Hidden Currents

by Christine Feehan

  Jackson felt a burning behind his eyes. His throat was raw. She was a stick of dynamite when she got going, she always had been. He loved her so much it terrified him. He'd never needed anyone. He'd never wanted anyone. Elle was different. She'd taken hold of his heart and there was no getting it back. He was a danger to her, maybe to others, but she just stood there in front of him, small and delicate and made of steel.

  He damn well wasn't going to let her see him cry. He turned on his heel and left the bedroom, striding down the hall in the dark, toward the one room in his home where he could lose himself. He didn't bother with lights; whenever he was like this, restless and edgy and screaming with rage inside, he needed the darkness and shadows.

  Outside the windows the mist had enclosed the house like a blanket, cocooning them in a mystic embrace. The wind blew through the trees so that they swayed and danced outside and when he stood at the window, he could see vines growing up along the fence, thick and strong, entwined around everything, with heavy sprays of blossoms. Those flowers grew thick and strong all along the Drake home's fences--and they bloomed through the winter season.

  He shook his head and turned away from the strange phenomenon and looked at his masterpiece--the one thing that made sense to him when the world was all wrong. The baby grand piano was beautiful. The lines, the shiny black, the ivory keys--he'd spent a fortune on it and it had been worth every penny. Perfectly in tune, without a single blemish, it was as beautiful to him as the music it created.

  He sat on the bench and placed his fingers over the keys and everything in him that had been chaotic and wrong settled. He closed his eyes and let his fingers drift over the keys, listening to the pure notes that poured from the instrument, a perfect pitch, a melody from another place, somewhere without sadistic maniacs, without rape and torture, somewhere his mind could go and see the beauty of the world around him.

  The music allowed him to see the ocean, the waves crashing, ebbing and flowing like the earth's lifeblood. He could feel the pulse of the earth, the hills and mountains rising majestically in the minor and major chords as the music flowed from him into the keys and out again into the room, filling it with the sound of peace, giving him a sense of peace.

  And Elle, beautiful, fiery Elle. He was more broken over Elle than what had happened to him. He could escape his own past, he could let hatred and rage for his captors fade and die in him, but not Gratsos. He couldn't live with the threat of Gratsos hanging over Elle's head. The way the man terrorized her, the way the man had treated her. He could live with a lot of things, but not that. He knew he would hunt Gratsos and he would kill him and he would have to come back home and face her. He couldn't live without removing the man from the earth permanently and he wasn't certain she could live with him once he'd done it. His heart stumbled and so did his fingers.

  He let the music carry him away from his thoughts and back to what was his world. Back to sanity and peace. Elle. His fingers flew over the keys, pouring passion and fire into his concerto, seeing her in his mind with her long red hair spilling around him like a silken, fiery waterfall. Her skin, so soft, pale in the darkness, rose petals in the candlelight, his hands moving over her body, taking her into his, shaping and memorizing every sweet curve.

  He closed his eyes and made love to her with his music, joined them in his mind without even knowing he did so. Each separate note was a stroke, a caress, a gift to her. The song was his message of love, one he could never adequately say, but this instrument could and did, the melody rising with his own passion.

  Elle watched Jackson play, his head bent over the keyboard, eyes closed, body swaying as the music moved through him, out his hands and into the instrument. She stood in the doorway looking at his face. He was completely absorbed in the music, his fingers moving over the keys, his thoughts far away. He was in the shadows, with just the small glow of candles allowing her to see his expression. She knew he had the heart of a warrior, fierce and loyal and deadly in a fight, yet looking at him now, she knew he had the soul of a poet.

  She looked around the room. It was obviously built for the acoustics and the sound was incredible. There was a gas fireplace built into the wall and the hardwood floors gleamed. Near the fireplace was a thick carpet with two deep armchairs and a small table between them. Little else, other than candles, decorated the room. The candles gave off a soft light, but otherwise the room was veiled in shadows, just as Jackson often was.

  Jackson stole her breath with his song, with the images in his mind. The notes played over her body, teasing her senses into a leaping fire until she couldn't take a breath without breathing him in. She ached inside with need for him, with the need to please him, to take him from that dark place inside him, to sheer bliss, to the ecstasy of his music.

  She entered the room, padding across the floor to the fireplace to light it. Flames glowed a mixture of gold and red, low, just skimming over the logs almost in time to the music flowing around her. She felt different with the music, the pulse beating through her, stealing her fears away. The lower notes resonated deep in her most feminine core, throbbing there so that the sensation traveled through her body like a molten stream of notes, teasing over her skin and tweaking her nipples into hard peaks.

  She took her time, going back for pillows and a light blanket, arranging them on the thick rug in front of the fire. This room was safe. No one, nothing, could get in and disturb their world here. She added a few long-burning candles to the rock mantelpiece above the fireplace and lit them before signaling to Bomber to lay outside the door for added protection, an amazing warning system. Then she closed the door firmly, shutting the two of them into the room and the rest of the world out.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the music as it swelled in volume. She could feel her heart pounding in rhythm to the melody. She let it take her away to another place, somewhere sensual, the heat spreading through her body as she stepped out of her drawstring pants, folded them neatly and set them aside along with her underwear. She unbuttoned the long shirt and folded it next, placing it on top of the pants. Only when she was completely naked did she turn and pad quietly across the hardwood floor to stand behind Jackson.

  She leaned over his back, her arms circling his neck, pressing her body against his bare skin while her mouth drifted over his neck in time to the sensual music flooding her body with wicked heat. Her teeth nipped, found his earlobe and tugged. His playing changed, the notes building from sheer passion to a swelling climax.

  Her heart beat faster and her body ached for him, empty and needing him to fill her. She kissed her way down his spine, taking her time, the pads of her fingers sliding over his muscles, tracing scars while her mouth followed, soft and persuasive, kissing and licking, occasionally nipping. She went to her knees, her face pressed against his lower back while her arms slid around him, hands at the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

  She felt his swift intake of breath, his body going still. She felt his mind move against hers, the waves of pleasure as she slowly opened the front of his jeans. He wore no underwear. She'd seen him pull his jeans over his hips, and his erection was thick and heavy, straining to be free. She moved her head around to his side so she could lick and nip at his ribs and lower along his hip as her fingers stroked and caressed and played along his thick shaft, following the movement of his fingers on the piano keys. The music swelled as did his shaft, and she cupped him lower, first at the base and then lower still, caressing the sensitive ball sac.

  He lost his breath in a rush of heat. There was no hesitation in his mind, no questions as he turned to her, no fear that she might reject him. Like Elle, he seemed to have the same sense that this room was sacred and no one could touch them here.

  He turned all the way around on the piano bench, his hands framing her face, urging her to look up at him. Elle never once stopped the caresses along his shaft, sliding her hand up and over him, moving between his thighs as she lifted her face for his kiss. He took her mouth with
a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. She tasted love. She tasted belonging.

  "Make love to me, Jackson," she whispered. "Make me yours."

  "You are mine, Elle. You always have been."

  He stood up, holding her gaze with his as he pushed the jeans down and kicked them away. He drew her up and found her mouth again, fusing them together and this time, his kiss was a demand, a promise, a taking.

  He lifted her in strong arms and laid her over the piano, exerting pressure with one hand until she complied with his unspoken demand and lay back, giving him full access to her body. He kissed his way up her calves, then her inner thighs, before draping her legs over his broad shoulders. She looked so beautiful lying there, completely open and vulnerable to him, no fear, only trust on her face, only need in her eyes. He smiled at her, a wicked smile filled with the promise of pleasure and lowered his head to trail a series of bites inside her upper thighs.

  Elle's breath exploded from her lungs. His tongue rasped a long velvet caress over the stinging little nips. Deep inside, her temperature shot straight to raging inferno. He stroked his fingers over her sex and she shuddered. He smiled at her, another wicked smirk that sent her heart climbing into her throat. She couldn't take her eyes from his face. The lust carved there, the love blazing in his eyes. He slowly sank his finger into her tight, wet channel, and she cried out, her heart giving another unexpected lurch as his eyes darkened and blazed.

  His thumb flicked her clit and she moaned, her hips surging upward to try to get relief as the heat swept through her and became a fire. His mouth moved over her inner thigh again, and he blew gently into her damp heat. Rather than putting out the fire, the feel of his breath against her only ignited her more.

  His tongue slid over her sex in a long, languid, very lazy stroke, as if they had all the time in the world and he was enjoying himself thoroughly. Her entire body tightened, shuddered and she moaned low in the back of her throat. He found those little moans and whimpers vibrated through his entire body and hardened him even more. Each time he elicited a soft little cry he felt it was a claiming of her, a branding, his mark, his scent, his victory, giving her pleasure, wrapping her up in erotic bliss.

  He kissed her, tasted her, and then stabbed deep, completely at odds with his earlier slow attention. She nearly convulsed in shock.

  "Jackson."

  His name hissed out between her teeth, another breathy little moan that vibrated through his entire body. Her face and body were flushed with arousal, her eyes nearly opaque, so glazed and dazed he wanted to keep her like that, head twisting desperately from side to side, her hips rising, searching for him.

  He spread one hand on her belly, holding her in place while he lifted her hips to his mouth with the other and began to devour her. She went wild, bucking against his mouth while he played her body, enjoying the havoc he was wreaking, loving the way she panted and squirmed and tossed her head. Her moans were long and low and just as beautiful as the notes he created on the piano--more so. His tongue flicked back and forth over her clit and then he suckled, sending her screaming over the edge. He felt the waves of heat, the miracle of pleasure flooding her body and mind and the flow went straight to his mind and rushed to his cock.

  He gave one last lick, felt a satisfying shudder go through her and he dropped her legs around his waist and simply lifted her. Elle wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat.

  "I love you, Jackson. I know you're trying not to think in terms of me belonging to you, but honestly, I want to belong to you." Her voice was a whisper, a thread of sound. She was still trying to find her breath after her orgasm. "Make me yours. I want to feel you inside of me and know I belong to only you. I need that." She rained kisses over his face and found his mouth almost blindly, tasting herself as their mouths welded together.

  He laid her gently in the middle of the thick rug. "You taste sweet, like strawberries. I'm already addicted. I'm going to spend a lifetime eating you up." He straddled her, leaning down to find her breasts with the heat of his mouth.

  She gasped and arched into him. His hands came up, cupping the soft weight, thumbs flicking over her nipples, tugging and pulling and creating a continuous streak of lightning running from her breasts to her womb. She was frantic for him, for the feel and taste of him, reaching up to cradle his head to her breasts, her hips writhing beneath him. Her breath came in anxious little pants.

  Jackson loved the way she moved against him, her body craving his. She held nothing back, a hot, sensuous woman needing him, wanting him buried deep inside her, stroking his cock with eager fingers, unashamed of her craving for him. It heightened his own pleasure to know she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.

  Looking into her emerald eyes, he felt a jolt of something close to fear--no, not fear: terror. From the first day he'd heard her voice in that prison camp, so long ago, she'd been his world. He couldn't imagine what it would be like without her, he didn't even want to know, yet he'd tried to send her away tonight. What had he been thinking?

  He rolled off her, lying beside her and caught her breasts in his hands, tugging at her nipples, until she gasped and came toward him.

  "Straddle me, baby." He wasn't going to pin her down, not yet. Not until she could get used to his possession. There was no need to chance putting fear back in her eyes, not when they were so hot with passion. He guided her using pressure on her breasts, lifting his head to flick at the peaks with his tongue, forcing her to bend forward and down over the top of him.

  He could feel the cool air on his jerking cock, enflam ing him further. He wanted to feel the clasp of her sheath, tight and velvet soft, clamping around him. She moaned softly as he slid his hands over her bottom, his large palms rubbing and massaging as he lifted her over his aching shaft. He guided her with her body over his and pushed his hips up as he brought her down over him. The feeling of her body opening like a flower, unfurling petals to take him in robbed him of breath and sent flames roaring through his veins.

  Elle shivered as she settled her body over his, her eyes half-closed, savoring the feeling of fullness as he stretched her almost to burning. He didn't move for a moment, allowing her to get used to his size before drawing her down farther, pushing through tight muscles and lodging so deep she thought he was nearly to her throat.

  "Look at me, Elle," Jackson instructed. "This--us together--I feel like I'm home at last. This is where I belong. Inside you. Look at me. Keep looking at me."

  The silken slide of her hair tumbled around her face as her gaze locked with his and she began to ride him at the urging of his strong hands on her hips. He moved with her, thrusting deep, fast and then slow, watching her face flush with desire, watching the heat in her eyes, the way her breathing changed to little frantic pants as her body coiled tighter and tighter around his.

  Jackson cupped her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples. Watching her eyes, he grasped her nipples and pinched, tugging her down and over him, seeing the heat flare in her gaze, her mouth open to give one of her sexy, mind-blowing moans as she bathed his cock in liquid fire.

  He kept her body over his, taking complete control, reveling in her surrender as he took over the rhythm, impaling her hard and fast, driving her up the peak, seeking his own release in the pounding thrusts of his hips. His fingers dug deep into her soft flesh, holding her still, all the while keeping her gaze locked on his. He wanted to feel her surrender, to see the pleasure in her eyes. Then her breath caught in her throat. She whimpered as the first wave of fire tore up through her core and settled in her belly to spread like a fireball.

  Her emerald gaze never left him. He watched the flush rise up her body to consume her. He watched her surrender to the hot rapture--to him. He watched her give herself over to him, body and soul completely. The beauty of her gift only added to his own release, and he let go of every thought, everything and simply gave himself to her.

  The music of her soft moans surrounded him, taking him
to another place where there was only her body clamping around his like a hot velvet vise, the liquid notes of pleasure that vibrated between them, as his body erupted with glorious, bone-melting release. Never once did she look away from him, drinking in his expression as they both floated together.

  It was a long while before he stirred to push her tumbling hair from her face and slide his hand over the nape of her neck. "You're where you belong, Elle."

  She nodded. "I feel like I'm home, Jackson. At last. I'm here." Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  He pulled her close to flick them away with his tongue. "I hope you're not too sleepy, baby, because I'm going to want to make love to you all night."

  For an answer, she brought her mouth down on his and let her body melt around him.

  15

  JACKSON groaned and turned his head to look out the window at the dawn creeping across the sky. He was sprawled on his back on the thick carpet in front of the fireplace in his music room. Most of the candles had burned low and a few were out altogether. The scent of lavender and sex lay heavy in the air and he breathed it in. Elle and Jackson. It was a heady fragrance and his body stirred in spite of the fact that he'd made love to her all night.

  Elle lay draped over his body, her breasts across his thighs, her lips against his cock, her hands cupping his balls. Every breath she drew, every time she exhaled, he felt it against his softened shaft. His cock jerked and pulsed in time to her breathing, but Jackson lay limp and drained, basking in the aftermath of the best sex he'd ever had. If he'd had anything at all left in him, he would have been all over her, but he couldn't move. He could only lie there feeling absolute satisfaction. Pure contentment.