Inked Magic (15 page)

She laughed. “And maybe I just enjoy it.”

He should have expected her amusement, her casual deflection. He wondered if everything would always be a battle with her, and had the question answered when her hand went to his ear, tracing the edges, stroking the tip as if she knew its curve was an illusion.

He shuddered, closing his eyes as intense pleasure cascaded through him, a wave of heated lust that made him vulnerable.

She took advantage of the weakness, tangling her other hand in his hair and pulling him downward as he’d done when she straddled him.

Her mouth went unerringly to his earlobe, her tongue to the earring, not a piece of jewelry but a focus for drawing on elemental power.

He moaned as fiery desire engulfed him. A need easily battering aside any intention other than to have her again.

He entered in a single thrust. Followed it immediately with a second. A third. A relentless, frenzied pounding that didn’t end until her channel clamped down savagely on his cock, demanding he yield to her.

He came in a violent release that left the sound of the surf in his
head for long moments afterward, a chaotic crashing smoothing into a calm that was only surface deep.

I could get used to having this
, Etaín thought, her eyes still closed as she basked in the endorphin afterglow of great sex.

Eamon’s harsh breathing slowed and pleasure-inducing lips nuzzled her ear, sending a shiver of reawakened desire through her. “Stay the day with me. We can even spend some of it away from bed.”

It was tempting. He was tempting.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. He was on his side, everything about him calling to her.
Like to like
.

Being with him felt good. Alarmingly good.

“Who are your parents?” he asked, diminishing the warmth with his question.

“Not the man whose name is on my birth certificate. Not the woman he’s married to.”

“No, they wouldn’t be. Not with your gifts. Who is your father, Etaín?”

A burst of pain went through her chest with thoughts of the captain. “I don’t know who donated the sperm.”

“And your mother, her name?”

A second pang came and went, more distant and less painful than the first. “A new name in every city, and there were a lot of places.”

“You don’t know her
true name
?”

The words whispered through her like a shared secret, his use of them further proof of the connection between them. Like to like. Etaín was her true name, not one of the many she’d been known by as a child.

“What do you want from me?”

She hadn’t intended the question, hadn’t consciously been aware of the intention to give it voice, but once out, she didn’t attempt to recall it.

His hand cupped her breast, fingers taking possession of a nipple. “The same thing you want. This.”

“And that’s all?”

“I told you last night I wouldn’t always settle for a meaningless physical act. You don’t have to settle for it either, though permanence comes at a price, for you and for your lover—or lovers, if you choose to take more than one.”

“What’s the price?”

“I can only give you a partial answer. The most relevant to you right now is that there is no undoing the choice once it’s made. Permanence is just that, permanent.”

Her heartbeat accelerated at the thought of it. Did she want the risk that level of intimacy would bring? The pain that would ultimately arrive when love became conditioned on the demand to conform to someone else’s expectations? “I think I’ll pass on the permanence.”
For now
, a traitorous internal voice added.

A muscle spasmed in his cheek. She’d noticed the
tell
before.
Lord
Eamon’s aggravation at hearing something he didn’t like.

She glanced away. The sight of the Cézanne and Cross on the wall spooked her further. “I need to get to work.”

He didn’t attempt to stop her as she left the bed. He watched, sprawled like a naked god as she went to where her clothing lay tossed on a chair.

She didn’t flee to the bathroom but dressed where she stood. Not a slow show meant to seduce, but not a hurried covering up of flesh, either.

He rewarded her with a husky laugh and rose from the bed, coming to her. “Stay for breakfast?”

It was the press of his will—real or imagined—that had her saying, “No.”

This time a tightening around his eyes marked his displeasure. He picked up his discarded pants and pulled them on. “Very well, I’ll escort you to your bike.”

They made the trip in silence, though unlike the night before, the house wasn’t lit only by moonlight and she wasn’t preoccupied with getting inside and getting fucked.

The paintings on the walls of the bedroom were only a hint at the magnitude of his wealth, and his desire to surround himself with beautiful things. Everything she saw, furniture included, was exquisite enough to have been created by masters.

She doubted even the family the captain had married into could boast this kind of wealth. Though she’d never been inside their mansion, not when she was believed to be his bastard child, or later, when paternity tests proved she wasn’t.

Her existence remained a stain on their name and pride. A blemish he refused to remove by forbidding the truth to spread beyond his family and theirs.

The sight of the Harley was a breeze blowing away thought and hiding pain with the promise of an escape that tasted and smelled of freedom.

Eamon took her arm when they reached the bike, turning her into him before she could put the helmet on as a shield to expression or a barrier to sensual persuasion.

“It’s taking considerable restraint on my part to allow you to leave.”

Fear slid down her spine at the threat inherent in his words. But it was a fear mixed with eroticism, turned hot by the hard press of his erection against her and the alluring scent of him.

This wasn’t the end of it. She read it in his eyes. She read it in herself.

Like to like
. She couldn’t shake the attraction. Didn’t lie to herself by saying she wouldn’t be with him again.

“Don’t think I’ll become one of your possessions,” she warned.

His laugh made her ache for the feel of his cock inside her again. “Never that, Etaín. I think it’s far more likely I’ll be the one possessed.”

Foolish or daring, either could describe it. She leaned in, initiating a kiss.

He didn’t make her coax or beg. His arms became steel bands around her as he met the kiss, matched it, eliciting a moan from her
in the process and making her melt against him and very nearly forget her intention to leave.

As if sensing her weakening resolve, the kiss changed into something soft, a mesmerizing rub of tongue against tongue, the velvet press of lips as his hands pushed under her shirt and settled at the base of her spine, delivering heat and the remembered pleasure of skin touching skin.

She closed her eyes and he became the entirety of her reality. One kiss merged into another, and finally into a trail of them up to her ear. “Join me at Aesirs for lunch and dinner,” he murmured, his breath a warm, evocative caress. “And if not that, then at least promise to end your day here.”

The sensual fog lifted with another of her mother’s lessons relentlessly revisited, drilled in at every opportunity. Never, ever make a promise you aren’t willing to pay dearly for if you didn’t keep it.

“No promises,” she said, relenting before she thought better of it and adding, “but a maybe.”

Not a twitch this time, but with his cheek to hers, she felt the tensing of his jaw. “Then I’ll settle for maybe.”

He brushed a kiss against her ear. “Cathal I’m willing to tolerate, but don’t go elsewhere for this.”

She shivered. Erotic fear returning, mixing with wariness at her own continued desire to play with fire. “What makes you think I’ll get other offers?”

He laughed, a husky masculine sound striking a chord deep inside her. His fingertips traced the sensitive outline of her ear. “Your looks alone draw men and women alike to you. Your inherent magic intensifies the attraction. Combined they’re both lure and aphrodisiac.”

His mouth returned to hers in a slow, thorough reminder of what he could do for her. And when the kiss ended he said, “If that isn’t enough to persuade you to return, Etaín, then think about what it would mean to be the master of your gift rather than its slave. I’ve got the answers you need not just to control it, but to survive it. If I’m
right, you soon won’t be able to manage abilities as you’ve done up until now.”

For a second time in as many days, Eamon watched her ride away from him. She fled, but a part of her hadn’t wanted to. She’d found it difficult to leave, reaching for him one last time despite whatever it was that drove her to escape his presence. He would continue building on the start he’d made with her.

He turned toward the house and found Liam, his third, leaning casually in the open doorway, a dark voyeur witnessing Etaín’s departure. “So you continue to allow her freedom,” he said.

Eamon closed the distance between them without defending his actions. Liam asked, “Did you learn anything of her origins?”

“No.”

“I thought as much.” Liam gave a slight shake of his head. “I’ll say what Rhys was too tactful to. This is a bad course of action. If you won’t order us to keep her contained here, then at least let us find out all we can about her.”

“I have another task for you. On Saturday she’ll be tattooing in a fund-raiser for a homeless shelter. Ask for volunteers among the humans pledged to us. If there aren’t enough of them, then choose from among them and make it a requirement. Organize them so they present themselves to her in a steady stream. I don’t want her applying ink to anyone on Saturday who isn’t one of ours.”

“She might have other thoughts on the matter of who she’ll tattoo.”

“I’ll be there to guide her actions.”

Liam’s eyebrows rose. He spared a quick glance in the direction of the now closed gate to the estate, his lips curving upward just slightly. “That should prove interesting.”

“You test my patience.”

“A hundred years in your service and neither of us is dead. Forbearance is thy name.”

Liam left the doorway. “I’ll make the rounds among the humans and those holding first responsibility for them. You might consider
though, the risk of what she could learn about us when she touches those we send to her.”

“Minimal,” Eamon said, frowning as he remembered how the magic in her had weakened between her departure at Aesirs and her arrival at the estate.

“Are you so sure her gift isn’t stronger than you’ve judged it to be?” There was subtext in the question, concern rather than Liam’s usual biting amusement.

“Is that your not too subtle way of saying you fear my wards didn’t hold and she’s done something to me?”

“You are not unaffected by your night with her.”

Eamon couldn’t deny the charge. His cock hardened at the mere thought of being with her. His body already ached for the feel of her skin touching his and the meld of magic to magic, though only moments had passed since she’d left the estate.

“I’m not unaffected by her. She is my future wife, after all. But I haven’t been changed by my involvement with her. Nor will I be.”

“My relief at hearing it is incalculable.” Liam’s smile held just a hint of teeth. “Now I’m off to attend to
your
business, ever hopeful that while I do it, I don’t stumble upon a woman tempting enough to make a permanent fixture in
my
life.”

B
ryce looked up from the sketchpad on the counter as Etaín entered the shop. “You hear from Derrick after you left here last night?” he asked.

“No.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Goddamn I’m going to fire his ass. I’ve already had to deal with one of his pissed-off clients.”

She sighed, worry for both Derrick and Bryce dissipating the lingering afterglow of having been with Eamon. “Boyfriend troubles. Terminal stage. You know that, Bryce.”

“Easy for you to sound so fucking calm about it. Tell me you’ve come up with someone to replace his last fucking choice.”

The image of Eamon lying naked on his bed caused pleasure to lap over her like warm surf. This was San Francisco. Someone at Aesirs had to be gay and available.

“Working on it.”

“Work faster.”

She suppressed a smile. Any faster and she’d be a no-show. Then Bryce would be dealing with another really upset client.

Normally she’d tease him about yesterday’s blonde and getting laid. But doing it would lead to her admitting where she’d spent the best part of the night and she wasn’t ready to share that information or to examine the reasons why.

She retrieved an art file from his office. Opening it, she took a minute to visualize how she’d work the ink into the light brown skin of Tori’s upper arm.

The design incorporated musical symbols and a stylus into a blossoming long-stemmed rose. It symbolized Tori’s hopes and dreams of making it as both a poet and songwriter.

“Ready?” Etaín asked a few minutes later when Tori walked in.

Tori bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “More than ready. I barely got any sleep last night.”