Chapter 33
Jessie
It turned out, the secret was a hot spring kept at the bottom floor of Evan’s house.
The room smelled slightly of sulfur with the same design as was woven through the rest of the place.
One side had a large window overlooking the distant mountains, dusted with snow, and nibbles had been laid out on a small table in the corner, including sparkling wine chilling in a silver ice bucket.
Austin slipped the silk robe from my shoulders and let it whisper down my skin to the stone floor. He trailed his lips along my shoulder and neck.
“What we’re doing is very important,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to the steaming waters.
“But I wish we were on John’s side of things.
That the territory was established, profitable, and running smoothly, someone else was in charge, and we could get on with our lives.
Travel, take in the sights, have a day off. ”
I laughed as he took three steps down and waited, still holding my hand, for me to follow.
I did, sighing as the warmth crept up my legs to my belly.
Benches of various heights were carved into the stone, and I sank down into the water to sit on one.
Austin spread his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in as he settled beside me.
“I’d really love that,” I said, gazing out the window at the beautiful tableau beyond.
“But I do have to admit this is pretty spectacular. We’re sitting in a hot spring carved from stone on the top of a mountain in a gargoyle’s cairn.
This isn’t something I could have even imagined existed as a Jane.
And I’m sharing this awesome experience with the love of my life. ”
He kissed my temple. “Very true. We do have the rest of the day off. Half is better than nothing.”
“We do.”
I turned my face toward his, my heart warming and my core suddenly aching for his touch. He bent and grazed his lips against mine before deepening the kiss. It wasn’t hard or desperate, but a promise of forever. His fingers trailed lightly across my chest before gently rubbing a taut nipple.
I sucked in a breath as delicious sensations pooled low. He kissed my jaw and throat. His hand cupped my breast before trailing down lower and sliding between my thighs. My eyelids fluttered closed, and heat rose within me.
He rubbed in small circles, his kiss becoming more intense. I moved my hips, the pleasure increasing. I reached down and captured his length, sliding my palm against it.
He growled against my lips. His hand ran to the back of my thigh before taking hold and pulling it toward him, over his lap. I knelt on the stone, my knees on either side of his thighs. Lowering, I trapped his hardness between our bodies before I slid my hips forward.
Our lips moved against each other in growing urgency.
His hand slid up to cup my breast again, and I rose up, dragging his tip against me.
The dim lighting fell over his handsome face, golden and soft.
His eyes connected with mine, full of love and devotion, and then pleasure as I slowly sank down on top of him.
“I love you, Jacinta,” he murmured, his movements not hurried, cherishing the moment with me in this place. One thumb stroked softly over my nipple, and the other reached into the waters to restart the slow circles that drove me to distraction.
“I love you.” I moved over him, taking him deep, losing myself in his eyes. Feeling our bond in my soul.
My hands roamed, tracing his muscles and running my touch along the expanse of his shoulders.
Our breath increased, mingling in the heated space between our kisses.
He worked me harder, and I jerked my hips over his, the pressure building.
I groaned with the feel of it, wound tight. Striving for the finish.
The explosion felt like it turned me inside out, the pleasure sparkling through me. He moaned my name and released, shaking. I leaned harder into him, holding tightly, trembling in the aftershocks.
“I needed that.” I smiled against his lips.
“When I’m around you, I always need that.” His kiss turned languid before he sighed in relaxation. “It never gets old.”
I pulled my leg away and settled in next to him again. One of his arms draped around my shoulders, pulling me in tightly, and the other sought my hand. He entwined his fingers with mine. We gazed out at the mountains in comfortable silence, enjoying each other in a rare moment of inactivity.
Nessa
“Are you going out this afternoon?” Sabby pulled his phone away to look over at her.
He was resting after the skirmish, as everyone was calling it, and she was miserable with a hangover.
She’d been too embarrassed to ask Indigo or Jessie to save her since they were fighting and exerting themselves, and Nessa was just living.
Today, it hurt to live.
“I don’t know. I might just stay here and do some work.”
He pulled the phone closer again. “You’re not going to do any work. You need greasy food or the hair of the dog.”
The idea of consuming more alcohol made her want to cry. But he was right, she definitely wouldn’t be working. And without a TV in this room—or maybe anywhere in the city—she’d just be staring at the ceiling.
Then again, if she did go, she’d have to brave being sober with people who’d seen the absolute mess she’d been.
Hazy recollections of John catching her from falling trickled in.
Of him pulling her off the wall, where it had felt like vines held her there, and then stabilizing her to keep her from falling back into the wall again.
That was in the second bar. By the third, all she had were flashes of memories.
Fever dreams, almost, accompanied by black holes.
Whose great idea was it to do a shot drinking contest?
Tristan had shown up, she remembered, tall, dark and insanely gorgeous in his perfectly fitting suit and flashing amber eyes. His body was cut from the mold of a Greek god, hard everywhere and perfectly sculpted.
And then the horror of that meeting bled through.
She groaned.
“I think I slapped Tristan.” She threw her arm over her face, wanting to shrivel up and turn to dust. “I have no idea why, either. Was it a joke? Was he pissed, and I reacted?”
But if it was a joke, slapping someone was certainly going too far. If he hadn’t been mad before, he surely must’ve been mad after. She would’ve been. Anyone would’ve.
Maybe he had been pissed. She’d been a mess when she was supposed to be acting like the mate of the most dashing gargoyle in the city, the beta to the queen of the gargoyles, the man every woman wanted. She should’ve been the model of decorum and grace, of beauty and elegance, to fit on his arm.
Instead, she’d thrown around obscenities like some sort of deranged sailor, cackled like a Halloween rendition of a witch, and kissed everyone in sight. With tongue!
Wait, did she kiss everyone?
She palmed her head as she willed her brain to dredge out the fuzzy memories. Jasper? Ulric? Aurora? She’d hugged them, hung on Jasper before they both went tumbling into John’s lap, but she couldn’t remember kissing them. John? No, not him. She hadn’t even hugged him.
“Oh, god,” she groaned. “I think I kissed Tristan, too.”
“Well, that’s only fair. He kissed you the other day. In the kitchen in Drex’s territory, remember?”
“Yeah but…that—“
Was sexy, she finished silently. Last night would’ve been…
She didn’t even want to think about it. She’d probably tasted like stale whiskey.
Cheap stale whiskey, at that. Not to mention she’d probably slobbered all over him.
Hell, she might’ve licked his face for all she remembered.
He’d been sober, too. She remembered that, because it had made her feel drunker.
She had to have made him angry, even though he’d never gotten mad at her before.
She thought back to sober times, wondering if that were true.
But no, regardless of all the stupid things she’d done and said, he’d never raised his voice at her.
He’d never called her a nasty name or threatened her in a way that didn’t tighten her core and make her think of begging him to take it further.
He’d teased, he’d sauntered around full of infuriating but sexy arrogance, but he’d never turned anything she did against her.
And she’d slapped him.
More memories, distorted, of something painful. Something sweet. Something sad. She couldn’t remember any details, just that…
“I think I cried at one point.”
“Everyone needs a good cry,” he said noncommittally.
“Sure. And I have good cries—alone, in my bedroom with the door locked. Not in a bar.”
“I heard everyone in your crew was blind drunk. Jasper couldn’t stand straight, and Ulric upended a table and got you all cut off. They think it’s funny.”
“They didn’t slap Tristan, then stick their tongue down his throat, then cry all over him.”
“They probably would’ve if you’d dared them.”
He wasn’t helping. “I threatened a half a dozen people with stolen weapons.” She flopped her arm back onto the bed. “What was I thinking?”
Someone knocked at the door. Sebastian swiped out of the game he’d been playing and tossed his phone onto the bed.
“You were letting your hair down, Nessa, that’s all. Niamh and Phil were there. They would’ve stopped you if things went too far.”
She looked at the ceiling incredulously. “Niamh once wrestled Phil through a fire. She’s not the person who is going to tell anyone to stop.”
Sebastian opened the door before turning for his suitcase. “Which means she is not the person who will judge. It’s fine.”
“Hey.” Jasper came in with a jovial grin. He sat on the edge of Nessa’s bed and looked down at her. “You look like I felt this morning. You gotta get healed, babydoll.”
“I gotta get some brakes,” she grumbled.
“Nessa is worried she made an ass of herself last night, especially with Tristan,” Sebastian said, pulling out a black button-up shirt.