leather couch and Rhys hovered above her, staring down at her with eyes that had gone nearly black. The soft green had deepened, darkened, until the iris was hardly discernible. The thin rim of gold glittered and, staring into his eyes, she felt something deep inside clench nervously.

  Holly knew what lust was. She’d seen it between her parents, tempered with love and tenderness, she’d seen it between some of the people she worked with and she’d read about it more times than she could count. But she hadn’t realized it could do that to a man—or to herself. He stared down at her with an intensity that was more than a little unsettling.

  She watched, dazed, as he pushed up onto his knees, still kneeling between her thighs. His eyes bored into hers as he laid his hands, palm down, against her thighs, right above her knees. Sliding his hands along her denim covered legs, he stroked up, up, up until his hands met at the apex of her thighs. She was wet, achingly empty and she throbbed. Embarrassingly so, and when he pressed his thumbs against her clit through her clothes, she arched up against his hands, moaning.