Reaper's Vow (23 page)

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “So?”

“Well, that's not . . .”

He cut her off as he set the biscuits on the table. “That's the truth.” He took his seat. “You hear me, Wendy? Anybody threatens you, anybody touches you, you let me know, and I'll handle it.”

Wendy licked her lower lip the way she did when she was scheming. “Anyone?”

Cole nodded and plopped a biscuit on her plate. “Anyone.”

Miranda sighed, took the biscuit, and broke it in half. “You really don't know what she'll do with that.”

He met her gaze not one wit concerned. “There is no harm in a girl knowing her dad's got her back.”

Wendy perked up again. “Daddy?”

Miranda groaned and smiled weakly. She'd been going to ease into that subject gently.

Cole showed none of her hesitation. With too much ease for Miranda's peace of mind, he said, “Your momma and I are getting married.”

Wendy picked up the biscuit and took a bite. “Honest?”

“Don't talk with your mouth full.”

That got Miranda a look from both Cole and Wendy.

“Honest. How do you feel about that?”

Wendy looked at Cole. “And you'll be a daddy like I used to have?”

“I don't know what you're used to, but if you mean, will I help you and protect you and make sure you have food to eat and clothes on your back?”

“Uh-huh.”

He nodded. “Yeah, just like that.”

“And no one can hurt me?”

“I'll kill anyone who tries.”

He said that entirely too calmly. Wendy was enthralled. Miranda was appalled.

What on earth had she gotten herself into?

* * *

What had she gotten herself into? Miranda asked herself the question again as Cole closed the door behind him after dropping off Wendy at his cousin's house.

The bar fell in place with a soft thud. Her stomach dropped with the same velocity.

“Was everything all right?”

He nodded. “Addy had just baked some cookies.”

“She's a wonderful baker.”

“Yes, she is; she used to have a very successful shop back home.”

“You allowed that?”

He grimaced and took a step farther into the room, taking his hat off his head, revealing the smile in his eyes. “Believe it or not, Addy can be a bit headstrong.”

Miranda licked her lips. So could she. Or rather she used to be. She touched her fingers to her cheek, feeling the scar's ridges against her sensitive fingertips.

She didn't know what had happened to that woman. Somehow over the years, through all the changes, she'd disappeared, but she wanted her back. If it wasn't too late. She lowered her fingers to the locket she wore around her neck. Inside it was Wendy's umbilical cord. She'd been so idealistic when she'd put it there. So damn innocent.

“Isaiah indulges her.”

“Isaiah took her away from her life.”

That piece of bitterness flicked across her conscience.

“Like I'm taking you away from yours?”

“Yeah, I'm having trouble with that.”

“I didn't know you had Reaper blood.”

“But you knew how to convert a person. You knew a second bite was a start.”

He was mad at her, and by human law and Reaper law since she was his, he could do whatever he wanted to her and she would have no recourse.

“I wasn't thinking.” At the time.

She took a step back, bumped into her chair. He took a step forward.

“I know.”

Her stomach plunged to her toes, and for a second her heart felt like it stopped beating. His gaze never left her face as he took another step. She looked around for a weapon, but she'd done the dishes, and the knives were sitting over in the corner of the room, and she knew no matter how fast she was, he'd be faster.

She licked her lips. “I didn't know what I was doing.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. Heat flared between them. “I know that, too.”

His fingers grazed her cheek, tracing over the same scar that she'd just touched.

“I'm pissed as hell at you, you know.”

She nodded. His head tipped slightly to the side.

“You're shaking.”

What was the use of denying it? “Yes.”

“You're scared.”

She nodded.

His eyes narrowed. “I'm not fucking Clark.”

If he were Reaper, she'd swear he'd just growled. She swallowed hard and nodded. It was her turn to say, “I know.”

He could be so much worse.

“I don't want to be Reaper.”

She nodded. What else could she do?

“Hell, for all we know, maybe I'm not.”

She knew how it felt to lose that sense of self. She didn't want him to think that there was nothing left of him. “Maybe.”

She wished the word back as soon as it left her lips. His gaze sharpened. His thumb came to rest just at the side of her nose. His fingers slipped back, the pinkie touching the nape of her neck. She'd seen Blade snap a man's neck from almost that same position.

He took a half step until his big body was pressed up against hers. The top of her head came to just under his chin, and if she tilted her head just a little bit forward, she would be resting against his chest. She remembered how good that felt with her husband. In those moments when her husband, Carter, would hold her in his arms and she'd rest her cheek on his chest, she'd naively felt so safe.

She sighed at the much younger and much more naive woman she'd been then. Carter had seemed so strong compared to her, but he wasn't, or maybe he just hadn't been strong enough. It was hard to know, to remember. They'd married so young.

Cole's hand slid down the side of her face in a gentle caress, slipping through her hair to her nape, to her shoulder blades, and down to her back. His other arm slid up her hip, across her bottom, making her jump. He chuckled and did it again. She didn't jump again, just stood there stiffly, wondering what he was up to.

“Miranda?”

“What?”

“When a man hugs you, it's a good thing.”

The breath she hadn't known she'd been holding escaped in a sigh.

“You're angry.”

“As hell.”

“At me.”

“At life. There's a difference, and if you put your cheek on my chest, you might feel it.”

“I don't understand.”

“Try it and see.”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Why?”

Because if she relaxed that little bit, she might just fall apart. She'd been relying on no one but herself for so long, trying to keep her place, to protect her daughter. Some nights she'd felt like she'd scream. Others she had been too exhausted to scream, but always she'd known, she had to protect herself and her daughter. Always she'd known there was no one left but her.

Cole's voice softened, his arms tightened, coaxed. “It's only an inch, maybe two. How much harm can there be in two inches?”

She didn't have a defense for that, and then he didn't give her a choice. His hand came up again and pressed until her cheek met his chest. She let her breath out in a shuddering sigh. As the last bit of breath left her, she heard it, the slow, steady beat of his heart. Heard it pick up speed as her hand touched his forearm. Felt inside that insidious melting, that false sense of safety. And she just relaxed into it.

His hand stroked over her hair. “We're going to be a team from here on out, Miranda. You can trust me.”

She'd heard that before, and she had done as her instincts had said then, too, but at the end of the day she'd been alone.

“You might not always be around.”

“I'll be here.”

“You're not invincible.”

“Close enough.”

She shook her head. Men always thought they were invincible. They always thought it was close enough. Then they took these stupid-crazy risks, and they died, and they left her alone. Her father with his desire to break the stallion that had thrown him off and snapped his neck. Her husband's desire to tame the Wild West had left her raped and scarred and beaten.

“My father said the same thing. So did my husband.”

“Yeah? And where are they?”

“My father is dead.”

“Your husband?”

“Gone, too.” She expected him to let her go, but he didn't. He just stood there, his fingers rubbing between her shoulder blades in small, light circles, his heart beating strong and steady under her cheek.

“How?”

“He killed himself . . . after. He couldn't live with the shame.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It was his choice.” She had to believe that. That there was nothing she could have done to stop him.

The heat of Cole's body wrapped around her with the same strength as his arms.

A hug was such a dangerous thing. Such an insidious way of weakening a woman's will. She could have fought him if he'd grabbed her, would have if he'd hit her, but this, this insidious comforting was just diabolical.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she slipped her arms around his waist. “You are a very clever man to seduce me this way.”

She felt his smile against her hair. “Thank you, I try.”

Heat and muscle slid under her palm. “Dangerous even.”

“To some.”

He wanted her to know he wasn't a danger to her, but he didn't understand what she feared. He was a man, how could he? Everything worked in his favor. Nothing worked for her.

“Are you going to bed me tonight?” she asked.

She felt the slight start under his skin, could feel the hum of tension under his muscles. She glanced up. His expression was unchanged. If she hadn't been touching him, she wouldn't have realized a thing.

“It's what married couples usually do.”

She licked her lip “We can just pretend.”

He tipped her chin up, looked into her eyes, and that was definitely a twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“I've been told Reapers can tell when a couple mates. There is a change in the scent. Got a way to fake that?”

She shook her head. She hadn't known that. She searched his gaze, looking for the truth of it. There was no sign that he was lying.

“If this mating isn't believed to be real, Clark has a claim.” He didn't have to say any more. She reached for the buttons of her shirt. He cocked his eyebrow at her.

“Can't say I find any fault in a woman eager for bedding.”

She snorted.

He moved her back, forgetting she was so close to the chair. He caught her before she could stumble and fall, pulling her back against him as she pitched toward the floor. His front to her back, his strength to her weakness, his determination to her hesitation. He was always saving her. Standing within his embrace, she went back to work on her buttons.

His hands came over hers. The sides resting on top of her breasts, just a slight pressure that seemed to take on so much more significance the longer they lay there. And that tension, that fine tension that always whispered between them, increased to a hum.

Her nipples peaked, and in between her legs moisture gathered. There was something about this man that was so irresistible. He scared her; he excited her. He was inevitable.

“Miranda?”

“Yeah?”

He moved her hands away from the buttons and turned her around so she rested against him. So he could see her face, she realized as he tipped her chin up.

“I'm not going to hurt you.”

“I'm not a virgin. I know what to expect in the marriage bed.”

“Well, you're just determined to kill the mood, aren't you?”

“We have a mood?”

“Not yet but I'm working on building one.”

“I'd prefer you just get it over with.”

“Well, this is my first wedding night, and I'm kind of thinking I want to make it memorable.”

“Why?”

“Because someday I'm going to be old, and I'm going to be gray, and my knees are going to kill me, and my hands aren't going to work too well, and I'm going to look across the table, and I'm going to see you there, and I'm going to think of this night. And I want to know that the reason I'm there with you, when I'm old, is because we started out right.”

She could see that. She could picture that. She could feel that as strongly as she could feel the softness of his energy wrapped around her. A hug so much more intimate than his arms, and the truth just spilled right past her lips.

“I want that, too.”

He took her hands and moved them up to his shoulders.

“Then maybe it's about time we start it right.”

15

He wanted to court her, Cole realized. A woman like Miranda deserved soft kisses, moonlight dances, and all the trappings a man laid out for the woman he chose. His options might be limited on the “all” but he could offer her a dance.

Miranda stumbled against him as he took the first step in a waltz. It was the most natural thing in the world to slip his hand down to her waist to steady her. She looked at him, clearly confused, as he moved them around the small space.

“Haven't you ever danced with a beau?”

“Not in a long time.”

“Then you're overdue.”

She didn't have anything to say to that, but she didn't protest when he started humming. If anything, her energy focused. He smiled at the determination. “Dancing is supposed to be fun, you know.”

“I don't know this dance.”

“Just follow my lead.”

She did, getting the hang of it right up until the first turn. Then she stumbled again. He caught her, using the moment to pull her against him too tight to be proper. She blinked, catching her mental balance. He felt the flicker of her energy wavering between passion and confusion. He squeezed her hand and repeated.

“Just trust in my lead.”

She looked down.

“No.” He tapped her chin with their clasped hands. “Watch my eyes.”

He liked that she obeyed immediately. He liked a lot of things about her. He liked the wave in her hair, the softness of her mouth, the fullness of her breasts, the heat of her passion that slid over his so deliciously. Everything about her fit him well, like she'd been made for him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Haven't you ever waltzed before?”

“That's a scandalous dance.”

“For a scandalous woman.”

“I'm not scandalous.”

He smiled. There was one thing he knew for sure: she wasn't conventional. A conventional woman would have caved long ago.

“You're a fighter.”

She stumbled again. It just gave him an excuse to hold her closer.

“I'm not denying it. I'm just saying I'm not much of a dancer.”

“That's because you need to trust me.”

“You keep telling me that.”

He tried a turn. “I'm waiting for you to start doing it.”

Her nails bit into his upper arm.

“I'm not a trusting person.”

“You need to be with me. There's likely going to be a few hiccups down the road where it's going to get dicey.”

She didn't deny it. He liked that about her, too. She didn't run from the truth.

“And in those moments . . .”

He spun her in a circle, smiling at her little gasp, enjoying the feeling of her breasts pressing flat against his chest as she leaned into him.

“You're going to need to do what I tell you, when I tell you.”

She caught her balance and looked up. “Just like that?”

He nodded and spun her again.

“Just like that.”

This time she was ready for him, moving easily without stumbling, without falling, just staying with him. He found he liked that better. His partner. This time when he spun her, he felt that little surge of confidence when she kept up with him. She was enjoying the dance. He added a couple more intricate steps, inordinately pleased when she followed easily.

He could feel her mind touching his. Normally that was an intrusion, but from her, fuck, it was hot as hell. She'd feel everything when they made love, his passion, his lust, and he'd feel hers reflected back tenfold. They'd be connected in a way never possible before. In a way, he realized, he'd always yearned for. “You think you're going to keep up with me, china doll?”

She smiled. “Do your worst.”

“A dangerous invitation for a man like me.”

“How do you know I'm not dangerous?”

“Oh, you're very dangerous.”

He did a quick sidestep around a chair; there really wasn't much room for dancing. There wasn't much room for anything. He looked at the bed, but he'd make it work.

On the next spin, he pinned her against the wall. Hip to hip, belly to belly, chest to chest. She gasped. He leaned down and took that soft expulsion as his own, fitting his mouth carefully to hers. Her fingers curled into the back of his hands. She moaned, and he realized he was pressing her too hard. He eased up, and she moaned again at the separation. He didn't miss the regret in her eyes. She was soft to his hard, patience to his anger, strength to his strength. He relaxed his mind, letting her energy flow through him. She held him tightly in a feminine, soft, seductively hot grip. It was his turn to moan.

Her lips parted beneath his, just a little, just enough to tempt and tease the passion within him. He traced that slight opening with his tongue in little flicks, teasing back in return. She responded with everything he could have wanted, her mind, body, and passion. Fuck.

Her eyes opened, and he felt the start in her energy as he lost the hold on his. He'd have to be careful. This tuned in to him, she could feel overwhelmed and he didn't want that.

He smoothed the hair off her cheek, keeping his hand against her face when he was done. Another connection. He wanted to build many of them with her. With his thumb under her chin, Cole tilted Miranda's head back just a little, adding that little bit of tension that spiked her desire. Her lips parted farther.

He studied her face, the flush on her cheeks, the shadows in her eyes. Felt the flow of her desire as completely as if he'd had his hand between her legs. She was wet already and ready for him. He didn't have to touch her to know that. And he was hard and ready for her, and he bet she would have known that even if he hadn't been pressed up against her. He'd never had a lover so in tune with him. It was hot. Erotic. Perfect.

Inside him a wildness started to pulse, following the lust in his blood, firing it. His muscles itched under his skin, and the desire to take her increased. From deep within his chest came a growl. He felt the spike of her wetness as that growl shivered through her. She gave him a little growl of her own.

“You have too many goddamn clothes on,” he muttered.

She just smiled. He grabbed her blouse.

His nails pressed against her skin. Another shiver shook her from head to toe. Another growl rose from somewhere deep inside. His senses sharpened even as the world narrowed. He memorized her scent, her sigh, as her lust poured over him in debilitating waves that stripped his control. The material tore, and he took her gasp into his mouth. Holding her breath as his own. His. She was his.

It wasn't enough. He felt pressure against his chest. He looked down. Her hands were pressed against him, the fabric of his shirt keeping her touch from his skin.

“Tear it off.”

She just stared at him and shook her head. “You don't have another.”

He didn't care. His hand slid down to her throat, closing around it, keeping her face to his as he slid his knee between her legs.

His “You don't tell me no” was a guttural statement of fact.

Her eyes widened, her lips pulled back, showing him her canines. The growl rippled from her throat, shivered down his spine all the way to his cock.

She was ready to fight him. He shook his head and kissed her hard, smiling at the thought of pinning that little body against his. Pulling up, he brought thought to action. He groaned or maybe she did. Those beautiful breasts melted into his chest. Her mouth into his. Running his tongue over those canines she liked to flash at him, he muttered, “My hot little doll.”

Her claws bit into his chest. “I'm not a doll.”

No, she wasn't. She was all woman. Desirable. And tonight she was his. “But you are mine.”

It irritated him that she didn't agree immediately. Catching her lower lip between his teeth, he bit gently.

“Open.”

She looked at him, gaze questioning, breath catching.

“Wider.”

She did, and he fitted his mouth to hers. Teasing the sensitive inside of her lip with his tongue, making her jump and quiver.

“Yes. Just like that, baby. Give me that.”

He kissed her until she was soft and compliant against him. He kissed her slow and deep, drawing out each caress, each shiver of sensation. He kissed her until her fingers were stroking rather than pressing and her breath came in soft little gasps that buffeted his lips. Kissed her until she was fighting to get to him rather than away from him.

“Tear my shirt off,” he repeated.

He felt the prick of her nails as she curled her fingers to obey. Heard the rip as the fabric gave. Felt the blessed coolness of the air against his heated skin and then the bliss of her palms spreading over his chest.

Hot, cold, woman, wolf. She was all that and more. Another growl and he didn't give a shit what she was, what they were; he just knew they had to be together. He pulled her up, or maybe he leaned down, who the hell could tell? He had her beneath him, her soft thighs sliding along his as he ground his hips into hers, his cock straining to be closer still, needing her.

She cried out. A bit of the haze lifted, and he swore. He had to be hurting her, but when he checked, all he saw was the passion-drugged expression on her face, the red-hot glitter of desire in her eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. Yes.” She moaned and drew her pussy along his cock. Even through two layers of clothes, the sensation buckled his arms. “Who cares?”

“Spread them. Give me room.” With a knee he nudged her legs apart. She shifted, and he claimed the space as his own. Anchoring his fist in her hair, he tipped her head back. He needed to know she heard this. “And for the record I care. I want you screaming with pleasure, not pain.”

He expected her to flinch from his gaze. Most people did when he put that much of his personality behind a statement, but Miranda just nodded, skimmed her palms up his chest until her hands were around his neck. Holding his gaze she pressed her nails into the back of his neck, pulling him back into the kiss, back into her, her tongue twining with his, inviting him deeper.

“More.”

The whisper or thought, he wasn't sure which, spread into his mind. Yes, they both needed more.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her away from the wall, scooping her up in his arms. It was only three steps to the bed. Three steps that stretched like an eternity. Three steps that tested his patience, his resolve. Three steps that heightened his passion to the critical point before, with another irreverent curse he laid her down upon the bed. The smile she offered him was pure witchery. The shift of her body pure enticement. Instead of accepting the invitation, he took a moment to look, just look at all the perfection that was his wife.

“You're beautiful.”

“I'm not.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What'd I tell you about telling me no?”

She closed her mouth on whatever it was she'd been about to say. “Not to do it.”

He brushed the hair off her temple. “Good girl.”

She smiled tentatively, a tremulous quiver of her lips showing the uncertainty banking the passion. He didn't want that.

“You are a delight, Miranda Cameron. On every level. In every way, you are beautiful to me.”

And she was, lying there, a sensual goddess waiting to be taken, her full breasts rising from the tatters of her shirt. Her nipples, hard and pink, topped each white mound like candy on a confection. He very badly wanted to taste them. His cock throbbed and strained as he imagined doing just that. Lust thickened his blood. Damn, he wanted those nubs more than pink. He wanted them wet, red, and aching from his mouth. He wanted to feel them slide along his cock, his balls, and then back up. He wanted to tease and torment them until she was writhing and begging. He wanted . . . her.

He glanced up, and all that chugging lust slammed through him in a control-stealing wave. She was watching him watch her. That soft smile on her lips as she saw his pleasure raised all kinds of hell with his control.