Sweet Temptation (32 page)

“Are you scared?” she purrs. “Been too long? Out of practice?” Her head cocks to the side, a bad-girl grin on her face.

And then her words register.

Too scared to shag her? I can't even dignify that with a response. I can't even sputter. And then she gives me a purple-nurple, twisting my nipple.

“Oy!” I grab her wrist, the mad little cat. I should spank her arse for that.

Suddenly my towel is gone and my body is announcing just how much I've enjoyed her naughty act, complete with the ripping-off-of-the-towel finale. There's laughter in her eyes. Time for me to take control.

I swing an arm behind her legs and a hand behind her waist, and I have her on her back before she can blink. I'm pressed heavily on top of her, and from the satisfied smile on her face, this is exactly what she wants.

“You win,” I say.

She doesn't gloat. She simply reaches up and cups my face, running her fingers down my cheek and jawline. I lower my forehead to hers, overcome.

“This is right, Kai. We love each other.”

I close my eyes. Is our love enough to blot out my past? It's always there, in my mind, a foul and murky swampland. How can Anna not feel it when she's with me? She seems so certain this is right. And sword or no sword, this will at least keep her safe from Father for the time being.

“I'd do anything for you,” I say.

“Just love me.” She strokes my cheek again.

There's so much I've never had the nerve to tell her. So much I should have said before now. She watches me intently.

“I need you to know this is different for me,” I manage. “I've never felt like this with someone.” I take a shaking breath. “I don't just love you, Anna. I
adore
you.”

She kisses me, her hands traveling over my arms and shoulders until they're at my face again and her eyes are on mine.

“Don't look away from me,” I whisper. Her eyes will tell me if I'm hurting her.

She nods and whispers back, “Okay.”

“If you need to stop—”

“Kai. I'm not fragile.”

“Right.” She's strong, I know that. I also know how to make her first time a
very
pleasant experience. I move my hips and nuzzle myself between her legs. She lets me. I watch her mouth open for a silent gasp of air when I circle my hips against her to make sure she's ready.

And because I still feel like I haven't said enough—because I need to prove just how momentous this is for me, I bash down the barriers I've kept up for eight years, unleashing my aura for Anna to see. I shiver as I bare myself, and I feel Anna holding me tighter. I want her to see my love, like I saw hers once upon a time.

“
Oh . . . ,”
she whispers. “It's beautiful.”

I shake my head. Only one thing deserves that word. “
You're
beautiful.”

She wraps her leg around me and I move my hips until I find her.

We arch, slowly, and Anna gasps. Her hands go around my
lower back, holding me tight.

I move slowly. So slow.

Oh, dear God. It is killing me to go slow.

Her eyes shut and I stop. She opens them and nods. “I'm okay.”

I move again, slowly, gritting my teeth, watching her eyes. I move a bit more, ignoring my bastardly instincts not to be gentle. Her eyes flutter and a whimper escapes, but she quickly meets my eyes again and says, “Don't stop.”

I fight for breath. Slow movements.

There
. My hips are flush against hers and we're both breathing heavily. She lets out a breathy sound of joy and I grin at her. My wife.

I kiss her. She keeps one hand on my back and the other in my hair as the kiss deepens. My hips begin a slow circular motion, grinding gently against her. Anna breaks the kiss to catch her breath and let out a moaning, “Oh, my
gosh
, Kai.”

Everything we've gone through has led to this moment.

For the first time in my life I make love, and my heart is full. And though I've been a man by society's standards for a while now, this is the first time I've felt like one. I am Anna's man. Her lover. Her husband. Her ally and friend.

Always.

“The heart is a bloom, shoots up through the stony ground . . .

What you don't know you can feel it somehow.”

—“Beautiful Day” by U2

I
am immediately ready to go again when I wake in the middle of the night. I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I reach for Anna in the darkness and bolt upright in the bed. She's not there.

“Anna?”

It's too quiet in the cabin. I leap from the bed and sprint to the bathroom, but she's not in there, either. “Anna!” I wrench open the door to the outdoor shower—empty as well. I rush to the front door and realize I'm completely naked.

“Fuck!” I run back to the bedroom and flail through the clothing on the floor until I find a pair of shorts. My heart is banging in my throat. Did they take her while I slept?

I barrel through the front door barefooted and stare wildly around the darkened area. Forests. Road. No lights anywhere. I force myself to concentrate on my hearing, sending it out in a circle around me, slowly letting it extend outward, trying not to miss a single sound.

“Anna!” I call. I am fighting to breathe.
“Anna!”

How could she disappear from under my nose? How could I let this happen?

I stop and stare toward the path that leads to the canyon. Yes. Footsteps. Maybe half a mile. The steps stop and it gets quiet. I take off running.

Jagged rocks and branches cut into my feet, but I can hardly feel their sting. My extended night vision is on high to make use of the tiny bit of moonlight. I still cannot sense anything up ahead. A minute later I think I hear a feminine giggle.

“Anna? Anna!” I race ahead faster now. Two seconds later I hear her call to me.

“Kai! It's all right. I'm at the canyon!”

Christ Almighty, I'm about to have a heart attack. I've never run so fast. She sounds okay, but I have to see her for myself. I burst through the trees into a sudden open space and halt at the sight of a massive spirit, bright white. I nearly fall back, but Anna rushes to me.

“It's okay,” she says, wrapping her arms around my heaving chest. I hold her, never taking my eyes off the exquisite spirit. It's not Belial. It's not a demon at all. Nor is it a warrior angel.

As Anna tugs me forward, I feel stranger and stranger the closer I get to it. This spirit doesn't fill me with a sense of
threat like the warrior angels from the summit. In fact, it's as if this spirit has purified all the dark feelings from my soul, and I'm left only with love and happiness within.

The spirit watches me closely as Anna brings me to stand before it, and I'm astonished by the overpowering sense of peace that blankets me. Anna squeezes my hand and stops short at the cliff's edge, never letting me go. She looks up at me. “Kaidan . . . this is my mother, Mariantha.”

My face snaps back to the angel, who levitates over the empty space with a contented smile. I have no words. Just . . . wow. Anna's mother.

I lower my head and say, “It's an honor to meet you.”

“It is I who am honored to meet the soul who loves my daughter more than any other.”

I am too full. Her words, the emotion she's emitting, it all makes me want to inexplicably weep. I keep my head down and swallow.

“You have embraced life and the truth, Kaidan Rowe, and are now reaping the blessing.”

Yes. I raise my eyes to her and nod, then swallow again, overly grateful. I'm feeling like a boy next door, all wholesome and shit—er—
stuff
. I drop my eyes again.

“I must go,”
Mariantha says.
“Guard your love, for it will lead you through the darkness.”

I nod again and stand there stunned beyond belief as she and Anna say their good-byes. Then her mother's spirit stretches its wide wings and flies away.

I search all around us, but nothing else is in sight. I take Anna's hand and we race back down the path, eager to get
out of the open. But I don't feel any fear. The exalted feeling still swirls around inside me, making me want to laugh with unfathomable joy. Anna feels it, too, because a smile is on her lips as we run.

“What did she say to you?” I ask Anna when the cabin is in sight.

“That they're celebrating our marriage in heaven!” She laughs, and I shake my head at this astounding turn of events.

We burst through the cabin doors and I shut the door, locking it. Then I take Anna's face in both my hands and walk her over to the wall where I can hold her in place. I'm finally coming down from the adrenaline rush of fear.

“You scared me to death,” I tell her. “Don't ever leave me like that again.”

“I'm so sorry. You were sound asleep, and I saw her . . . I know it was dumb, but she was like . . .”

I think of her mother's bright, welcoming form. “A beacon?”

“Yes.” She takes my wrists, rubbing them to soothe me.

“Were they really celebrating us? Up there?”

Her smile is luminous. “They really were.”

Unbelievable. I try to imagine it, that the souls in heaven know us—not just Anna, but
me
, as well—and they're cheering for us. I want to ask why they would celebrate us but never give us the chance to be there with them, to join them in heaven, when we leave this place.

Anna breaks my desolate train of thought by crushing her lips to mine, and I react on instinct, pressing her back against the wall and dropping my hands to her body. I remember how
I felt when I awoke, before I knew she was gone, and that need returns with a vengeance.

“Let's not sleep tonight,” Anna says.

Oh, woman, you're speaking my language.
“I'm going to let you make all the rules in this marriage, Anna.”

“Good boy.”

I laugh and grasp her around the waist. She looks down and gasps.

“You're bleeding!”

I glance at the scrapes and cuts along my feet, ankles, and legs from where I ran in the darkness. Most of the blood is already dry.

“I'm fine. Nearly healed already.” But she frowns, and I know she wants to nurse me. I kiss her pouting lips and tighten my hands around her waist.

When I lift her, she wraps her legs around me and I carry her to an oversized chair. I fall back onto it and give her bum a good slap, making her scream. “Hey!”

I hush her complaint with another kiss, and pull her hips down against mine until she lets her head fall back and sinks into my lap perfectly.

It's still our wedding night. She's all mine until the sun rises and it's time to release her back into the world. Until then, let the celebration continue.

“Miles away I can still feel you,

Lay your head down on my embrace.”

—“When You Can't Sleep at Night” by Of Mice & Men

W
hen I get off the plane in L.A., there are two messages waiting for me from a hospital in Atlanta. I nearly lose my mind until I hear the words “Richard Rowe. . . .” I hail a cab as I ring the number and get transferred to the doctor on duty.

“Kaidan Rowe?” asks the man solemnly.

“Yes. That's me.” I climb into the cab and show the driver my address on my ID so he knows where to go.

“I'm terribly sorry to have to tell you this, son, but your father had a heart attack at home early this morning or possibly during the night. One of his employees found him and called nine-one-one, but it was too late at that point. I'm
very sorry. Your father is gone.”

What?
Was this planned? I am gripping the phone and staring blankly at the city as it passes by the windows.

“Um . . .” I need to say something. “But, he was so . . . healthy.”

Lame. My shock is real, but it's hard to fake grief.

“Yes, he did appear to be quite healthy. I know this must be difficult. We're doing a full autopsy to see for certain what the cause of death was.”

I can tell them the cause—a demon leaving a body equals death of said body.

My eyes dart around the skies. I've no clue what Father looks like in spirit form. Or where his next duty station will be, if this is his changing of the guard. Nice of him to clue me in that this madness would be happening.

The doctor clears his throat. “Do you have family or anyone you can call for help? There's quite a bit you'll need to look into right away, son. It can be overwhelming. I'd recommend contacting his lawyer first, to see if he has a will with instructions, and an insurance policy.”

“Oh, er, yes.” I sniff loudly. “I'll do that. Thank you. Thank you for your help.”

I hang up and glare out the window. Bloody hell. This is just what I need. I've no idea who Father's lawyer is or where to begin. I let my head fall back onto the seat as we weave in and out of traffic on the highway, slamming on the brakes and racing forward again, then coming to another dead stop. Damned L.A. traffic.

My apartment feels like an abandoned place where I don't belong. It's depressing without Anna. For the second day in a row, I open the freezer and stare at the meals she made for me. I don't want to eat them, because then they'll be gone and I won't be able to gaze at them like a bloody sap anymore.

I can imagine her indignant face if she finds out I'm not eating the food she prepared—her little fists on her hips, scolding me with that accent. Most likely naked. I grin at the imaginary Anna. Okay, I'll eat them. Eventually. One a week, perhaps.

We'll see.

I pace the kitchen and living room. I have practice tonight with the band, so that'll be good. I need distractions, to keep me busy. Hopefully Anna Malone won't be there.

I want the drama over with. I told everyone at work that my father died and I'd have to fly to Georgia for a few days. Thankfully that put them off from questioning my love life for the moment.

The lawyer rang me yesterday, saying he'd been instructed to contact me if anything ever happened to Father. His Atlanta estate is to be sold, Father's body is to be cremated, and the insurance policy will cash out. As Richard Rowe's only known family member and heir, I will be receiving the entire “sizable” payout. The lawyer used the word “sizable” several times.

Thing is, I won't get to keep all that. Father will need the fortune to live his next life in style. I'll get my cut, and then I'm on my own. Financially. But I'll always answer to him.

I wish I knew where he was. The only good thing is that it takes quite a while to find a new body. At least that's what I've heard. The Dukes are right picky. Father won't be able to sniff Anna out if he doesn't have a nose, so I don't have to worry about him going after her just yet.

Belial told Anna to go on to college like she'd planned, and pretend to work. He thinks staying on the run will look too suspicious for her. Now that she's not a virgin, Belial is hoping the Dukes will second-guess themselves.

I worry about Belial's assumptions, but he's known the other Dukes a bloody long time. I hope he knows their behaviors well enough not to put Anna's neck on the line.

I shut the freezer door and order out for Thai. I hate standing around waiting and worrying like a useless git. In two days I'll fly to Georgia to sign estate paperwork and retrieve Father's remains, which are going straight down a toilet at the dodgiest petrol station I can find. But at least I'll be in the east, on the go.

I slump onto my leather couch and grab a pad of paper and a pen, ready to scratch out some lyrics.

And then my mobile dings with a text.

It's a picture from Anna. That's strange. I open it and stare.

And stare some more.

Fucking hell, little Ann.

I ogle a picture of her tangled in a sheet, a knee up; her hip, thigh, and arse showing beautifully against a scrap of black fabric that hardly qualifies as knickers.

A low, long groan erupts from my throat.

She's too sexy. It hurts to look at it, but I can't stop. She's
too bloody far away. Why, why, why? My hands shake as I type.

OH GOD.

I stare. I type.
What r u doing to me??

I am gobsmacked.
I can't believe u took a pic.

I stare. I cram my hand into my hair and pull.
CANNOT STOP STARING.

Too much sexy. I can't even . . .
Just wait little vixen.

I fall over on the couch.
F me. Ur so fn hot.

I think I might die here, a lump of lust.
Ur in serious trouble when I see u again.

I stare.
Serious. Trouble.
I curl into a ball of pain and die.

A moment later my mobile chirps in my dead hand. I open it with trepidation. Thankfully it's only words, and not more skin I'm not able to touch.

Baby steps for your nerdy girl,
she writes.

The girl clearly underestimates the power of her bum and a seductively minimal pose.

Nerdy my arse,
I type back.
All the cold showers in the world can't cure what u've done to me.

Cruel wife.

Sorry,
she says, but I can see her smiling in my mind.

U r not. Leave me alone. I'll b busy 4 a bit.

Cold showers . . . not again. I want to cry. But then a horrible thought occurs—I hope she doesn't think I'm truly angry. I quickly type out another message.

PS . . . ilu.

ilu2,
she says.

I catch myself smiling and shake my head.
Sap.

Then, as much as I hate to do it, I delete each message one by one. When I get to the photo, I take one last long stare, groan deeply, and delete it. Then I trudge heavily to the loo, all by my lonesome, where I might die again. Sexting is dangerous business. I don't recommend it.