Heart Journey (20 page)

Raz’s insides pitched.

Straif said easily, “Quite a picture. Del, since you’re in town for a while, I’d like to arrange for you to sit for T’Apple, so he can craft a holo painting of you and Doolee.”

Del shifted with the child, they looked at each other. “Sit. Like sitting still, right?”

“Right,” Straif said.

To Raz, both females appeared nearly incapable of being quiet for more than a few minutes.

“For a long time, and not just once?” Del questioned.

“I’d like this holo of you,” Straif said, in the tone of a FirstFamily GrandLord.

The man was dressed in the finest of bespelled clothes, tailored for him, in the latest fashion. Raz could only hope to make enough gilt from his career to someday wear such clothes. The Cherrys were an old house, but the highest in nobility, riches, and status were the FirstFamilies.

“Why can’t you just take a recording and T’Apple can work from that?” Del grumbled.

“Because he’s an artist?” Straif raised his brows.

Raz’s jaw tensed. He couldn’t prevent how his body straightened, angled toward Del as he stepped to block her from Straif’s vision. It didn’t matter that the man was happily wed to his HeartMate. He was a past lover of Del’s, a man who mattered to her, who she’d cared for and who had cared for her. A man who would be tied to Del for the rest of her life through the child she held.

A man dangerous to all Raz’s possessive instincts.

Scowling, Del moved beside Raz and said, “All right, set up the appointment. We’ll do our best, won’t we, Doolee?” She jiggled Doolee on her hip, smiled at the little girl with such tenderness that Raz’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest.

“Ya, ya, ya!” Doolee said. She leaned against Del and turned her head to look at Raz, fluttered her eyelids.

A flirt in the making. He had a flash of the baby as a young woman, pretty and aware of her own appeal. Not like Del, who was still frowning as she looked at Straif. “You could have scried to tell me that.”

“So I could have,” Straif said. He was staring at Raz. “But I wanted to take a look around the house again. It’s been a long time since I was here and you said something to my son about a journal? My HeartMate and I wondered if you might have children’s books of Family tales.” He smiled and didn’t sell the sincerity. “We like to read to our children at night.”

Del grunted. “Yeah, children’s tales somewhere. Holos in my old room or the nursery. I’ll get them later.” She ran a hand over Doolee’s curls, handed the child back to Straif. “I’ll send them all to your cache.”

“You asked Antenn to make sure Doolee was taught to swim and had an antidrowning spell . . . my son was vague . . .”

“That’s right. You’ll have to trust me on that. I’ll see you
later,
Straif.”

Raz gave Straif a smile of his own, slow and triumphant, as he wrapped an arm around her waist. The woman wanted to spend time with him, not her old lover. “Pleasure meeting you.”

T’Blackthorn narrowed his eyes. “Right.” He was all tough guy; Raz didn’t think the tracker had gotten soft since he’d taken up his title. But Raz wouldn’t back down. This was
his
time with Del. Her time with T’Blackthorn and whatever romantic involvement they’d had was past.

“Bye, bye!” Doolee made kissing noises, and Straif held her out to kiss Del’s cheek.

“Tomorrow, Del,” Straif said. He took a couple of paces back and vanished.

With her free hand, Del rubbed her face, shook her head. “Lady and Lord, I love Doolee and respect Straif, even though he’s gone all nobleman on me, but all these complications . . . and being tangled up forever with a FirstFamily . . .” She shrugged.

It was the most natural thing in the world for Raz to pull her into his arms.

She came willingly, the tenseness in her muscles as she’d faced T’Blackthorn easing, turning her supple against Raz, and that was a very unique pleasure. She tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his, let his tongue invade her.

Passion exploded inside him, shot straight to his sex. He grabbed her tight, one arm around her shoulders, one curving around her derriere, pulling her against him, her belly against his hard and throbbing shaft. Then he bent her back, so they would be close, close, as close as they could get, clothed.

Fire raged in him, running through his blood. Hunger. He
needed
.

Then they weren’t in the wide, white and gold corridor, but in the dimness of a room that smelled of her, just like the taste of her that tantalized him until he was mad with longing to kiss her and learn all the flavors of her—mouth and neck and shoulder and breast and sex.

“Clothes off!” Her voice was guttural, her short-nailed hands ripping open the front tab of his shirt . . . but he was used to quick changes and was naked and wanting before she was. Leathers! He yanked on them; they didn’t part.

“Clothes
off
,” he ordered, swore as his fingers fumbled. No damn tabs. He broke away, gasping, jerked off her belt, pulled her tunic up over her head . . . finally found a front tab for her trous, ripped it open, shoved her leather trous and pretty pantlettes down. Her boots would have to stay on.

His hands went to her breasts and fondled as she fell onto the bedsponge. He followed, panting, then he tested her, found her ready, and he plunged.

She was hot and wet and tight and he lost himself in her, could only feel her body as her hips pumped, shooting them to the top of ecstasy and explosive release.

Then all he knew was that she was naked under him and her breasts were soft and full and her skin smooth and he struggled to stay awake, give her words. “Wonderful, lovely woman. Beautiful Del.” He sucked in a breath, but sleep loomed in the back of his mind. He couldn’t rest now, here, or he’d succumb.

He rolled to his side and struggled up on an elbow, forced his eyes open. Del looked shocked and humor rippled through him. Her curls stuck out, her eyes were wide and a touch wild. He liked that. He put a hand over her breast, feeling the small nub caress the center of his palm, sending a last frisson of delight through him.

She blinked and blinked again, reached up to run her thumb along his jaw. Her heart pounded under his hand, her chest rising and falling; there was a gleam of perspiration that added a glow to her skin.

He breathed her in and the spicy lavender was less than a hint of sage and some other scent he didn’t quite know.

“Pinyon pine,” she said, answering his thought. Then she smiled and her lashes lowered to half cover her eyes and her lips curved. “I think that’s what you smell.” She drew in a deep breath. “I like the fragrance of cherry myself.”

“Surely you jest.”

“Surely, I don’t. That’s what you smell of, pretty boy, hasn’t anyone told you so?”

He was affronted. A leading man smelling of cherries? “No, and it’s not true.”

“I smell cherries, and it’s not true that I am beautiful, either.”

“Wrong.” He shaped her breast with his fingers, the womanly softness of her, stared into her eyes that had turned a deeper green, her wide pupils. “There is so much more of beauty than the surface.” He let his hands skim over her torso, rest just above her sex. “Though your surface is attractive enough . . . such a fine body. Such a pretty face, especially the dimples. I love when your dimples peek out at me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have dimples.”

He laughed. “Oh, yes, you do. You obviously don’t spend much time in front of a mirror.”

She jutted her chin, no dimples in sight. “I don’t carry one with me.”

He believed that. He shook his head. In his profession a mirror was always around the corner to check that his body was right, that he was looking like the character, or just to practice facial expressions, gestures, postures, whatever.

Bending down to kiss her nose, he said, “If you want to see your dimples, just look at Doolee; she’s the image of you.”

“She is
not
. She has Elfwort’s pointy chin. I don’t have that chin.” Hers angled even more, so he stroked her neck.

“You might see other Family members in her face, but the Family resemblance between you is startling.” Raz followed the curve of her collarbone to her shoulder, let his smile linger. “You’d admit she’s a very pretty child.”

With wariness, Del said, “Yes.”

His smile broadened. “So you must know you’re a very attractive woman.”

She shrugged and he felt the firm muscles move.

He cupped her chin. “Believe me in this, Del.”

She stared into his eyes and he became aware of himself, sensed how she saw him, his good features, his hair falling around his face, his own blue eyes. Sensed more than how he looked. He did
not
smell of cherries.

Del grinned. “Yes, you do. Cherry liqueur.” She sat up, appeared startled at her garments caught on her boots. A laugh rolled from her as she shook her head. “We were in a hurry.”

Raz took the opportunity to trace the fine dip in her spine, admire her toned back, stare at her very nice ass. “Yes, we were.” He let out a satisfied sigh. “Though I didn’t show my best.”

“Nah, I
felt
your best.” Del looked over her shoulder, eyes merry. She bent over to take care of her boots and clothing and stopped Raz’s breath with the view. His mind went dizzy, but his hands reached for her. She whisked away. “Waterfall for us. Then you might as well stay here for a nap. When do you need to be at the theater?”

His brain wasn’t working. “Calendarsphere,” he said.

“Of course you have one. It’ll get you up? How many septhours ahead of time do you go into the theater before the show?”

“One. Maybe. Meditate.” All he wanted to do was see her bent over like that again, so he could take her again, ease this need again. His sex stirred.

Del had turned around. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, glanced down, and laughed again. “Something to be said for younger lovers.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.”

She shrugged again.

He caught up with her, put his arm around her waist as they walked to the open door of the waterfall room. “Our age difference doesn’t matter. Get that in your beautiful curly head.”

She glanced up at him. “You like my hair, too?”

With a shift and a slide, she was in his arms. “I find all of you extremely attractive. Body and spirit.”

Her expression was one of surprise. “You have some muscle there.”

“Let me show you my favorite one again.”

“Oh, yeah.”

D
el watched Raz nap, nude. She wanted activity. She’d like more sex
with Raz, but he needed to sleep for his performance later. If she couldn’t have sex, she’d like a ride out of the city . . . but she wouldn’t leave Raz alone to believe he was abandoned when he awoke and she was gone. Fligger.

If she couldn’t get physical activity, she’d settle for mental. She went into her landscape globe workroom.

Sex—no,
making love
with Raz had been more wonderful than she’d ever imagined. Better than the erotic dreams they shared. She wanted more, and more often.

HeartMate sex. The thought shivered her nerves. She let out a long breath and set two completed globes on her “done” shelf with ten others, including her HeartGift.

HeartMate and HeartGift, realities of her life.

R
az woke, mind sharp, as always. He knew where he was . . . in
Del’s bedchamber. It was dim, with closed curtains, though a shaft of sunlight came from the open sitting room door, showing that it was late in the afternoon, nearly time for him to eat if he wanted a bite before he went on stage.

He considered food or sex and figured if he was lucky he could have both. As he rose and stretched, he scanned the room. The walls were bare, though he thought they might have murals bespelled for a touch.