Iron and Hemlock #4
But Jordon was in no mood to be soothed, not like this anyway.
Fear was not the only lingering effect from the dream, and Griffin was a handy outlet for her seemingly insatiable desires.
She threw herself at him, ground her mouth into his .
. . and suddenly it was not the dream alone that drove her.
He tasted delicious. She’d never had a kiss so luscious. His hair was like silk.
Griffin was not the least put off by her demands. After one startled murmur, he enthusiastically took over, curling a hand around her hip to draw her closer. Moments later, her gown flew over her head, apparently by magic. He was not interested in going slowly, and neither was she.
He loved her breasts with tongue and gently nipping teeth. She urged him on, gasping when he reached down and squeezed her. Her legs fell open on reflex, and he laughed as his mouth trailed down.
His lips were oh so soft, but not as hot as his gentle tongue. Jordon screamed, writhing to escape his wicked torment. It pleased him so greatly that he prolonged it, lashing her again and again.
He did not warn her when he was ready, just rose over her and thrust deep.
She screamed in instant climax, then moaned as he rode her, watching her face, milking every sensation from her until she was soaked and begging.
Once there, his face changed, broke into a snarl.
He sank his teeth gently into her neck and drove hard, shaking the entire bed.
She fell asleep on top of him, still intimately joined, and woke again in the night. The words they exchanged during their new round of loving could not be termed conversation. “More” and “yes” were more than enough.
Jordon woke to an empty bed. Hazily, she raised her head and surveyed the tangled sheets. The quilt was sideways, and her feet stuck out. A glance at the window showed it was almost dawn.
She groaned and stuck her head under her pillow. She could still feel him inside her, was still tingling from the last time he’d seduced her. She could not have managed the fourth round without his promise that he’d do all the work. Not that he had in the end. She just couldn’t help herself.
She muttered to herself and threw the pillow off. Lurching to the washstand, she surveyed herself in the mirror there, and winced. No hiding that hickey! The man did like to leave his mark. A glance at her breasts showed faint evidence of his attentions, too.
She hung her head and sighed. Stupid girl. Nice going. One bad dream and she threw herself at the first available man. Lovely.
She looked around for her clothes and remembered that she’d come up here wrapped in nothing but a blanket. Growling to herself, she cleaned up at the washstand and then wrapped herself in last night’s quilt.
She kept her head high as she marched down the stairs, just in case she ran into a servant. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any lurking about. She’d just made it down the stairs and was marching for the kitchen when she was suddenly scooped up like a doll and carried into an empty parlour.
“Griffin!” she shouted, not appreciating his enthusiastic greeting.
He ignored her and sat in an armchair, arranging her on his lap. He kissed her with great energy, as if he hadn’t spent all night enjoying her. “Good morning.”
She pushed him away, gasping a protest. “Griffin! Do you mind –” She broke off in a yelp as he tugged down her blanket and kissed her breasts in greeting.
“Good morning! Hell-o,” he murmured appreciatively. “I’ve missed you.”
She growled at him, but there was no heat in it. It was hard to be stern when he caressed her that way. She slowly relaxed under his soothing hands, loving the rumble of his voice as he praised her.
“Am I interrupting?” a languid voice intruded.
Jordon gasped and covered her chest. There was a man in the doorway, studiously looking at the portrait on the wall above their heads. Dressed all in white and cream, he looked like a gentleman. He held a folded newspaper in his hand, and he seemed rather disapproving of the goings-on.
Jordon struggled to get up. Griffin tightened his arms around her and stood, gently setting her on her feet. “Hello, Sage. This is Jordon Hearst. I’m afraid I waylaid her on her way to the kitchen.”
“Indeed.” Sage glanced over what he could see of Jordon’s neck and swollen lips. “Perhaps I should escort her the rest of the way. You seem to be a somewhat negative influence.”
Jordon flushed, but walked straight towards him and through the door, saying over her shoulder, “I can escort myself, thank you. I was leaving this morning anyway.” Oh, she couldn’t wait to get away! How embarrassing.
Griffin was at her side in an instant. “Actually, I’m fairly certain you don’t want to pass through the dining room right now. That’s what I was going to tell you before I got distracted.”
She stopped outside the door and looked at him with suspicion, “Why? Is someone in there?”
“My youngest brother is likely having breakfast.”
Jordon paled. She definitely didn’t want any of his brothers seeing her like this.
She shot a glance at Sage, wondering if one already had.
She started to run a hand through her hair, then had to grab for the blanket again.
“OK,” she said shakily. “I need my clothes. Coffee, too. I think you can manage that much.” She glared at Griffin as if this were all his fault.
“Once I’m dressed, I’m leaving.” She looked around, seeking a refuge.
“I’ll wait in the parlour. The front door is closer from there. ”
Griffin raised his brows, but seemed to agree. He inclined his head and headed for the dining room. Sage went with him.
Jordon retreated to the parlour and sat stiffly on a chair. She couldn’t wait to get out of there!
Griffin met the interested face at the dining table with a cool stare. He knew his brother Samhain had heard every word. He also knew it wouldn’t be repeated. Sam was no more a tale bearer than Sage. It didn’t stop him from asking questions, though.
“Ms Hearst sounded upset,” he said calmly. But his ears gave him away. He couldn’t flatten them as a man, and the slightly pointed tips twitched. He peered through his mane of black hair as if waiting for a chance to trample his older brother.
Griffin grimaced. “She’s embarrassed. Sage arrived at an inopportune moment.” He fixed a plate for Jordon and poured a cup of coffee. No doubt she’d be hungry. He’d been starved this morning. It had taken two heaped plates to satisfy him.
“Is that for you?” Sam wanted to know.
“No.” Griffin set the plate aside, intending to get it once he’d collected Jordon’s clothes from the kitchen. He was thinking furiously of delaying tactics. He’d decided sometime in the night that he was keeping Jordon. Now he just had to convince her of the wisdom in staying.
Mrs Y. sent him a knowing look as he entered the room. Well, she’d known what she was doing when she gave Jordon the room next to his. She’d been trying to get him to wed for years.
He ignored her and headed to the fireplace. Jordon’s things were dry, and most of her clothes had been folded and placed on a chair.
“I washed her socks and underthings,” Mrs Y. said casually. “I’m afraid she’ll have some difficulty, though. Her sweater seems to have disliked the rain.”
He shot her a curious look, then lifted the soft blue sweater from the pile to have a closer look. After a moment, he smiled. Somehow he doubted Jordon would be in a hurry to leave in this.
Jordon was dismayed to see her favourite sweater shrunken to the size of a handkerchief. But she rallied quickly. She was not going to allow it to slow her down. “I’ll need to borrow one of your shirts.”
Griffin made a face. “Darling, it would swamp you! If you’ll be patient, I’ll send for the village seamstress. She’s really very good.”
Jordon looked at him coldly. “I am not sitting around in a blanket all day. Nor am I going to wear that.” She glared at the maid’s uniform that he’d brought along as an alternative.
He looked over her head and drew a breath as if to control his temper. He did not seem interested in helping her leave. The storm was over. She needed to go home if she could.
She worried about that as she put on the shirt he brought her, ignoring the way it hung to her knees. She grudgingly thanked him for the jacket.
“It’s chilly this morning,” he said off hand. “Shall we?”
She wished he wasn’t the one walking her down the long driveway. Walking gave her too much time to think. She began to feel apologetic. “I’m sorry about last night.”
He raised his brows in enquiry. He was still being cool and aristocratic.
She hated it. “It was my fault. If there are . . . complications . . .”
He stopped. “I suggest you stop right there. We can discuss this after you’ve had a look at the road. Once you’ve ascertained for yourself that you can’t go home, we’ll discuss it further.”
She looked at him grimly. “I think I should say it before I disappear. There may not be another chance.”
“I doubt that.” He began walking again, rapidly this time. “Magic doesn’t work that way.”
“What do you mean?” She had to stretch her legs to keep up with him.
He saw it and slowed to an easier pace. “You were brought here for a purpose. You’d do better to spend your time discovering what that is than . . .” He trailed off. “No, forgive me. I suppose you’re being reasonable enough, from your point of view.”
She looked at him, surprised at his capitulation. “Really.”
He smiled charmingly. “I’m merely upset that you’re so eager to run away from me.”
She coloured and looked forwards. “About that. I’m not in the habit of leaping on men. It’s just that it’s been a while.” She saw that he was listening attentively. “My husband’s been gone two years now. He was killed in battle.”
“I’m sorry,” Griffin said respectfully. “You loved him, of course.”