Witch Fire (7 page)

The spell he'd woven over her and the way her body responded to his kiss, his touch…she was too far gone. This was a bad idea. Jack probably knew it. She
definitely
knew it. But she'd die if he didn't touch her now.

Mira nodded, breathing hard.

“Come on,” he groaned. “Open for me. I want more of you.”

Her breath caught in her throat and a heady combination of adrenaline and sexual need filled her. It made her wonder if this was all some out of control dream. She spread her thighs a little wider for him.

“That's it.” His fingers touched her folds, sliding through her wetness. “Oh, yes, you feel so good.”

Mira sighed, and he slanted his mouth over hers, catching the sound of it on his tongue. He stroked her labia and eased the pad of his finger over her clit. It plumped under his attention, growing so sensitive that every brush made pleasure pulse through her body.

His other hand slid to the nape of her neck, then fisted gently in her hair. Jack used it to tilt her head to the side, baring the length of her throat for him. He trailed his sensual lips over her jawline and down her neck as he worked between her thighs. He touched her with patience, rubbing her clit over and over, until he'd skated her to the edge of a powerful climax.

Jack pressed his middle finger against her entrance, breached it, and slid inside. Her breath whooshed out of her as all those nerves flared to life. It had been a long time since a man had touched her there. Jack shuddered against her, pulled out, and thrust back in. She'd creamed readily for him, and his finger slid in and out easily.

“Mira,” he breathed against her throat. “You're so hot and tight. Like silk. Silk and honey. Damn. I want my cock here.” He added a second finger to the first, making Mira's breath hitch.

“Jack,” she whispered raggedly.

He thrust his fingers in and out of her, rocking her against the wall behind her with the movement, and rubbed the heel of his palm against her swollen clit that he'd coaxed to such exquisite attention. Her whole world had become his hand stroking her sex.

Jack ran the tip of his tongue from just below her earlobe to the place where her neck met her shoulder. “Do you like the way I'm touching you?” he drawled in a low voice.

“Y-yes.”

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Uh, huh,” she breathed.

Jack bit her gently, right where her neck met her shoulder. It was an act of dominance, possession. As though he meant to mark her in some primal way. She shivered and dug her fingers into his upper arms to maintain her balance on trembling legs. At the same time, he increased the thrust of his fingers, rubbing purposefully against her sensitized clit. The first skitters of an orgasm rolled through her, increasing in strength as Jack thrust into her.

The pleasure Mira felt intensified, exploded, shattered through her body. She climaxed against his hand, her soft panting and sighs filling the air between them. The muscles of her sex pulsed and contracted around his pistoning fingers.

He thrust gently into her until she calmed and the waves of her powerful climax had faded, then he released his mouth's hold on her skin and laid a soft kiss. Jack was breathing as heavily as she was as he withdrew his hand from the sweatpants.

“That's how
frigid
you are, Mira,” he murmured brokenly. “You only need a man to touch you the right way. With patience and care. Understand?”

She nodded, her body trembling.

“Despite what just happened, I am not the right man. Understand
that
. I'm the last man on Earth who deserves you.”

Jack released her, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door.

Mira leaned against the wall and stared at the door with a mixture of deep physical satisfaction and incredible confusion. Her body still tingled with the awareness of him. Her sex throbbed with the memory of his touch. The taste of him still lay on her tongue and the rawness of his words still rang in her ears.

I'm the last man on Earth who deserves you.

M
IRA TUCKED HER LEGS BENEATH HER ON THE
couch and flipped through Jack's copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
, only half paying attention to it, though she loved the novel. Mostly, she watched Jack stomp around the living room.

He'd barely had a conversation with her during the last two days, limiting his communication to single-word answers and grunts. The man had brooding down to an art form.

What had passed between them after he'd returned from shopping remained like an elephant in the living room. It was there. It was huge. But they were both ignoring it.

Dinners, while yummy (as evidenced by the pound or two she'd gained), were especially awkward. They ate quickly and made minimal conversation. A television would have been good, would've covered up the lack of human voices in the apartment. They played music instead, and Jack spent a lot of time in his office or the “secret” locked room upstairs.

Clearly, he wanted to get as far from her as possible, but couldn't. Not while a threat remained against her.

It was awkward for her too. She barely knew the man, and she'd not only allowed him access to the old love grotto, he'd brought her to orgasm.

The worst part was that she'd let him do it again in a heartbeat. He'd touched her just right. She shivered at the memory, her body growing warm.

With Ben it had always pretty much just been about him. They'd have sex missionary style; maybe sometimes she'd be on top. Occasionally, he'd fumble a bit at her clit to try and make her come, but he'd give up fast. She'd been too afraid to touch herself during sex, fearing she'd offend him.

They just hadn't been a good fit in the bedroom. They'd lacked trust and good communication from day one. Mira bit the inside of her lip until it hurt, remembering the things Ben had said about his reasons for seeking sex outside their marriage. In hindsight, they hadn't been a good fit in any respect. She wished she'd seen that when she'd first met him.

She tossed the book to the coffee table and watched Jack stand at the wall of windows that overlooked downtown Minneapolis, idly flicking a chunky silver Zippo on and off.

Mira let her gaze trace his broad, tall frame. She had to admit that he made her feel safe, even though what she knew about him should've made her feel less than reassured.

And she wanted him with a bone-deep yearning she'd never had for a man before. Logically, she shouldn't want him. She'd promised herself,
promised
, that she would have nothing to do with men for at least a year, until she had a chance to regain her footing after the divorce. Yet here she was, lusting after a man who seemed conflicted at best and dangerous at worst.

She needed to get a handle on herself. She couldn't let this attraction between air and fire get the better of her. Jack seemed to be handling it more effectively than she was, in his stoic, stomping way.

The only good thing about the last couple of days was that her bruise had almost completely healed. And even though he still insisted she sleep with him, at least he wasn't tying her to the bed at night anymore.

That was a
good
thing, she reminded herself.

She picked at the couch with her thumb and forefinger. “Jack, I have questions.”

He mumbled something at her in response.

She sighed. “Jack, I need you to stop brooding and talk to me.”

He turned. “I don't brood.”

“Oh, really? Then you're doing a really good impression of a man who does.”

He blinked.

She patted the couch beside her. “Come and sit down a little? I promise I won't bite, though I'm not sure you won't.”

He gave her a dark look and took the chair near the couch instead.

She flicked her hair out of her eyes and angled her gaze downward. “How did Crane kidnap my parents?”

He shrugged. “We don't know much. We know it was well planned and well executed. It's hard to sneak up on an air witch, and Crane managed to kidnap two at once. We suspect your parents were overwhelmed by warlocks and then drugged somehow.” He paused and his voice grew softer. “We do know that your father fought them and was badly injured in the process.”

She looked up at him. “How was he injured?”

Jack held her gaze. “Fire. Probably from Crane. He has an ability to kindle white-hot fire that even powerful air and water witches are hard-pressed to extinguish.”

“And my mother?”

Jack looked away, out the window. “The story goes that she was forced to watch your father in the first demon circle. That it sucked away her will to live so she was very pliant when it came for her turn the next day.”

Mira shot from the couch and walked to the window, hugging herself against a sudden chill. Her mother had lost her will to live? But Mira had only been a baby then. Hadn't Mira been enough to make her mother want to survive?

Jack's body heat warmed her from behind. “You asked.”

“I needed to know.” Resolved, she turned toward him. “Tell me more about Crane.”

They were close together, too close for Jack's comfort apparently. They stared at each other for a moment before he moved to sit down.

“William Crane,” derision was audible in his voice, “was born to a line of powerful fire witches who can trace their heritage back to the 1200s. They were a noble magickal house until Crane joined the Duskoff. He had it all, wealth and the respect and social standing that a good magickal pedigree affords you.” He glanced at her. “Like you, Mira. Hoskins is a very well-respected name.”

She smiled. “Really?”

“Yes. Both your mother and your father came from strong lines. That's likely one reason they kept your birth a secret. Everyone wanted them to have offspring because the children of two witches of the same element always bear that element. They were both a rare breed and powerful.” A brief smile curled his lips. “You would've been famous.”

She let that sit a moment in her mind. Had that been why they'd kept all this knowledge from her? Were they trying to spare her the expectations of the magickal community? The danger of being a rare kind of witch? Had they simply been trying to protect her from the Duskoff?

This was information she needed to digest at her leisure, although she'd probably never divine the reasons behind her parents' actions.

“If Crane had everything he needed, why did he join the Duskoff?” she asked.

He said nothing.

“Well?” she pressed.

“Crane was on the straight and narrow, a part of the Coven, until he hit about twenty-three. At the time he turned warlock, he was married to a woman who was a positive influence in his life. Once Crane had a taste of the dark, that influence ended. Crane took the betrayer's path because of greed. He was a very strong witch, seduced into the Duskoff by the promise of the immense wealth and power not offered by his family name alone.”

“I guess he moved quickly into the upper echelons.”

Jack grimaced. “Crane had a knack for thinking deviously. He arranged many of their demon circles and controlled the creatures once they came through.”

Mira shivered. “I still can't believe demons are real.”

“Demons are entities who live in, well, I guess you'd call them alternate realities, but that's not really right. They're different planes of existence, with different vibrational frequencies. The magick in a demon circle—all four elements drawn together—creates equilibrium in the differences of the vibrations and makes an opening that calls a demon through.”

“Okay, I have a headache now. What does the Duskoff use them for?”

“The demons are under their control for a negotiated period of time, but the creatures require favors in return as payment, along with the gift of the magick that is provided by the sacrifice of the four witches.”

“I don't even want to know what they ask for as favors.”

“No, and it's better I don't tell you. It's pretty grisly. The Duskoff use the demons to influence elections, kill people, improve a company's profitability. There's not a lot a demon can't do, and they're unencumbered by morals.”

“What happened to Crane's wife? Did she ever go warlock?”

Something flitted through his eyes. He glanced away. He always got those shadows in his eyes when he spoke of Crane or the Duskoff. Had he come up against Crane and been hurt in some way? Had Crane hurt someone he cared for?

Jack pushed a hand through his hair. “Listen, question and answer time is over. I'll tell you later, all right?” He stood. “I have things I need to do now.”

Mira frowned up at him. That was rude. “Fine,” she snapped.

He walked toward the bedroom, his refuge of choice.

“Jack?”

He turned.

“When will you start training me to use my magick?”

He grimaced. “That requires me to touch you.”

Mira's eyes widened and she felt herself flush crimson with embarrassment and anger.

Jack blinked slowly, seeing her expression. “No, Mira. It's not because I find you unattractive. It's the opposite of that. If I touch you a little, I want to touch you a lot. Understand?” He glowered at her for the hundredth time that day, then palmed his Zippo, stalked into his bedroom, and closed the door.

Oh.

Mira sank down on the couch and touched her still burning cheeks. He might make her feel safe, but she hardly felt welcome.