The Undead Pool

“This can’t work!”

He looked down, then jerked his head up in frustration as his fingers tightened on mine. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Rachel. I just . . .”

My heart pounded, and he stepped closer, so close the scent of cinnamon and wine enveloped me.

“I like walking into a room and seeing your face light up when you see me,” he said earnestly, the sun from the open window making his hair glow. “I like arguing with Quen over the wisdom of employing a demon to be my security.”

My throat caught. This wasn’t going to happen, but something in me was withering. I wanted more—and I knew I couldn’t have it.

He touched my hair, and I twitched as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to wake up beside you, see your curls on my pillow. I want a chance at falling in love.”

My breath came fast. That was what I wanted too, and it hurt more than I thought was possible to survive. “Stop,” I said, hardly able to breathe the word. “I can’t. Don’t do this.”

I couldn’t help it, and a tear slipped out. His arms went around me, and I began to sob. His strength enfolding me felt so good, so honest. And it wasn’t mine.

Why not? a mystic asked, and I couldn’t answer.

“Please, just stop. Go away,” I said, my voice weepy.

But he didn’t. “I know you’re scared,” he said, rocking me so slowly it almost was no motion at all.

“I’m not,” I said, head buried in his shoulder, touching him, being held, finding strength though it hurt even more.

“You are,” he said, his words easing through me. “I want to love someone. I think I might already.”

A small noise escaped me, and I shoved him away. Love? “You son of a bastard!” I exclaimed, and he blinked at me in surprise. “How dare you walk into my kitchen and tell me you might love me. You know it won’t work! The elves don’t want it. The demons won’t allow it! We do this, and you lose everything!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, his shock evolving into an amazed wonder tinged with the bare hints of amusement. “I finally found out what you’re scared of, Rachel Morgan, and why you keep spending time with men and women who can’t give you what you need.”

“I am not scared,” I said, terrified. “I’m a realist!”

“You’re scared,” he said calmly. “And I’m going to prove it.”

“You’re . . .” I said, falling back when he paced to me, his expression intent. He was looking at my mouth. “Hey!”

His hands grabbed my shoulders firmly and yanked me across the few feet that separated us. “Trent, you, mmmph,” I managed to get out as he stole a kiss, a wild, wonderful, passionate kiss.

His lips were heavy on mine, an erotic mix of demand and softness. My hands against his shoulders were set to push him back, but I couldn’t, shocked at the sudden surge of desire that burst from my core, flaring through me like flash paper.

Eyes closed, my back hit the counter.

Emotion vibrated up through me. My hands clenched on him and my eyes opened. Heart thudding in my chest, I shoved him back and away. Oh God, it was a fabulous kiss. I could hardly think. “That might work on your secretary,” I said, looking him up and down and imagining him naked. “But I’m smarter than that. Get out! Now!”

I pointed at the door, the mystics in me glowing, adding to my ardor.

Trent didn’t move, eyeing me, reading my lie. “You are scared,” he said, and the scent of cinnamon made my knees weak. “Screw them, Rachel. They don’t matter. You are a demon, and I just told my fiancée to get out. Tell me you don’t want to see where this could go. I am not going to live with regret for not having tried.”

He stepped closer, and I retreated, wanting to touch him, wanting to run my hands between him and his shirt. I couldn’t move as he slipped into my personal space, and I shut my eyes, pretending that if I couldn’t see him, I wouldn’t have to tell him to leave. I wasn’t breathing, and vertigo spilled through me.

“Tell me you’ve not wanted to know for a long time,” he whispered, and I quailed as his hand touched my shoulder. “Tell me that right now, and I will leave.”

The memory of his expression when he found me beaten and struggling under the city swam up, his anger at someone harming me and his shared pain at my bruises.

“Don’t. Don’t go.”

Trent’s breath came in with a shaky sound. His touch on my shoulder changed, becoming less fragile.

“Please don’t go,” I said, eyes opening to see his relief. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” How could something be so wrong and so right all at the same time? No, not wrong, just difficult.

He pulled me close, our bodies touching their entire lengths. “You’ve never been alone.”

“But I have,” I said, the tears starting up again. Damn it, I didn’t want to cry, but it didn’t seem to matter as Trent kissed me lightly, his lips never the same place twice.

“Don’t go to the ever-after,” he said. “We can figure this out.”

The ever-after was the last thing on my mind, and I made a choking laugh. “I was hoping you would come to stop me. I really think I was.”

He was smiling as I wiped my eyes, and still we remained where we were, pressed against each other. “Hell of a way to make a man put his priorities in order.”

I tugged him closer, wanting to run my finger along a line of faint stubble. “What took you so long?”

My head pressed against his shoulder, and I felt his breath in my hair. “Scared, I think. I have so many eyes on me.”

“I know what you mean.” What had just happened? All I knew was my relief was overwhelming, a tired acceptance and a sensation that everything was going to be all right, no matter what. My hands traced the outlines of his shoulders, and I let them follow the lines of his muscles down lower, anticipation stirring in me as he tensed.

His breath came and went, moving my hair. And still we stood there.

“Where is everyone?”

His words sparked through me, a thousand feelings, only one question. A flash of passion flickered and settled into a steady, demanding burn. Trent was here. Everything was different. Nothing felt wrong. My hand rose back up, finding a new tension in his shoulder. But he’d asked me something.

“Out.” I tilted my head and breathed long and slow in his ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Neither one of us moved. We both knew where this might go. My heart pounded, and finally I leaned my weight into him, stretching until my lips found his earlobe and I gently fastened on it, tugging suggestively. “All of them,” I breathed, not letting go.

Trent shifted, and I suddenly found myself pressed up against the wall beside the archway. My eyes opened. Desire was hot in his eyes, and a faint smile crossed my mouth as I wondered if I’d find out if he’d taken Al up on that circumcision curse. “Mr. Kalamack,” I said playfully, and he took my wrists and pinned them to the wall beside my head. There was just enough force in it, the demand tempered by passion, and it zinged through me, lighting me alive.

“I was kind of hoping you might not be a talker.”

I ran a foot up his pant leg, then back down. “Then give my lips something to do.”

His head bent toward mine again, and we kissed, lips moving against each other, testing, searching, his grip on my wrists edging into a new firmness. His body pressed into mine, and my fingers curled into fists, even as I held myself there, enjoying the hell out of this.

What am I doing! echoed in my thoughts, and I silenced it. I was kissing Trent, and doing a damn fine job of it.

But I wanted more. He let go at my slight hint of motion, and my hands dropped to lace behind his neck. Eyes open, I found his gaze. The light in them blazed through me. This was going to be good. I could tell already. It’s the quiet ones you needed to watch out for. “We are going to be in so much trouble,” I said, thinking it was funny, and he smiled back, eyes going to my lips.

“Then let’s make sure it’s worth being in trouble for.”

The husky depth of his voice dove to my middle. Fear, passion, desire. God help me. I’d been wanting this for a long time.

I thought of my bed as I pushed from the wall, but his hands were at my waist, and I found myself sitting atop the table. This worked nicely, and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. Heart pounding, I went for his belt buckle. God, he had a slim waist.

His lips were on my neck, and I started as he found the last hints of the scar that Al had given me, the neurotoxins buried deep in the tissue flaming back to life, shocking me. They’d been dormant for so long.

“Sensitive,” I gasped, then blinked as I realized he had undone the top three buttons of my shirt and I’d not noticed. I inhaled as he shifted my shirt open to my shoulders to show my chemise underneath, his fingers lightly tracing my outlines. My hands sprang to his hair, burrowing into his silky strands as he tugged my chemise free of my waistband.

God, yes, I thought when his fingers met my skin, and I shivered as he traced the lines of me up until he cupped a breast. His head bowed, and I tightened my legs around him as he kissed my shoulder, his lips becoming more demanding as he inched lower, lower.

There wasn’t enough room, and I shoved Ivy’s papers aside, arching back on the table, my legs wrapped around him as he supported me with one hand as he pushed my chemise up . . . his lips finding me at last, tugging, pulling, bringing me alive with a tingling sensation that went all the way to my curled toes.

Moaning, I looked at the ceiling, gasping when he pinched too hard, hoping he would do it again. Ivy’s binder clips were in my back. There were better places to do this.

But Trent was working to get my pants off, and I sat up, breathless. I’d managed his buckle, and I let my legs fall away from him as I undid his zipper, pressing into him and biting hard just under his ear, one hand buried in his silky hair.

His motion hesitated, and he came back even more demanding. Smiling wickedly, I jerked his pants down, then shoved them even lower with a foot to tangle about his feet. The question of boxers or tighty whities was answered, and I smiled.

“My turn,” he said, lips lifting from me long enough to pull me off the table to slide my pants down, his hands making a trail of sensation on the way back up. Thank God I was barefoot, and I kicked my pants off, scooting back up onto the table, much to his dismay until I again wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, my hands encircled about his neck and me pressed up against him.

I shivered at the cool air as my shirt came off, and I broke from him so my chemise could follow. Everything. Everything had to go, and a button popped as I tugged his shirt off. His eyes met mine as I pulled his undershirt, so proper, off him. It was all I could do not to sigh, and I tantalizingly traced his abs as his shirt hit the floor. His muscles tightened, and I leaned in and kissed his neck, feeling him respond, his fingers becoming demanding as they skated over me. The memory of his skin glistening in the shower flitted through me.

Pulling back, I eased my hold on him, my hands between us moving lower until I found his thighs, strong from his horsemanship. His fingers were at the base of my spine, and I sent my hands drifting inward until I found him.

His nibbles on my neck became rougher. Velvety smooth, I traced the length of him, imagining him inside me, and I shuddered, wanting it all. Wanting it now. It was just him. No ley lines, no magic, and it was . . . indescribable.

“Trent,” I breathed, shifting closer, hands at the base of his back as my legs wrapped around him, tugging him to me.

I looked up, watching the emotions cascade through him as he pulled me closer and slowly slid into me. My breath caught, and I clutched him to me, shuddering. Oh God, he was perfect.

“Not yet, damn it,” he whispered, thinking I was going to climax, and I looked up, lips finding him, moving against him, showing him there was more. We could find so much more before this reached the end.

“Couch,” I demanded, and his hands on me tightened. “I’m not doing this on the floor of my kitchen.”

I felt him move in me, and passion zinged a jagged path. He was looking behind me at the table, covered with Ivy’s stuff.

“Couch,” I demanded again, gripping him tighter with my legs, arms wrapped about his neck, my lips just under his ear. “Oh God, Trent. I can’t touch you where I want to if I have to keep holding on like this.”

That did it, and he shifted his grip, his hands lacing under me as he slid me from the table. “Hold on,” he said, voice strained with more than my weight as he shifted back, carrying me in a slow, shuffling motion, his pants about his feet.

Arms wrapped around his neck, I nibbled his ear, knowing he was helpless to stop me, knowing he’d probably do something deliciously wicked to get me back for it. I breathed him in, smelling cinnamon and wine, feeling loved.

“Okay,” he said as he found the couch. “If you hold on, I think I can . . .”

He could, and I held him still inside me as he awkwardly lowered us to the couch. The cushions eased up around me, smelling of vampire and warm to the touch. I eased my grip, letting him pull back as he rose over me. He was beautiful, his skin glistening, bare to the world. I ran a hand over his chest, his back, stretching to reach his thighs, finding the rise of his buttocks.

His eyes were doing the same to me, and a quiver went through me. “You are amazing,” I said, hands exploring the tightness of his backside. Damn, the man had a tight butt.

“From where I am, you’re the amazing one,” he said, and I reached for his shoulders, protesting as he slipped out of me. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">