Lucius stood in a wood-framed doorway; beyond him she glimpsed a sitting area of natural wood and emerald green, but it was only a glimpse before her eyes locked onto him. Arms folded, he leaned against the door frame, watching her with a familiar intensity that sent shimmers of heat washing through her in an instant, and took her straight back to the kiss they had shared in Rabbit’s sublet. That might have been hours ago, but as their eyes met it might have been no more than a few minutes. She was instantly back there, with need coursing through her body alongside a poignant ache beneath her heart.
His gesture encompassed the room. “Not bad, huh?”
“Nicer than last night’s generica America, by a long shot.” It was a room made for romance. For love. It had probably been his only non-truck-stop option for a hundred miles, she told herself. The choice had been expediency, not seduction. Unfortunately, she had started the evening already halfway seduced, though that had been her own doing—and the magic.
“We’re at an inn called the Weeping Willow,” he said by way of explanation. “Willow is our proprietress. The weeping, I gather, occurred when her fiancé died in Vietnam. Her parents both passed soon after, leaving her family money from oil rights, along with the ranch, which she turned into an inn because she likes having the occasional guest.” He paused, the corners of his mouth kicking upward. “Or so I learned after I made the mistake of commenting to the lady checking me in that there aren’t many weeping willows out in west Texas.”
“Ah,” Jade said, matching his smile. “I take it the lady behind the desk was Willow?”
“Got it in one. It’s just her, a road- tripping family in the cottage closest to the house, and us out here on the edge of it all.” His gesture encompassed what she imagined was a whole lot of nothingness in the night beyond the French doors. “And yes, I set the motion detectors around our perimeter and made it clear to Willow that she shouldn’t come knocking.”
Jade’s brain hadn’t yet gotten around to worrying about security. She was still stuck on the bedroom ambience and the man standing in her doorway. He’d showered and changed into a fresh tee and jeans; he was barefoot, his hair still slightly damp. She couldn’t decipher his expression, and badly wanted to. Although he was keeping the conversation light, there was nothing light in the hazel depths of his eyes or the hard, hungry set to his jaw.
“Well, then. Since you’ve taken care of the possibility of interruptions . . .” She let the comment trail off on a suggestive purr, acutely aware that she was wearing only her bra and panties beneath the bedclothes, which meant he’d already had his hands on her once that night. Her body tingled at the phantom memory, and in anticipation of what was to come. “I believe that earlier today, you voted for sooner rather than later?”
He hesitated longer than she would have expected. She said nothing, though, did nothing. Although she thought he was almost ready to embrace the magic, to open himself up to it and to her, she wasn’t going to trap or trick him into it. Finally, he exhaled a long, shuddering breath, crossed to her in three strides, and eased onto the bed beside her. “I can’t not do this,” he said in an undertone rasp, and she got the feeling he wasn’t totally talking to her. “I want this. I want you.”
The scent of sage and mint intensified as he kissed her openmouthed, with the blatant possessiveness that had sparked between them back in Rabbit’s sublet. She kissed him back, helpless to do otherwise, but deep down inside her, panic kindled at the realization that she didn’t know the rules anymore.
Her heart shuddered in her chest. Be careful, she told herself. Be very careful. Because the man kissing her now wasn’t the Lucius she’d come to know over the past week. Or rather, he was, but he was also the Lucius she’d known before, the one who had been so much more open with himself, and with her. The man kissing her now was the man she’d been with in the archive, the one who had sparked feelings strong enough to frighten her and make her shut him down. Back then, she’d shoved him into the friends-with-benefits zone, afraid that he might tempt her into the trap she had seen so often in her practice, the love that caused an otherwise strong, capable woman to disintegrate when her lover turned on her, spurned her. He wouldn’t do that , she told herself. He’s different from the others.
He’s Lucius . But at the same time, she imagined Shandi’s voice—or was it the nahwal’s voice?—
cautioning, He’s just a man. He’ll distract you, weaken you, make you forget what’s important.
Which might be true . . . except that Jade was almost certain that this was the important part. She’d been wrong before when she’d said sex magic was about the act. It wasn’t about the sex, after all. It was all about finding the connection . . . and it was up to her to show Lucius how.
Drugged with desire, with the romance he’d brought her to, intentionally or not, she kicked free of the bedclothes and came back to him, pressing her near nudity to his fully clothed, fully aroused body.
He groaned encouragement and cupped her ass, his fingers splaying wide beneath the lace of her panties as he urged her toward him, rolled partway over her, pinning her with his good, solid weight.
Their legs wrapped together, threading in a four-way braid. Her feet rubbed against the strong, lean muscles of his calves, and she thrilled to the strength of every part of him.
Whispering his approval against her mouth, he dragged a hand up from her hip to her ribs, then higher, to shape the outside of one breast. Then he popped the clasp of her bra, freeing her to his touch. Arching into his hand, she grabbed the hem of his tee and pulled it up, rucking it high between their bodies, and then off over his head, so they were skin-to-skin.
“Lucius,” she said, his name a sigh. Then, so she couldn’t say anything more, she nipped his lower lip and slid into his kiss, moaning when it went suddenly dark and wild, matching what she’d felt before when she’d called her magic. She sensed the power hovering nearby, felt it flowing through her and reverberating with the burn of heat as he hooked a hand around the crook of her knee and drew her leg high against his hip. He surged against her, setting a rhythm that thrummed through her body and made her neurons sing, Yes, oh, yes. Or maybe those were her words, urging him on as they kissed and rocked together, rolling so he was fully above her, wholly pressing into her, holding her nearly helpless beneath his big bulk. He kissed her deeply, demanding a raw, primal response that she felt with her entire body.
He pulled away and looked down at her, his eyes dark and nearly wild. “You’re so godsdamned beautiful,” he rasped. It was the first time he’d said something like that to her, and the small compliment brought star-bursts to her bloodstream. Before she could say anything in return, though, he shifted to cup a breast in his wide, scarred palm and lowered his head to taste her, taking the tight, sensitive tip in his mouth. He worked one breast and then the other, concentrating on each action separately, with the intensity he brought to the things he deemed important.