Broken Heart 06 Come Hell or High Water (13 page)

"Why is the talisman so important?" I asked. "Why does everyone want it?"

"I'll tell you later," he said hoarsely. "Promise." Protests hovered in my mouth like trapped ghosts. They melted into nothingness the second his tongue slid between my folds and flicked my clitoris.

I clutched at his hair, and he moaned. His hands cupped my ass and drew me closer to his ravaging mouth. Tendrils of pleasure wound through me, poking through my doubts, through the protests I wouldn't utter.

It was wrong. Wrong to let him think this was acceptable penance. An orgasm wasn't equivalent to forgiveness. That was man-thinking right there - the idea that sex would resolve the worst of emotional crimes.

My back pressed into the wall, and my knees went soft, and into my mind whispered Connor 's,
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
.

And I couldn't hold on to my anger. Or my fear.

I wanted this moment. Even if it turned into regret later, I wanted it.

I felt that hot rush, and then, yes... I was going over, coming into his mouth, pulling at his hair, and calling out his name. And he wouldn't stop, even when my thighs trembled and my knees threatened to buckle, and oh, hell, he made me come again.

Then my legs gave way and Connor stood up, his muscular body aligning against mine.

His cock pressed into the wet vee of my thighs. Water poured over us like a baptism. I couldn't find the words to say yes or no. I wasn't sure my legs would hold me long enough to walk away, if I even had the fortitude to go.

My gaze was held hostage by his. I saw questions there, questions I couldn't answer. I opened my mind to his and sent out a single thought:
We don't have forever.

We have now, lass.

I nodded, even though it wasn't exactly capitulation. More like stepping off a cliff, embracing that long, joyful moment of freedom and the rush of wind before slamming into the ground.

I kicked off my panties that clung to my ankles like lace shackles. Connor grabbed my shirt where the demon had savaged it, and he ripped it. I shimmied it off my shoulders and it plopped to the ground.

Connor 's hands slid under my buttocks and he lifted me. His shaft teased my entrance. I was already slick, swollen, ready. He was the only man who'd ever made me feel as though my body were an extension of his, and joining with him was a reconnection of a whole.

He impaled me with one swift stroke of his cock. I wrapped my legs around his waist and clutched his shoulders. We stayed like that for an endless moment, savoring the connection that we both knew was temporary.

He leaned down and tugged one turgid peak into his mouth and swirled his tongue, teasing the bud as heat sparked. He palmed my other breast, all the while keeping me pinned to the wall with the strength of his thighs.

I clenched around his cock, and he sucked in a harsh breath, so I did it again.

Then he was moving, his hands grabbing my ass and his mouth moving to my throat. I dug my fingernails into his flesh, my distended nipples scraping against his chest, and welcomed every hard thrust.

He took me all the way to the brink, then slowed just enough so that I didn't tip over. His gaze imprisoned me. The look in his eyes made promises he could not keep, promises of forever, and love, and
this
.

We were not mates. Our bodies were bound to each other, but not our hearts.

That was the lie I would tell myself.

Because I couldn't have Connor. Maybe if he had been a vampire. Or even a human. Or a goddamned troll. But he was a demon.

My throat went tight as sorrow trickled into the pleasure of having Connor inside me.

"Don't," he whispered; then he sealed his mouth to mine, his tongue mimicking the motions of his cock. Heat flared.

He plunged deeply, his fingers jabbing into my thighs. He lifted his mouth only long enough to demand: "Come with me, Phoebe."

He swallowed my moan, and he increased his pace, and I knew he was close because our mind link was still open. I could feel his pleasure, his desperation, because they felt like mine.

He
felt like mine.

"I am," he muttered. "I am yours."

And then he was gasping, pulsating within me, going over the edge, and I went with him, flying into the conflagration we'd created... and we burned together.

After a while, Connor reluctantly withdrew and lowered my shaky legs to the ground. He held me until my feet could hold me, and then stepped away.

"Don't say I shouldna done this," he said, his voice hoarse.

I shook my head because I couldn't figure out what to say. He cupped my cheek, tenderness in his gaze, and I believed it - believed he cared about me even after what he'd done. Maybe he was still lying, but my heart recognized the truth: He'd betray me again, damn it. He'd betray me because of the talisman, because of Lilith, because I wasn't the woman he loved. The one he desired, sure. And the one he had to protect. But love wasn't a factor. It was just another pathetic sign of my own loneliness that I wished it were any different.

I ached for Connor, for both of us.

Connor magicked up soap and washcloths and shampoo, and we separated to scrub ourselves. When we were finished, we moved away from the waterfall. He created big, thick cotton towels, and we dried off.

The silence between us wasn't exactly comfortable. There was so much to do, to worry about, to figure out before we could even begin to unravel the mating issue.

I leaned over to rub the towel over my hair. When I straightened, Connor was fully dressed in a black T-shirt, faded denims, and snakeskin boots. Even his hair was dry and brushed.

"Hey, do I get clothes, too?"

"I like you as you are," he said, grinning. Then he flicked his fingers and red magic spun toward me.

Within seconds I found myself dressed in black jeans, a rust-colored shirt and short-sleeved jacket, and black ankle boots. To my surprise, I was also wearing my holster with my Glock securely tucked inside and hidden under the jacket.

"Your knives are in your boots," he said.

He knew I used to wear the Glock, with its Wiccan-blessed silver bullets, before the Invisi-shield had gone active - I'd told him that. He knew I was pretty good with my throwing knives, too, though how he'd known I kept them tucked into my boots, I didn't know. Maybe he guessed. Or maybe he snooped while I was in my vampire coma. From the guilty expression sliding across his face, I figured it was snooping.

"It's not really your stuff," he said. "I just recreated it."

Connor reached for my hand.

The air went still, the world black and zingy, and then,
pop
, we were back in the first cavern. Scrymgeour, who'd been asleep, jumped to his tiny feet and scurried toward Connor. He leaned down and scooped up his puppy, allowing the hellhound to lick his face.

My gaze landed on the demon bodies that still hadn't dissipated. I studied them as several mental pieces clicked into a very ugly puzzle. The smell. The location. The hellhound. The demons. One thing I knew about demons was that they had to return to the Pit to heal from grievous injuries. Usually they poofed Downstairs quick-like.

Yeah. No denying it now.

"Connor?" I asked softly. Anger fluttered somewhere beyond the relief that I was alive (sorta) and clean. "Are we in hell?"

Jennifer had told me, in a fashion. She'd said it wasn't too bad on the first level. I hadn't considered what she meant because the conversation had been so odd. Nope. I just said to send me to where Connor was without asking any more questions.

Scrymgeour jumped out of his master's arms and sat next to Connor, his little bulgy brown eyes on me. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. Aw. He was so cute for a mutt that munched on demons.

"You're angry, aren't you, lass?"

"You think?" I waved my hands around. "Does Jennifer live in hell?"

"Sorta."

"What?"

Connor held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression one of trepidation. He looked at me as though he were trying to figure out how to explain why he'd
taken me to hell
in a way that might not upset me.

Right.

"We're on the uppermost level," he said, as though that were a perk.

"I don't want to be on any level."

"It was the safest place to go."

"You have a really stupid definition of 'safe.' Hell is the opposite of safe." I gestured toward the demon corpses as evidence.
Gah!
I wanted to punch him in the head. I clenched my fists. "Get us out of here now!"

"Okay, lass." He wisely refrained from telling me to calm down.

"I want to talk to my son. I want to hug him and rub my face in his hair and tickle his belly." My voice bordered on the edge of whiny. "And I want some cookies." I looked at him in horror. "I can't eat. Oh, my God. I can't eat human food unless I'm in Broken Heart."

"Are you hungry, then?" he asked. He tapped the side of his neck. "You can have another pint, if you like."

"No! I want to eat my emotions. I need comfort food, damn it."

His brows went up and he opened his mouth.

I raised my hand in a "stop" gesture. "Don't even."

Connor picked up Scrymgeour and stepped toward me, his gaze wary.

"You're taking him with us?"

"I promised him I wouldna leave him again."

"You, making a promise?" I asked.

"I never make a promise I canna keep."

Somehow, I didn't doubt that. And I should have, because he'd already proven he was a highly skilled liar.

"C'mon, lass."

I grasped the hand Connor held out, and then the world fell away.

We appeared, side by side, on a very comfortable black sofa. The dimly lit room smelled sickly sweet, like a rose-filled funeral parlor. Black furniture, and red accent pieces - like that vase with dead black roses in it - filled the place. Scrymgeour leapt out of Connor 's lap and started sniffing around. Then he meandered out of the room, through an open door that led to a staircase.

"Kitchen," said Connor.

"Really?"

"It's like a real house. Jenny created it on the first level - sorta in the ether. It's difficult to get to if you don't know how to get here." He tapped his temple. "She's very powerful. Not only can she zap from hell anytime she wants; she can be a portal for other demons."

"Demons like Lilith?"

"It's why I protect her," he said. "Lilith can't get her hands on Jen here."

"And dare I ask why Scrymgeour ventures into the kitchen?"

"Jen keeps scraps down there for him."

"Demon parts?" I asked.

"Oh, aye. We hack 'em up fresh an' everything." He smiled broadly.

I laughed.

Jennifer, in her va-va-voom vixen form, sauntered into the room. "Wow. This place is a real drag. What was I thinking?" She waved one slender arm. The entire room changed. Everything turned white with crystal accents. Behind us, the windows melted into nothing and revealed an ocean view. The sun was setting, casting pink lights on the waves tickling white sand.

"Better," she said. She leaned down and hugged Connor from behind. "You healed fast, brother!"