Tangled Souls (37 page)

She called out once, then again, her hands tightening on pillows. Her body arched upward, tensing. Deep moans wove around her cries of pleasure. He paused only long enough to tear open the wrapper and pull out the condom. He rolled it on, testing it, and then took his place next to her on the pillows. Pulling her onto her right side, he carefully placed her left leg over his hip. With deliberate care, he moved inside her, watching her reaction. Her body tensed, then relaxed, and then tensed again as he moved deeper within.

“Oh, that . . . ,” she started, and then sighed.

“Feels good?”

“Ummm-hummm.”

He kissed her, deep, as he began to move, slow shallow strokes to begin with. Her body responded, pulling closer to him, her hand grasping his hip, guiding him toward her more forcefully.

“Oh, Goddess,” she whispered. He felt the cold metal of the nipple rings on his chest, her hair tickling down his arm. Her mouth sought his and she thrust her tongue deep.

Somewhere in the middle of their tandem tumult, he rolled her onto her back, hesitating only a moment before driving back into the depths of her. She cried out as an orgasm overtook her, her hair flowing around her like a halo.

God help him, he was feeling heaven with every stroke. She tightened around him and the sensation of raw heat grew, making him grit his teeth. He concentrated on the joy he could bring her before his own burning need was met.

As she rode out another orgasm, Gavenia opened her eyes. Her lover was moving faster now, his face set in concentration, bringing her the pleasure first.

She pulled herself up, nibbled at his ear, and said, “Your turn.”

He groaned and then his thrusts grew harder, more urgent. He pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her as his release caught him. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of their intimate union. As his orgasm ebbed, it caught fire within her, as if transferred from one body to the other. She called out at the peak of her ecstasy, clasping him tight to her, and then fell silent.

In time, he rolled to his side, pulling her with him. She nestled on his chest.

“Stay with me all night,” she whispered. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll be here, whenever you want,” he said, kissing her tenderly on the cheek.

“I—” Gavenia stopped, unable to verbalize what she felt. She wasn’t sure herself.

“I know,” he said. “This was more than . . . we expected.”

He did understand. She laid her head on his chest, listening as his heart steadied its pace and returned to normal.

Eventually they collected their clothes, blew out the candles, and retreated to Gavenia’s bedroom. There they made love again, this time with less urgency, but more passion. She’d rolled on top of him, arching upward as she moved to her own rhythm. This time he’d come first, crying out her name to the heavens before she succumbed to the fiery pleasure.

“It just keeps getting better,” he said, kissing her as she curled up next to him on the bed. “Practice makes perfect.”

Gavenia nodded her weary agreement. As she fell asleep in her lover’s arms, she thanked the Goddess for her life and the man who had reminded her that she was a woman.

Despite his tiredness and the pleasant after-sex reverie, O’Fallon couldn’t sleep. He listened as Gavenia fell into a deep slumber, her breath tickling the hairs on his chest. They’re found more joy than he’d believed possible.

Thank you for bringing her to me.
His prayers had been answered in a way he’d not expected. God had sent him the woman of his dreams in a disguise that he might well have ignored.

* * *

Gavenia roused to the sound of purring in her ear. She absentmindedly raised her hand, and it connected with fur. The purring grew louder and a low meow echoed near her ear.

“Let me sleep,” she whispered, rolling onto her side. A moment later she opened her eyes, staring at the empty bed next to her. No Irish guy. A pang of regret coursed through her.

She remembered him giving her a kiss sometime near dawn and whispering that he was leaving. She’d felt the bedclothes tucked around her and then was back to sleep in an instant.

Sorting through her memories of the previous night caused a lusty smile. He’d need to restock his wallet today. She’d not told him, but the Irish did make better lovers. There was no need to feed his ego quite yet. Stretching, she felt a slight ache in her hip. A pleased hum escaped her lips.

“Maybe Viv’s right. I should get laid more often,” she said. Pulling herself to the edge of the bed, she peered at the clock. Eight and some change. There was a note propped up against the clock; next to it was a folded piece of green paper. She picked up the note first.

Gold nipples beckon

You lie beneath me sated

Spring’s warmth fires my blood

“I’ll be damned—erotic haiku,” she said. Bastet rubbed against the hand holding the note. The green folded paper was an intricate origami parrot. It smelled like her lover’s citrus cologne.

“You are an enigma, O’Fallon. You’re as Irish as they come, you write haiku, you do origami, and you know how to make love. Unreal.” She kissed both the note and paper, returning them to their place by the clock.

A resounding hiss startled her. Bastet fluffed to twice her size, glaring at the far corner from her place at the end of the bed, her tail stiff in the air.

Quite a picture
, a voice said. Gavenia struggled with her robe as she peered into the dim corner. A figure stepped out of the shadows, hands folded over his chest, shaking his head in disapproval. He was about six feet in height, clad in a natty blue suit, with lacquered hair a hurricane wouldn’t budge.

Before she could speak, he gestured toward the bed.
Your choice in lovers is just not appropriate. Things have to change in that department. Actually, a lot of things have to change now that I’m here.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped, rising to her feet in one movement.

I’m Reginald, your new Guardian.

“Were you able to ID the guy?”

“Nope. Too far away.”

O’Fallon’s mounting euphoria evaporated. “Did you talk to the repair guy?”

“Yup, and we picked up the list from Alliford. We got one from Mrs. Foster as well, just in case there was crossover.”

O’Fallon gave a nod of approval. “I’m trying to track down Janet Alliford, see what she can tell me.”

There was a chuckle, and then, “Can’t get away from it, can you?”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“Keep in touch, and we’ll do the same.”

“Thanks, Zimansky.”

“No sweat, O’Fallon.”

He flipped the cell phone closed. A few more things to check, and then he’d make a pass downtown to see if he could find Janet. While he was down there, he’d swing by the Pagan shelter. Now that he and the witch were lovers, the stakes were much higher.

* * *

The shelter’s dining room was nearly empty. One old guy tackled a crossword puzzle at a table by the window, muttering words to himself while another fellow napped nearby. The residual scent of food made O’Fallon’s stomach growl. After this social call, he’d have to find some lunch.

“O’Fallon?” a voice called. He swung around, and it took a moment to process the face as it was out of context. He’d never seen David Llewellyn in anything but a three-piece suit. The T-shirt, jeans, and apron made him look downright benign.

“Llewellyn?” he said, and strode forward, extending his hand. They shook warmly.

“Is that for me?” the man asked, pointing at the rose in O’Fallon’s other hand.

“Sorry. It’s for the pretty lady with the golden hair.”

The lawyer’s eyes developed a knowing twinkle. He lowered his voice. “So you’re the reason she’s not complaining about washing the dishes today.”

“I might be,” O’Fallon allowed, returning a manly grin.

“Come on, she’s this way,” Llewellyn said, waving him forward. “So how’s retirement going?”

“It goes. More sleep, less money. It’s a trade-off.”

* * *

Her lover stood in the kitchen doorway, in one of his infamous suits, a single pink rose in hand. Gavenia’s heart did an embarrassing lurch.

Oh, Goddess, get a grip.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was O’Fallon you were sparring with?” Llewellyn asked.

Gavenia looked from one man to the next and then groaned. “You two know each other?” she asked.

O’Fallon nodded. “He’s hammered me in court more than once.” The flower-bearing Irishman crossed the room, planted a kiss on her cheek, and delivered the rose. Llew took the hint and the coffeepot and headed toward the dining room. Once the doors closed, Gavenia bent forward and delivered a more welcoming kiss on the Irish guy’s lips.

“Mmmmm . . . that’s nice,” he said, his hands gliding around her waist, tugging her close.

“So what brings you down here, besides the rose?” she asked.

“Dinner. My place. I’ll cook. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds delightful,” she said, her voice instinctively falling into a sultry timbre. “Should I bring dessert?”

“Actually, I thought you would be dessert.”

“Hmmm . . . Then I’ll bring a treat for Seamus.”

“Just bring yourself. Then he’ll stop nagging me about Tinker.”

“Co-opted his affections, have I?”

“Big-time.”

“Should I pack a toothbrush?”

His eyes sparked at the question. “I’d say that might be a good idea, unless you want to use mine.”

The door swung open, interrupting another lengthy kiss. Aunt Lucy this time. She picked up a plate of cookies and vanished without a word.

“I’d better go. You’re busy,” he said. The tone of his voice told her he’d prefer to stay.

“What time?” she asked, easing out of his grasp. It felt better in his arms.

“Make it nine. I’ve got a few more things to track down.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Same to you,” he said, playfully tapping her nose.

Once he was gone, she inhaled the flower’s rich scent. It filled her mind like a sweet balm as the memory of their vibrant lovemaking overtook her. He’d gone out of his way to bring her a rose.
Serious brownie points.

“Damn,” she muttered. She was losing control of her heart. No, that wasn’t right. She’d lost it the night before, in the heat of their passion when he’d whispered how beautiful she was as she climaxed in his arms.

“Oh, Goddess, I hope this isn’t a mistake.” Sticking the rose in a glass of fresh water, she returned to the mound of dishes. Only after she finished scouring the last pot did she realize he’d not mentioned a word about the Alliford case.

Gavenia turned her mind to other problems. Ever since Reginald had departed, raw fear had coursed along every nerve. She felt like a newborn lamb surrounded by a pack of ravenous wolves. The fear had diminished when she was in the shelter and more so when encircled in O’Fallon’s arms. That made sense; the shelter had a number of spiritual protections in place, courtesy of the witches, and O’Fallon wore Brigit’s cross. Now as she stepped outside the shelter, the feeling rose exponentially.

“So this is how it’s going to be without a Guardian?” she asked no one in particular. “I’m still not backing down. It’s Bart or no one,” she declared, as if someone might actually be listening.

Goddess how she missed him, costume changes and all. “I wish I could have said good-bye.” Now she’d have to learn how to cope on her own.

She’d just reached her car when Bernie called her name as he huffed his way across the parking lot, face red from exertion.

“They still have some pie inside if you’re hungry,” Gavenia said, placing the rose in the backseat next to the fairy wand.

Bernie leaned again the car’s trunk to catch his breath. “No, thanks.” Another deep inhalation. “I found her. She’s turning tricks on San Julian and Fifth.”