Just Believe (32 page)

His tongue probed gently, seeking her
acquiescence.

She opened her lips to him, urging a
deeper union between their two souls. Gaelen's tongue tasted, then
sparred with hers, gently mimicking the joining of their bodies to
come.

She only vaguely felt the glide of his
fingers up the length of her thigh, pushing her nightgown before
them, and then to her waist, slipping inside her sensible cotton
panties, now seeming the most provocative of lingerie. His big
hands massaged the flesh of her belly, her hips.

She groaned. He groaned, the vibration
tickling her lips. He pulled her atop him, skinning her panties off
as she raised hips. Then she settled on his hardness.

Then his fingers gathered her nightgown
and pulled it over her head.

"Annabelle," he whispered against her
lips. "Are you willing?"

"Don't be stupid." She gathered his
face between her hands and sealed her answer with another deep
kiss, this time her tongue demanding the entry. She broke the kiss
only long enough to whisper, "I've waited my whole life for
you."

He moaned and nipped her lower lip as
he wrapped her in an embrace fueled by passion and, Annabelle
thought a bit foggily, some other more desperate motive.

She pushed herself away and sat astride
him. "Wait," she whispered when he would have kept her from moving
further away. "I want to see you, too."

Her fingers flew to his shirt,
unbuttoning it as quickly as her anxiousness permitted, and she
followed them with her lips, touching them to the warm golden skin
of his chest as she revealed it to her hungry eyes.

He raised his shoulders so she could
pull his shirt off him, then he lay still, allowing her to do her
will. She lowered his zipper, a notch at a time, watching the bulge
beneath his black silk underwear struggle to free itself. Every
tiny click of the zipper sounded loud as a gun shot in the silence.
Their heavy breaths matched, one for one. Annabelle felt cool and
realized she was sweating.

Gaelen's face, too, glowed in the weak
lamplight.

"Get a move on, girl," he
growled.

Annabelle smiled. Her heart sang. Her
body thrummed with its own song, one ancient and earthy. A song
telling the deepest secrets a woman knew, even if she had never
heard them before.

Except in her dreams.

With a shift of her weight and a tug,
she pulled his trousers down the length of his long, strong legs,
and flung them to the floor.

"Come here, darlin'. Come to me," he
asked, holding his arms open to her.

She laughed, and it was the sound of
her heart's song. She jumped into his arms and Gaelen laughed with
her, their songs blending in a harmony as old as time.

His mouth captured hers again, and this
time he took her with a branding fire, marking her for all time as
his alone.

Their bodies blended together. She
could feel nothing else except him. Her eyes saw nothing but
him.

Her body seemed ready to melt under the
pressure. How much could one person feel before she couldn't accept
more?

She almost pushed him away, afraid, but
he slipped beyond her questing fingers, moving lower. His tongue
encircled the tip of her breast, and she writhed. His teeth nipped
her. She cried out, not "No more," but "Yes, Gaelen,
yes!"

His mouth suckled her. She thought
she'd have to die now.

Without words, without thought, her
legs parted. Surely she didn't do that? But try as her brain might
to slow this down out of self-defense, her body wouldn't
listen.

Gaelen growled and moved between her
legs, taking her body's invitation. His ankles locked against hers,
opening her even wider. He kissed her again, tenderly, his lips
barely touching her, his breath cooling her fevered
brow.

"My love," he whispered, catching her
lips again.

Annabelle's heart took over and she
enfolded him, pulling him to her with arms and legs and
soul.

Then he was inside her, possessing her.
They were one, joined together heart, soul, and body.

The entire universe condensed into this
bed, in this tiny room, in a cottage in a remote Irish village. And
they were the only inhabitants.

She dared to open her eyes. He rested
on his elbows, holding his weight off her, and his eyes were open,
too. They met, held, but for just a second. That one look was
enough to push her over the edge into the splintering, glittering
abyss.

"Oh, Gaelen, love."

Then something changed. At first she
thought it was the aftereffects, but she opened her eyes and her
lips parted in wonder.

Gaelen still loomed above her, but
above him…

"Oh," she whispered. She raised her
hands over his shoulders to his iridescent, multicolored wings. Her
fingers hesitated, then brushed the translucent material. "Oh," she
breathed again, stroking his wings with both hands.

Gaelen's reply was a groan of exquisite
pain, and he fell on her.

His wings enfolded them
both.

They lay there for a bit, breathing
deeply and evenly.

"Bridget and Dagda," he moaned at
last.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Both." Gaelen eased off her. He
glanced back at his wings with a grimace.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I might have torn one." He
actually blushed.

"Aren't they supposed to come out like
that?"

"Not exactly."

She sat up. "Turn around and let me
look. Where do they hurt?"

He turned. Annabelle gave him a wide
berth.

Boy, did they ever spread. She
wondered…

"Look at the root of the left one," he
said. "Maybe it's just pulled."

She gently pushed his left wing aside
and peered at the place where it came out of his back, right at his
shoulder blade. Tenderly, she pressed her fingers against his skin.
He didn't react.

"Right here?" she asked, pressing at
the base of the wing.

"Yeah. See anything?"

"What, besides a fairy's wing? Nope,
nothing special."

He favored her with a glare. "It's not
funny."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." The endearment
slipped out, as though she'd been calling him sweet names forever.
"Does it hurt a lot?"

She rubbed his back, brushing her
fingers against his wings, not exactly innocently. He jerked with
every touch.

"Stop that," he said, not hiding his
smile.

"What? Are they ticklish?"

"No," he said, swallowing a
laugh.

"Oh, they are! How
interesting."

"Stop it, you witch." He twisted
around, brushing her face with his wing, and grabbed her hands.
"Teasin' a poor innocent fairy lad."

"Innocent? Somehow, I doubt
that!"

He chuckled with her, then spread his
wings behind him and lay down, pulling her with him, wrapping them
both. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope.

"What are they for?" she asked,
fingering the flowing colors.

"Careful there, or you'll find out what
they're for," he answered in a growl.

"Oh-ho! They're sexual organs,
eh?"

"Well, not totally. They're for
ornamentation, luring a female, like feathers."

"But they're sensitive," she added,
gliding one fingertip along a vein.

"Yes," he said, grabbing her hands and
holding them still.

"Do they always come out when you,
ah...?"

"No." He seemed embarrassed. "Actually,
we're supposed to be able to control them by the time we're my
age."

Ignoring the warning to let the matter
go, Annabelle asked, "Why did you…?"

"I didn't. They did." He hugged her
tighter, and seemed unwilling to say more, though after a moment,
he added, "I haven't been taken like that since I was a lad. I'm
not an innocent, Annabelle."

"I didn't think you were."

"I've known lots of women, fairy women
all of them. And I had a fair regard for each one. But--" He
stopped, his lips forming and discarding words. "But with you, it
was…"

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" She let him
off the hook and nuzzled his neck, inviting him to lose himself in
her again.

He tipped her chin up. "Now, we must
sleep. We have a big job in the mornin'." His lips drifted over
hers, promising much more. Then he settled down, drawing her
closer.

She was content to remain in his
embrace, their legs entwined, within the cocoon of Gaelen's
wings.

Chapter Twenty Three

"Wake up, love." Gaelen kissed her
forehead. "Time to get to work."

Annabelle blinked against the
lamplight. A glance at the velvet black just beyond the lacy
curtains hanging at Mrs. O'Hara's guest bedroom window told her it
was…still night? They hadn't slept the day away, had
they?

"What time is it?"

Gaelen glanced up at the window. "I'd
say about four-thirty."

"Four-thirty? Why so early?" she asked
over a yawn.

"We have to be there before daybreak,
ready to enter when the door opens. Come on, now. Up with
you."

With a stretch, she turned to Gaelen
still sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to come fully
awake. He was already dressed. Sitting up, she grabbed his
shoulders and pulled him around, studying his back.

"Where are they?"

"I put them away. Ain't decent to be
flashing 'em around."

She smiled. "Well, just as long as you
can get to them easily next time I want to see them."

He raised a dubious eyebrow. "So,
you're only lustin' after me wings, are you?"

Studying him, she replied, "You do have
other features to commend you to my attention."

"Indeed? Well, we'll just have to
examine that further when we have time. But right now," he leaned
over and kissed her again, running the tip of one finger along the
curve of her breast, "we need to get goin'. 'Tis a good distance to
the rath."

"The what?"

"Finnvarra's fortress. A ring fort,
like Tara, but somewhat smaller."

"Oh." She sat on the edge of the bed.
"You go ahead to the bathroom first. I'm still waking up." A yawn
overcame her and she stretched deliciously.

His eyes devoured her, filling her with
an unexpected, but well-recognized burst of feminine
pride.

"Actually, my love, I have to beg a
favor from you."

"Anything," she said.

"Could you sweep the salt away from the
door?" He pointed to the white crystals lining the threshold. "I
can't pass it."

"Why not?"

"How should I know? It's
magic."

"No attempt to explain with nuclear
physics?"

"Nope."

Was it progress for Gaelen to
acknowledge there might be no explanation? She got up to sweep away
the salt and opened the door for him. He gingerly approached,
sliding one toe forward and out the door into the
hallway.

"Thank you, love." He kissed her lips,
holding on and almost dragging her, butt-naked, into the hall after
him. "Hmmm. Keep my place for me."

She laughed and pushed the door
shut.

After they'd taken turns in the
bathroom, they went downstairs, Annabelle carrying the
bag.

"And there they are, finally comin'
down the stairs." Mrs. O'Hara grinned at them from her seat by the
fire.

"Mrs. O'Hara, you're up early. I hope
we didn't disturb you," Gaelen said.

"Ach, no, sir. Auld ones as me need
little sleep. Soon enough I'll have all the rest I can handle." The
old woman smiled. "I heard you stirrin' and thought such an early
start must mean some important business. No doubt with the auld
king? No, no," she waved her hand. "No need to tell me anything
about it. But you'll not be leavin' my house wi' no food in yer
bellies." She got up and tottered around, pulling three bowls and
spoons from her cabinet, and went to the pot simmering over the
fire. "'Tis naught but stew, warmed over it is, but good for not
bein' fresh cooked. Not what you Yanks are used to for breakfast,
but it'll do you better than a gruel."

"Well, thank you, Mrs. O'Hara, we'll be
glad for a bit of stew." Gaelen ushered an intensely grateful
Annabelle, suddenly aware of a ravening hunger, to the table where
Mrs. O'Hara set a steaming bowl of stew before her. The old lady
put a plate of bread in the middle.

"There you are, my dears." Mrs. O'Hara
settled herself at the table and took up her spoon. As Annabelle
ate, the old woman quizzed Gaelen. "You'll be goin' up to the old
rath today?"

Annabelle jerked a look at Gaelen who
regarded Mrs. O'Hara calmly.