Midwinter Magic (9 page)

B
Y THE
time the last of the presents was tucked safely behind the clear plastic curtain encircling the tree, Sarah’s sopping-wet hair was matted to her skull and her sodden clothes felt like she was enshrouded in papier-mâché.

None of which had stopped Jack from searing her with swift, molten glances that thrilled her all the way to her toes. She was half-surprised the rain wasn’t evaporating off of her as steam.

Jack was equally as drenched, and far sexier than any human had a right to be. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, his T-shirt clung to his chest and biceps, his pants were soaked to the skin—and Sarah had never seen him look hotter.

She wanted him, she realized suddenly. Not in a back-of-her-mind, secret fantasy sort of way. Not anymore. Now it was an all-consuming, breath-stealing, heart-racing, soul-baring
need
. To feel him next to her. Inside her. To hold him, to
have
him. To let him know she was his, body and soul, till Heaven did them part.

He stepped closer, away from the tree. She held out her hand, expecting him to lead her back to the tent. He didn’t. He ignored her hand, choosing instead to grab her to him and swing her in an exuberant circle, as if he’d finally been granted his heart’s desire.

“The kids?” she guessed, laughing as he twirled them beneath the rain. “You’re happy you managed to bring them a Christmas?”

“You,”
he corrected gruffly, and claimed her mouth with a kiss. “You
are
my Christmas.”

She couldn’t respond—didn’t have the words to respond, would never have words to describe the thundering in her chest—but before she could do more than try to show him with her eyes all the love she held in her heart, his hands cradled her face and his lips covered hers once more.

She opened her mouth, opened her arms, opened her heart.
This
she could respond to. This didn’t require words, didn’t require thought. It was pure feeling. Primal. Two people, two bodies, two souls. Poetry at its most powerful. Hearts at their most vulnerable. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life.

The rain covered them, bathed them, pelted them. She barely noticed. His lips were firm and warm and tender, his tongue as intoxicating as honey wine. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thighs encircled the curve of his leather belt, her core flush against the hard ridge beneath his zipper. His hands cupped her behind, pulling her to him even more tightly.

He needn’t have worried. She was never letting go.

He kissed her as if he were drowning, as if her lips were the only source of oxygen, as if her tongue emptied his head of everything except the desire to be even closer. She had nothing in her own head except his scent, his taste, the delicious sensation of his hot tongue and hard body beneath the onslaught of cold rain.

She poured every atom of her being into the passion driving her kiss. Her heart pounded against his, twin drums in the night. A thousand years of loneliness had led her right here, to him, to this perfect moment. She never wanted it to end. Would die if it did.

She tore her mouth from his only long enough to pant, “The tent?”

“Absolutely.” The wicked promise in his eyes enflamed the embers of naked want cleaving her to him.

She wasn’t sure she could release him long enough to
make
it back, much less force her trembling legs to walk.

When her reluctant feet were back on solid ground, he laced his fingers with hers and pointed toward the tent. “First one there gets to strip the other one naked.”

She grinned and took off running, her hand in his, his hand in hers, both of them racing through the mud and the night with rain sleeting down their faces and a fire burning out of control between them.

Jack caught her around the waist as soon as they reached the tent. His arms warmed her, his mouth seared her, as if the few seconds of having only their clasped hands connected had driven him mad with the need to have her in his arms once again.

Without breaking the kiss, without lifting his warm mouth from hers for even a second, he reached for the closure keeping the tent safe from the storm. He tugged at the zipper, once, twice, again, and then they were tumbling into the opening, bringing with them the night and the rain and a storm of their own making.

He zipped up the closure, blocking out the weather. Kneeling, he reached for her in the dark. She stopped him, her lips to the sensitive skin beneath the base of his ear.

“Leave it open.”

His lips sought hers. “We’ll get wet.”

“We’re already wet.”

“You’ll get cold.”

“You’ll keep me warm.” She cupped his cheek, touched her lips to the corner of his mouth. “I want to see you. To know you can see
me
. I don’t want to be invisible. Not tonight.”

His tongue met hers as he swept the zipper back open, letting in the rain and the night air and the flashes of lightning. The night smelled like clean grass, like tropical flowers, like paradise on earth. But all she could smell was
him
.

All she could see was him. All she could
feel
was him. His hands, his breath, his body, closer than she’d ever dreamed. More solid and real than anything she’d ever known. More precious than anything she’d ever desired.

She reached for his T-shirt, rolled the wet cotton up over his stomach, up over his chest.

“Hey, I thought
I
won the race,” he teased, but he lifted his arms.

She nipped his lower lip. “And now it’s time for your prize.”

He grinned. She winked and continued removing his shirt. The storm eased slightly, and hints of moonlight began to filter through the falling rain. He was beautiful.

He let her push the wet cotton up over his triceps, over his head, over his wrists, in silent understanding that this inch-by-inch unveiling wasn’t meant to torture him, but instead was a gift to herself. The gift of touching, of
connecting
. Of mutual desire.

He was perfect, of course. As she’d always known he would be. But knowing and seeing were totally different from touching and tasting for herself.

She tossed the sodden shirt aside and pressed her lips to his chest. He should be cold, but his skin was hot, just as hot as her own. She dragged her open mouth to his nipple, flicked her tongue against the taut nub. He flinched. She smiled. He tasted like rain. Fresh and pure. He smelled of sandalwood and stardust. A little bit like her. A thrill of possession heated her blood. Quickened her pulse.

He lowered his arms to his sides. She slid her hands along his forearms, up his biceps. Her fingers were shaking. Not from the cold. From the heat.

She straddled his lap, sinking her fingers into the wet silk of his hair as she pressed her mouth to his. The rain was slowing. Soon, stars would light the sky. But nothing could dazzle her as much as being here, with him. The night was already perfect. She kissed him again, reveling in the sensation of his warm muscles beneath her fingers.

He reached for the hem of her shirt. She zapped it—and the rest of her clothing—back into the ether from which it came. She kept her wings invisible, too. Tonight was about her and him.

His hand slapped her now-bare ass. “Cheater.”

“It wasn’t real.” She was fiercely grateful for the faint moonlight, thrilled beyond measure to be saying these words aloud, face to face. “I don’t want you to make love to an illusion, or even an angel. I want you to make love to
me
. The person I really am.”

“You’re all I want.” His words were a soft breath against her ear seconds before his warm mouth pressed a lazy trail of soft kisses down the curve of her neck.

She didn’t feel naked anymore. She felt invincible.

His head lowered. The trail of slow, spicy kisses started their descent from the flat planes of her collarbone to the gentle slope of her breast. She luxuriated in the sensation, torn between pressing her naked chest to his and arching her spine, allowing him even greater access.

She opted for arching. He rewarded her instantly.

His tongue swept across her upthrust nipple, eliciting a moan of pleasure from deep inside her throat. He cupped her breasts in the palms of his hands, bringing them one by one to his open mouth to suckle.

The rough surface of his tongue and the wet heat of his mouth sharpened the ache of desire pooling between her legs. Her pulse thundered erratically. Her core throbbed. She needed him out-out-
out
of his pants, of anything that formed a barrier between them. She needed to see him, to feel him. All of him. Sliding within her.

She fumbled with the button of his khakis. Partly because in this position, with her back to the sky and her legs tight around his hips, she couldn’t see what she was doing. And partly because the barrage of sensations threatened to overwhelm her. The edges of her knuckles rubbed against the hard outline of his arousal. The fingertips of her pinkies brushed against her own wetness. She was wound so tight, she couldn’t even think.

His strong hands caressed her trembling fingers. Deftly, he released the stubborn button, lowered the straining zipper.

She scrambled backward, abandoning his lap to prop herself up on her elbows, giving him space to rid himself of the offending barriers between them. He shucked his boots and pants and boxers, but when she reached for him, he did not let her rise.

He knelt between her legs, his hands warm against the cool gooseflesh dancing up her thighs. His head lowered. He kissed the inner curve of her knee, then the sensitive flesh along her inner thigh.

There was no doubt where these kisses were heading, no doubt at all what he intended to do once he got there, but he took his sweet time moving from lower to upper thigh, as if no portion of her skin was to be savored less than any other.

Her entire body tingled, not just the parts he touched. Every inch trembled in anticipation. She wanted him to hurry. She wanted him to go slow. She wanted everything, all of it, every possible permutation, because the night would not last forever and she wanted to experience it all, here, with him.

She intended to stay on her elbows, watching the play of moonlight on his hair as he spun magic with his sinful mouth. But the moment his tongue finally,
finally
, licked the proof of her desire straight from her core, her elbows turned boneless and her shoulders melted into the floor.

Her entire body had turned to jelly, but not her insides, not the inferno of need and want swirling to a crescendo she hadn’t even believed possible. Seeing is one thing, hearing is another thing, but
feeling
. . . feeling was everything.

The pressure built and built until she was certain she would die from the delicious pain of it, the beautiful suffering, the glorious anticipation, the heady dizziness of teetering on the brink, on the cliff, on the—

She cried out as the waves broke through her. Her head lolled, her fingers twitched, her thighs tightened around his head, as his heavenly tongue coaxed more sensation from her than she’d ever known existed. Her toes clenched and unclenched, mirroring the rhythm of the orgasm wracking through her, until at last she lay limp, not capable of anything more.

He lay next to her, pulled her into his arms. She was too languid to do much more than curl into him. Distantly, she expected pressure of a different sort, a continuation of the show, of the pleasure. Instead, he simply held her close, his lips to the top of her head.

When the aftereffects of mindless ecstasy had settled into mere euphoria, she raised her head and smiled at him. She didn’t need the aid of stars to sense he was smiling back at her. Had probably
been
smiling for the past five minutes.

She poked him in the chest. “I’m not done with you, mister.”

“Thank God.” But he made no move to pin her beneath his long, lean body and finish what they started. What her insatiable flesh was already clamoring to continue. How much lovelier would a climax feel with him inside of her, their bodies joined as one?

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to. . .”

He waggled his brows. “Ravish you?”

She frowned. “Don’t you want to?”

“For the rest of my life,” he said with feeling. “But I don’t have to race to the finish line on the first night. I plan to savor our time together for as long as humanly possible.”

Well, wasn’t that sweet. Sarah pursed her lips and tried not to show how frustrating sweetness was, when what she really wanted was some good old-fashioned sexing.

He touched her cheek. “I’m not going to rush you. You haven’t gone out on a date for an entire millennium. You’re on a different clock than I am. I can respect that.”

She was definitely on a different clock than he was. Her clock was set to
now
. She’d lived long enough to know that no matter how long you lived, it was never as much time as you hoped. Time had a funny way of stretching on forever, and then being suddenly over when you least expected it. She planned to savor every moment with him, too. And she planned to savor it by not wasting what little they had left.