Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel (32 page)

It was a bit spooky to have the first card be so right.

Sloane smiled with satisfaction. “I knew you’d run away from something, and it wasn’t a busy practice reading tarot cards.”

“But…”

He waved his hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I like following the breadcrumbs and trying to figure it out.”

Sam smiled. “I like solving riddles, too.”

Sloane’s answering smile was warm enough to set her on fire. “And you are one serious riddle, Samantha Wilcox.” She couldn’t take a breath when he looked at her like that. There seemed to be an electrical charge between them as their gazes locked and held. His voice dropped. “I could Google you, but that would be cheating.”

Sam’s heart stopped cold then lunged for her throat.

Sloane wagged a finger at her, obviously having noted her reaction. Then he cleared his throat and tapped his finger on the card. “Must have been an important job. The problem with that kind of job, though, is that there’s always a lot of pressure that goes with it. It’s tough to balance the challenge and the responsibility with your own needs.” He seemed to see right into her heart. “People with demanding careers have to make choices and strike balances. They have to give things up, and hope they choose right for the greater good.”

She swallowed, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t realize you’d know about those kinds of jobs.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Sloane said.

That was for sure.

“‘It is said the wand would wake the sleeping and send the awake to sleep. If applied to the dying, their death was gentle; if applied to the dead, they returned to life,’” she quoted.

“You found William Godwin.” He was clearly pleased that she’d looked up the citation.

“You invited me to.” Sam watched him. She couldn’t ask him if he was a necromancer. That was crazy. “Why do you really have that tattoo?”

“I told you already.” It was interesting that even though Sloane’s posture hadn’t changed, she had a definite sense that he’d just shut a door against her and thrown away the key. He turned over another card. “Your present. The Knight of Cups.”

“I know this one!” Sam said, triumphant. “It’s the dark-haired stranger sweeping into the questioner’s life. See? It’s the suit of cups, which means true love.” She sat back, proud of herself, not troubling to hide that her gaze lingered on his dark hair.

Could the cards be right about her present, too?

“Maybe he’s just a lover who arrives with a bottle of wine,” he teased, but Sam understood the warning. “Remember: it
is
just the card for the present, not the future.”

Sam exhaled but didn’t break his gaze. “Maybe great sex is good enough for the moment.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sloane turned over the next card. “And your future. Justice.” He leaned back and considered her, his gaze warm. That slow smile was turning her to jelly and making it hard to concentrate on the cards. “A card about weighing all the variables and making decisions.”

“A card about admitting the whole truth,” Sam added, remembering that bit. She braced her elbows on the table and leaned toward Sloane, impulsively taking the advice of the cards. “So, maybe sex
isn’t
enough.”

“Future,” he reminded her.

“Or it won’t be.” Sam found that surprisingly likely.

Maybe she should tell Sloane so.

“Here’s the thing,” she confessed on impulse. “I thought that having sex with you once would be enough.” It wasn’t that hard to admit, not once she decided to do it. Everyone always said that she couldn’t talk about her feelings, but maybe Sam could learn something new.

“We did it more than once,” Sloane noted, his gaze simmering.

“And still it wasn’t enough.”

“Imagine that.”

“I do.”

His smile was quick. Sloane leaned forward, echoing her posture and dropping his voice low. “Here’s another thing,” he said softly. “I’ve been wandering around this market today, working up my nerve to seduce you the way you deserve.”

Sam shook her head, her heart racing. “I don’t believe it. You don’t need to work up your nerve for anything.”

Certainly not seduction.

“You might have changed your mind since the other night. It might have been a dream, or wishful thinking. I
was
exhausted.”

“But not any more.”

“Not any more.” Sloane glanced down at his bag. “And, now I have this bottle of local wine, a loaf of fresh bread, some cheese and fruit, and if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll have no one to share it with.”

“Good thing I haven’t,” Sam said, fighting her smile.

Sloane nodded agreement. “It certainly is.” He leaned back in his chair, his thigh against hers under the table.

Sam took a breath, feeling very bold, then leaned across the table to whisper. “The thing is that I have a small problem.”

“Really?” Sloane pressed his leg against hers a little more firmly.

It took everything in Sam to not jump into his lap. Instead, she chose to tell him just what she was thinking. “I like sex in the afternoon, and it’s a perfect day, in my opinion, for sex in the afternoon.”

Sloane’s gaze brightened. “That’s a problem?”

Sam tapped the card. “I’m not sure when my Knight of Cups will turn up.”

“Bearing wine or not?”

“Exactly.”

Sloane pushed the card across the table in a deliberate gesture, watching its progress. “The card is supposed to represent your present,” he noted, apparently not at all shocked that she’d been so blunt. He glanced at his watch. “And it’s 2:15.” He laid his hand flat over the card and closed his eyes. Sam fought her laughter as he pretended to channel a message from the card, and his eyes flew open in time to catch her expression. He leaned close and whispered. “The cards say he might turn up anytime.”

Sam laughed aloud, feeling playful and happy. There was a lot to be said for flirting with Sloane.

There was more to be said for spending the afternoon having sex with him.

She pretended to be serious then. “I should get home, so I can welcome a dark-haired lover to my door.”

“Make sure he’s the one bearing wine,” Sloane added with a shake of his finger.

“I will.”

“What about your customers?”

“There’s not exactly a line. And I think I should study the cards more.” Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment. “Know anybody who might help me take down this canopy?”

“I think I just might,” Sloane said and got to his feet with a speed that convinced Sam that their thoughts were as one.

“Who knew I’d end up with such a helpful neighbor,” Sam teased, feeling lighter and happier than she had in quite a while. She still didn’t know his secrets, but right now, it was hard to care.

Sloane turned to give her an appreciative smile. He caught her around the waist and whispered in her ear. “Maybe it was in the cards.”

Sam laughed only a little before Sloane silenced her with a kiss.

* * *

Easter Island.

It was one of the zillion places on Jac’s bucket list. Being there with Marco was incredible. She lay in bed in their hotel room, watching the night sky beyond the window, and marveled that she was there. Her sense of time was all messed up after the journey, and even though they’d tried to stick to local time, she was wide awake when she should have been falling asleep.

The trip had been long. To Jac’s amazement, they’d had to fly to Chile, hopscotching practically all the way to the South Pole, then back north and west to the island. They’d connected in Miami, in Rio, then finally caught the flight to Easter Island from Santiago.

They’d arrived just after noon and had rented a 4x4, which didn’t seem very environmentally friendly to Jac, but one look at the roads had convinced her of its practicality. They’d found a hotel and booked a room, gone for a late lunch and then crashed. Their host had assumed they were a married couple and put them in a room with a queen-sized bed, and neither she nor Marco had corrected his assumptions.

They were both exhausted, she was sure, and had slept like the dead for a few hours after eating.

Now Jac was awake, listening to the deep rhythm of Marco’s breathing. She loved that they were in bed together, that he was practically naked beside her, and yearned to take a good look at him. Although they’d fallen asleep lying flat on their backs beside each other, Jac had awakened to find them spooned together, with Marco’s heat curled protectively behind her. It felt good enough that she didn’t want to move.

Even to check him out.

There was a huge window opposite the foot of the bed, which showed a square of night sky. The stars were brilliant and so numerous that she couldn’t believe it.

His darkfire crystal was on the sill, the blue-green light within it dancing like a miniature bolt of lightning. Marco’s body was warm against her back, and it was both comforting and sexy to be nestled against him like this.

Jac had learned a lot about her mysterious neighbor on their journey, and she made a mental list as she snuggled beneath the weight of the arm he’d thrown around her waist. He was vegetarian. He was calm in any situation. He was unfailingly polite. He slept very little, and he always looked composed. He didn’t touch her a lot in public, and Jac was glad about that. She preferred that intimacy be private and that a man be a gentleman. But there was no doubting his interest, which she supposed was why the hotel owner had assumed they were a couple. Marco held her hand and he whispered in her ear and he leaned his leg against hers. When she’d dozed in airports or on flights, she’d awakened to find herself tucked against his heat, like he was her guardian angel.

And the heat of desire lingered in his eyes. Jac wiggled a little when she remembered that.

Plus he never lost sight of that crystal. He cradled it in his hands whenever they had to go through security and passed it with care to attendants along with his passport. His reverence for the stone and his solemnity were so great that they invariably showed the same care for the stone as he did. The strange thing was that there was no spark in it whenever they passed through security checks.

Even stranger, Jac caught him whispering to it a few times.

Then he’d smile and wink, his mischievous expression making her heart skip, and tuck it away in his pack again. She liked that playfulness about him, that sense that he didn’t assume that all the rules were correct. She suspected that he was unconcerned with convention, just like she was—except more so.

He could drive a manual transmission, which was intriguing to Jac. She wondered where he was from.

The light in the crystal flickered more quickly, and she glanced over her shoulder at Marco, only to find him watching her in silence. He smiled and his eyes glowed.

Did the stone respond to his mood or his state?

“Did it know you were awake?” she whispered.

“It’s just a stone,” he whispered back, but she could tell by the glimmer in his eyes that he didn’t believe that any more than she did.

She twisted a little to see his face better and felt his arousal against her hip. “Where did you get it?”

“I inherited it.”

“From your parents?”

He shook his head minutely, his gaze darting to the stone and back to her. “From the man who raised me. I thought he was my grandfather, but it turned out he wasn’t.”

“Who was he?”

“His name was Pwyll.”

Jac tried to say the name herself, which made Marco smile. He corrected her until she managed a decent approximation. “What kind of name is that?”

“Welsh.”

“Are you from Wales?”

He nodded, his gaze fixed upon her. Jac braced herself on her elbow to look down at him. “But Marco isn’t a Welsh name. I thought you were Italian.”

“My mother was from Rome.”

“But she didn’t raise you?”

“She died,” he admitted quietly, his regret obvious. “I never knew her.”

“My mom died, too,” Jac found herself confessing in a whisper. “When I was twenty, she died of breast cancer.”

“But you knew her,” he whispered.

“I did,” Jac admitted, feeling sorry for Marco that he’d never had the opportunity to know his own mom. “I loved her.” She smiled sadly. “I miss her.”

Marco reached up, and Jac realized she’d shed a single tear. He lifted it from her cheek with a fingertip, then touched his finger to his own lips, swallowing her tear. She found her fingertips on his cheek, her fingers fanning out to frame his face. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to touch her lips to his again.

And what happened after that felt even more right. Marco’s fingers speared into her hair and he drew her closer, making no effort to disguise his desire. Jac’s fingers were in his hair and her breasts crushed against his chest as his kiss turned possessive and hungry. She responded to him in kind, loving how he made a little growl beneath his breath. His eyes were glittering when his hands swept over her, removing her T-shirt in one smooth gesture. He surveyed her, smiled, then bent to kiss her taut nipple. Jac sighed with pleasure, savoring the weight of his hand as it slid over her waist, across her stomach, and his fingertips eased between her thighs. He conjured a wonderful heat beneath her skin, one that felt both natural and right.