Trefoil (14 page)

As John settled Lillian against the velvety cushions, she thought of home. His palm cupped her cheek, and she turned her nose against it, catching the faint traces of aftershave on the webs of his fingers. A shiver of desire washed over her.

When John struck Nathan’s tattoo, the bone-jarring shock tore her from the peaceful blackness she floated in, ripping through her twofold.

She allowed herself to drift again, still and replete. She wished for a warm bath, the water swirling her hair about her nakedness, lapping at her secret spots.

There
was
warm water—her face was bathed. And Nathan’s voice was a hot trickle, filling her soul with longing. He Called to her, yanking her from her ocean of calm, but it was John’s breath washing over her.

“What happened?” John asked the moment slits of light entered her eyes.

Her throat was cracked. She wanted more water—on her forehead, in her parched mouth. She wanted the trickling feel of Nathan’s voice in her soul, running rampant through her veins and lodging between her thighs.

“Nothing, John. I grew faint.”

His quiet words ruffled the hair at her temple, sending hot and cold sensations through her. “Are you all right, my love? Should we leave?”

She shook her head, noticing a light dancing beneath the concern in his eyes. “What’s going on?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Dante asked me to accompany him to his warehouse today. Of course I won’t go. I can’t leave you.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine. Maria’s here.”

Maria’s soft voice reached her from somewhere around her feet. “No worries, John. Lillian is recovering her color already. I’ll stuff her full of coffee and pastries, and she’ll be good as new.”

John leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She felt Nathan’s shoulder slam against the door as he swung from the room. Maria began speaking rapidly to cover the moment.

Pressing a final kiss to her throat, John said, “Take care. I’ll be home by dinner.” And disappeared.

The sound of water being run into a bowl made her drift again. The warm cloth touched her forehead, soothing the throb behind her eyes. On the mantel, the antiquated clock ticked, a springy, mechanical noise punctuating the seconds.

And she heard the soft tread of a boot against the Persian carpet. When her hand lifted, Nathan captured it.

The sofa cushions sank beneath his weight. She rolled toward him, bringing his thigh against hers. “Lillian, baby, are you okay?”

The endearment transformed into a flame, licking over her, tongues of heat shooting straight to her pussy.

He moved in, all male, leather and musk, blond hair dipping over one blazing eye. Before his mouth crushed against hers, he smiled, and the world broke open for her. Her soul blossomed, weeping need. His tongue swept the interior of her mouth. She held him to her and spoke into his soul.

Don’t leave me.

He growled.
I can’t,
he said, angled his head and ravaged her mouth. His beard chaffed her deliciously. She arched her back, meeting his kisses gulp for gulp. His arms spun around her, half-lifting her, angling her across his lap. She felt the throb of his pulse beneath her thumb and the stirrings of his thick cock against her belly. She needed them both. The body and the blood.

He broke off, breathing hard, his gaze searching.
I planned to take you away today—to take you home with me. Now I’m afraid.

Afraid of me fainting, or afraid of that Vision?

He shook his head, sending his hair into one eye. He blinked through it. “Not a Vision. A nightmare. Not the same. It won’t happen.”

She coiled her arms about his neck. “You’ll take care of me. What do I need?”

His white teeth flashed, the sexy bracket appearing about the corner of his crooked smile. “Yourself. And a coat.”

Minutes later, Nathan led her across the parking area to a black pick-up truck. As he opened the door for her and handed her inside, his hands lingered on her waist, the tip of his middle finger briefly coming into contact with the lowest flower on her spine.

They stopped. He leaned into the cab and pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling, his chest heaving. His lips mashed hers, hard, unrelenting, unmoving. Emotions rose in her at the caress, coursing through her body with little shocks of their own.

His thumb probed the corner of her mouth as he pulled away with a smile. He closed the door. She watched him circle the front of the truck, her heart fluttering.

He’s beautiful, she thought. How would she resist him? Her body screamed to complete their bond, from the nonstop inner trembling to the cream drenching her panties. She wanted Nathan as her immortal mate. But Nathan’s bloody dream whirled through her mind and she heard Will’s words, if the connection fails, you’ll be Walking soulless.

And she couldn’t tear herself from John.

You’re a mess, she thought, torn between the stunning immortal who leapt into the truck and twisted the key in the ignition with another heart-melting, crooked grin, and the world as she knew it.

As the engine roared to life, and Nathan’s hand rested warmly on her knee, a new surge of feeling ran through her—strong emotion, need, lust. Thoughts of John dissipated. She forgot about the macabre dream. She returned Nathan’s smile and threaded their fingers, looking toward the horizon and the sun hovering between the flawless sky and the verdant fields.

* * * * *

Before the truck rolled to a stop, Lillian tore open the heavy, squawking door and leapt to the gravel drive. On the journey to Nathan’s farmhouse, he had pulled off the road and ravaged her.

The truck had skidded to a halt, the gear shift jammed into park. He’d turned to her with an almost violent expression, bringing to mind their first kiss. “I cannot drive another mile without touching you, sweetheart.”

She felt his growl to the tips of her toes. He plucked her off the seat and deposited her on his muscular thighs. His thick erection bulged against her bottom, sending her into paroxysms of need.

With dizzying swiftness, he claimed her mouth for the second time. His hard mouth pummeled hers, forcing her lips to bend to his. He kissed her as if their warring tongues would shove John out of the picture and she’d be solely his. What he didn’t know was she needed him in ways she’d never dreamed with John. When he said, “It’s us. He’s nothing in the face of this,” she’d known all along.

He knotted her hair in his fist and delivered sweeping kisses that threatened to send her over the edge. Her clothes felt too hot and tight. She longed to strip out of them, to straddle his hips and sink over his throbbing cock. John was a distant memory. But they were on the side of the road with the whizz of tires on pavement in their ears, and she couldn’t give herself up to him here.

As if he realized this too, he slowed the kiss, nibbling at her softly for long minutes. Finally, he dropped his forehead to hers and stared into her eyes.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” As she watched his mouth stretch into a grin, her heart flipped with joy.

Now her unbound hair was caught by the wind and thrown over her face. She shoved it away, not wanting her first view of Nathan’s home to be impeded.

She crossed the drive to the low wooden fence surrounding a stone house and barn. She leaned against the rough fence. Beneath her fingers, she felt the ridges of Nathan’s fingerprints. How many times had he touched his fence?

The house was long and low, with small square windows divided into nine panes. The front door was constructed of honed planks, joined by pegs, and a dark, rich brown only the oldest wood acquired, like a stable door.

Lillian paused with a palm against the wood. “Have you lived here always?”

“Always,” Nathan said over her shoulder. His breath gushed past her ear, raising a shiver.

“And your family?” she asked, turning to search his face.

“Died out. I was an only child—a surprise to middle-aged parents.”

“Have you lived here alone ever since?”

“Sometimes I had a companion.”

“A female companion?” she asked curiously.

“Never. I’ve never had that.” He reached past her and pushed open the door for her to enter.

Scents filled her nose—cold ashes of a fire and the faint reek of apples harvested from the orchard. And the trace of musk that was exclusively Nathan’s. She filled her lungs to bursting.

As she drifted through the rooms, Nathan watched her. She gazed from the tiny kitchen window, envisioning the cottage gardens she might create between house and outbuildings. She bent over a lone carving tool abandoned on the dining room table, studying the handle, where the oil of Nathan’s palm darkened the wood.

At the sight of his study, she spun in amazement. Bookshelves lined the walls, from floor to ceiling, all jammed with books. An enormous cherry desk lined one wall, heaped with papers, ancient ink well and quill. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask which chair he preferred, which window he gazed from the most.

His living room was cozy and charming as well, but when she opened an armoire, she was surprised to see a flat screen TV and state of the art sound system. She was about to comment on this, when a portrait caught her eye.

Lillian’s teeth sank into her lip as she examined a portrait of Nathan as a baby, pink-cheeked and white-haired.

As the door opened to the final unexplored room, the house seemed to breathe a sigh of longing. The sight of the feather mattress brought her up short. A lump of emotion struck in her throat. Heat crawled over her flesh. She whirled on him, hands fisted at her sides.

Nathan smiled crookedly. “Are you scared?”

She nodded. She was terrified of the sudden well of want that had sprung up inside her.

He laughed. “Come and see my workroom.” He caught her hand and towed her through the rooms out the back door in the kitchen. The air was crisp and fresh, his hand warm in hers. Her thumb chaffed his callused palm as he led her down a short walk to his workroom.

The building was a few decades old, sporting cedar shake siding and tall windows. Inside, the air was alive with particles of stone dust, illuminated by the late morning sun.

She stopped dead in the doorway.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I had Visions of you here,” she whispered.

“That doesn’t surprise me. I spend most of my time here.” His fingers trailed from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers. At the bumps of her silver cuff bracelets beneath her jacket sleeves, a shudder ran through him, and into Lillian.

“What is that about?” she asked, inching near. He refused to meet her eye, but he was shaking. The fine blond hair trembled about his face. His hands convulsed about her wrists. A long silence permeated the air.

“
Nathan,”
she said aloud and into his soul. He jerked, eyes flashing to hers. When she Called him like this, he must heed it.

The words rushed from him, pouring out like hot wax to drip and scald and be caught by the flame, smoldering once more. “It’s your bracelets. I know what they are and I despise them. Lillian.”

Still holding her gaze, he twisted the cuff off her left wrist. It hit the floor with a heavy
clink.
Her eyes shuttered, envisioning the feather mattress and the weightless feel of her bare wrist pinned beneath his hand. He pivoted her palm up and brought the underside of her wrist to his lips.

A blue vein of fire rippled through them, singeing their cores like a lightning strike. Her wrist dropped from his mouth, but his grip grew steely as he saw the bloody truth of Lillian’s connection to John LeClair.

A cry burst from him, raising the hair on her neck. Sharp gasps followed it, sounding like glass trampled underfoot. His body went limp, his face slack. He stumbled away from her and collapsed to his knees.

“He’s. . . imprinted. . . you.”

“Nathan. What is it?” she cried, dropping to her knees too.

“Your mark. Oh, God. Oh, God. No. Please.” He swayed like she'd dealt him a physical blow.

“Nathan, tell me. I don’t understand what’s going on,” she cried. She cupped his face in her hands, but he yanked free and bounded across the room.

“Your mark. He’s imprinted you,” he screamed in a blaze of anger.

“Imprinted me?” she repeated tonelessly.

“The medallion on your wrist. It’s of John’s blood. He’s marked you as his immortal mate. My God,” he roared, overturning a wooden table lined with carving tools. They crashed to the concrete floor.

She stared at the mark on the underside of her wrist. A small red circle with a few lines which looked similar to John’s Celtic knot tattoo, except these didn’t connect. She’d worn it for decades, another testament to her immortality. Wasn’t it?

You didn’t know.

In two strides, Nathan was upon her, lifting her beneath the thighs and slamming out of the workroom, stomping across the yard and crashing into the house. He kicked open the bedroom door and fell with her to the feather mattress.

Together, they sank into the downy depths, his body holding hers prisoner. His fists clenched in her hair, his chest flattening her breasts, his cock hard and pulsing against her thighs.