Chapter 14
Chapter 14
S ully parted her lips against his, and was rewarded when his tongue slid inside to tangle with hers. His arms enveloped hers, pressing her against his body. She could feel the strength of those arms, those muscles, against the sides of her breasts, could feel the hardness of his chest and hips against her, and could feel the throbbing hard length of him against her stomach.
She could sense his curiosity, his tenderness, as well as the tidal wave of desire and arousal. He’d asked her about her shields. Suggested she was hiding. With Dave, though, there was no hiding. There was no defense against his overwhelming presence, with feeling , and there was no way she could fight the burning attraction she felt for this man. It was hot, it was immediate and it was undeniable. And she didn’t want to hide anymore.
Her hands trailed down the column of his neck, tracing the breadth of those massive shoulders, and trailing over the soft fabric of his T-shirt. She angled her head, and he deepened the kiss, sucking and nipping with a skill that had her desire pooling in her panties as she arched against him.
“Oh, sweetness,” he moaned, kissing his way to her jaw and down her neck. Her head leaned back, and he pulled her tighter against him, leaning forward so that her world tilted. His hands slid down and cupped her butt, and he picked her up, turning to seat her on the kitchen counter.
Her legs wound around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of her groin, and she moaned when she felt him, hot and hard, against her. She tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, and he leaned back, hips still pressed to hers, and helped her pull the garment over his head. Her eyes widened at having his chest so close, and for a moment she was content to place her palms against his warm skin. The mark over his heart looked almost healed, and she traced it very gently.
“So much pain,” she murmured.
He winked, grinning as he ducked his head. “Nah, just a tickle.” He took her lips in a hard kiss. His hands played briefly over her shoulders before hooking the thin straps of her cami and tugging them slowly down her arms.
She shrugged out of the straps, sighing when he dragged her against him, her breasts mashed against him, and they both moaned. He kissed her shoulder, nipping at her gently, and she shuddered, her breasts swelling at the sharp but seductive sensation. She dragged her nails down his back as he kissed and licked his way across her chest while he slid his hand under her long skirt, dragging the fabric up her legs. She trembled as his hand skimmed over her knee, gliding up her thigh. Liquid heat pooled between her legs, and her pulse thudded in her ears.
He got to midthigh, then halted. He lifted his head, eyebrows raised. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he gasped, before taking her lips again. He fumbled with the leather strap of the sheath she’d strapped to her leg, and she laughed breathlessly.
“Sorry, I forgot that one.”
He undid the tie, and she shuddered at the caress of leather against her sensitive skin when he tugged it away from her. He placed the sheath, with her custom-made push-dagger on the bench beside them. He chuckled.
“You are so dangerous,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes, his hands rising to cradle her jaw. There was a humor, but there was also warmth, admiration and a little concern, all bombarding her with his touch.
She looked up at him, feeling the answering smile on her lips. “You have no idea,” she whispered, then took his lips.
He sighed against her mouth, their tongues tangling. He lowered a hand to her chest, and she gasped, arching her back when he covered her breast with his warm palm. He pressed back, their hips rubbing against each other, and she could feel his hardness, separated by the folds of her skirt and the denim of his jeans.
Heat. Desire. Tight arousal. It hit her, and she wasn’t sure if it was him, or her, or that they were just so perfectly in sync.
Panting, she reached for his belt, and within seconds she’d undone it, as well as his button fly. His hands gripped her body as she reached inside his jeans, and her lips curved against his when her fingers slid beneath his boxer briefs and found him.
He growled softly, and she gasped when he pinched her nipple, just enough to make her tremble with delight. It was as though the floodgates opened. She pushed at his jeans. He tugged at her skirt, and she felt his fingers slide under her panties, felt the brief tug of the cotton as the fabric gave, and then she moaned when she felt those fingers against her, then inside her.
He groaned, then took her lips in a kiss so carnal it stole her breath. He played with her, strummed her, and she shook as she used her feet to shove his jeans down his legs. She gasped when she felt the tension coil inside her. Her nipples tightened, as his tongue slid against hers, his fingers moving with ease inside her, and then his thumb found that secret little pleasure nub, and everything tightened, tightened, tightened, until she exploded. Sensations, so sharp, so crystalized, cascaded over her. He positioned himself between her legs and entered her smoothly.
She tore her lips away from his, crying out with the pleasure as he thrust. Over and over, the waves of intense bliss crashed. Swirls of colors, sparks, everything was exploding—around her, inside her, until he finally groaned his release, his head back, the cords of his neck standing out as he found his own pleasure inside her.
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her up tight against him, chest to chest, heart to heart, as their panting subsided. He hugged her, and she could feel him. Inside her, around her, it was all warmth and tenderness, an intimate gentleness with the steel edge of determined protectiveness.
She’d never felt safer.
Dave blinked. Hair. Honey-gold hair. All over his face. He brushed it away, blinking some more, then shifted, drawing his thigh up against the warm curves enfolded in his arms.
Sully.
His eyes opened.
Sully . They’d made fireworks last night. He’d seen them. Lots of pops of colors, sparks... While he wasn’t shy with women, and thought he could hold his own in the sack, he’d never quite experienced fireworks before with a woman.
He lifted his head slightly, shaking away the last of the tendrils that seemed to want to cling to him. She was asleep in his arms, her back to his chest, her butt resting—he sucked in a breath. Damn, she felt good in his arms.
They were on the foldout sofa, and sunlight streamed in through the bay windows. They’d tried to make it to her bed, but somehow got distracted.
Very distracted. Twice.
His lips curved, and he dipped his head to press a kiss to her neck. She sighed and smiled as she scooted closer. Her stomach growled, and Dave chuckled as he caressed the curve of her hip.
She turned in his arms, her eyes opening, and he pressed a kiss to her lips. “Good morning,” he murmured.
She smiled. “Good mor—” she yawned, then blinked “—morning.”
“Feel like pancakes?” He was ravenous, and her stomach was making all sorts of hungry noises.
She grinned. “Are you cooking?”
“Yep,” he said, and gave her another long kiss. When he drew back she sighed and stretched, then nodded.
“Sure, pancakes sound wonderful.”
Dave reached for his sunglasses and slid them on, then rolled off the foldout sofa and snagged up his boxer briefs, hopping into them as he walked through to the kitchen. Within minutes he had a pancake mix going—they were his specialty—and started to set up the counter for breakfast.
Sully walked in. She was wearing his T-shirt, the navy blue bringing out the blue of her eyes. Her hair was a tussled tangle, her features soft and relaxed. The shirt hit her midthigh, and he paused for a moment, taking his fill of her. She had the longest, sexiest legs he could ever remember seeing in a woman.
He watched as she crossed to the fridge and leaned in to grab the juice, the T-shirt riding up a little to expose a hint of butt cheek. He swallowed. She was a beautiful woman. He glanced back down at his pancakes. They were bubbling. He flipped them, his gaze briefly diverting back to the domestic, disheveled goddess behind him, and was pleasantly surprised when the pancakes landed back in the pan.
He smiled as he got the plates ready for serving. They didn’t converse as she got glasses and poured the juice. They worked alongside each other in companionable silence, and he smiled when she caressed his back as she passed. He pulled her back for a kiss, enjoying the feel of her against him, so scantily clad in his T-shirt. The pancake batter in the pan popped and fizzed, and he drew back, winking at Sully’s grin as she backed away toward the pantry. This felt...nice. Normal. But a normal he’d never had before. A cozy kitchen, a sexy woman with a heart of gold and a body built for sin. He could get used to this.
He halted midscoop of the pancake. What?
He could not get used to this. He had a job that translated to here today, gone tomorrow. He had a home and business in Irondell, and a task that meant the Ancestors would always take priority in his life. There was no room for a woman, for a relationship, no matter how tempting playing house could be.
He flipped the pancake onto a plate and poured a ladleful of batter into the pan. Sully started to hum as she moved around the kitchen, and he saw her place a bottle of maple syrup on the kitchen counter, along with a basket of strawberries. She even did a cute little dance move when she thought he wasn’t watching.
He focused on the pan, watching as the air bubbles popped on the mix. He liked this. He really liked this. It was so tempting, just to reach out and kiss her again, feed her strawberries in an indulgent, dreamy little episode of domestic codependency.
And that scared the ever-lovin’ crap out of him.
He quickly served up the last of the pancakes. His job—his calling—wasn’t something he could just walk away from. He figured once a Witch Hunter, always a Witch Hunter. Everyone assumed his tattoo parlor in Irondell was his main focus, but they were wrong. It was the sideline, the business that bubbled along when he wasn’t hunting witches. Eventually, though, his luck would run out. Somewhere along the line, he’d face a witch who was faster, stronger, more powerful...and it would be he crossing to the Other Realm. And another Witch Hunter would be assigned the hit and carry on the duties.
This moment, this side trip down fantasy lane, was exactly that—a fantasy. And he didn’t do fantasy. He didn’t drift away on daydreams, wishing for what couldn’t possibly be. What he did—well, it was a special low, dealing with the excrement of the witch world, but damn it, it was necessary, and he believed in it, believed in the necessity, and that the bad was done for the greater good. He shouldn’t be here, cooking breakfast and stealing kisses. This fantasy, this illusion of a different life, was a recipe for a whole world of hurt—at his hands.
“Wow, they look great,” Sully said, eyes widening when she saw the stack of pancakes. She smiled as she sat on the stool. “I’m famished.”
He gave her a small smile as he sat down next to her. He picked up his cutlery, but sat for a moment, eyeing the food on his plate. He’d lost his appetite.
Sully frowned. “What’s wrong?” She eyed the pancakes suspiciously. “What did you to them?”
His lips quirked. “They’re fine. Tuck in.” He cut out a bit of pancake and popped it into his mouth, his gaze resting briefly on the woman next to him. Sully deserved to be someone’s priority. Not someone’s booty call, not someone’s “between jobs”, but someone’s first, last and always. He’d eventually hurt her. He’d let her down when he’d have to pursue another witch over spending time with her. Or worse, what he did for the Ancestors could wind up hurting her .
He stabbed more pancake onto his fork and shoved it in his mouth. Damn. This sucked. Domestic bliss was obviously some sort of weird mind-meld crap designed to make you assess your life decisions and cry.
Sully eyed him closely as she chewed, then swallowed. “Is everything all right, Dave?”
“It’s fine,” he said, then put his cutlery down on the plate. “No. No, it’s not fine.” He turned to look at her. “You and I—we shouldn’t have...done. What we did. That.” He gestured to the kitchen counter, and then the living room.
Sully’s cheeks heated, and she glanced down at her plate. “Oh.” She frowned. “You didn’t...enjoy it?” She blinked, then waved her hand. “Don’t answer that.”
His eyes widened. “We did it three times. Yeah. I enjoyed it. A lot .” Too much. “We just...shouldn’t have.”
Sully kept her gaze steadfastly on the glass of juice as she reached for it. “I see,” she said. Her voice was low. Calm. Like, dead calm. He glanced at her. Her lips were pursed. Just a little, but that cute crooked little pout of hers was just a little more pronounced.
“No, I don’t think you do, Sully. I have—”
“A job to do,” she interrupted. She nodded. “I get it.” She rose from her stool and placed her plate on the bench with just a little too much force.
“This—” he gestured to the kitchen, to her. “I can’t do this. And I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Because of your job,” she said, and folded her arms as she leaned against the doorjamb. “How does sex with me interfere with your job, exactly?” She tilted her head, and although her expression was curious, he could see the darkening anger in her eyes.
Sex. She’d called it sex. They’d made fireworks. It had been more than just sex. Hadn’t it? Dave forced himself to focus on the question, and not the quiver of uncertainty that perhaps he was the only one who’d felt the impact of what they’d done, the magical coalescence of their power...
“I need to track down a killer,” he told her solemnly. “I’m here having breakfast with you, when I should be out hunting that witch.” He rose from his stool and leaned his palms on the counter—the counter where they’d first made incredible, firework-inducing love.
“That other night, when Amanda Sinclair was killed—I should have been out there, hunting, not in here, kissing you.”
She gaped at him for a moment. “Are you saying it’s my fault Amanda Sinclair was murdered?” Her voice emerged as a hoarse rasp. She folded her arms.
He gaped. “No! God, no! No, not your fault— my fault. I should have been out there. I should have been looking. My fault, Sully, not yours.” He pressed his thumb to his chest. “None of this has anything to do with you. It’s all on me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ri-ight,” she said slowly, although her tone didn’t quite suggest agreement. “So this,” she said, unfolding one arm to encompass her kitchen, “this was all what? An oops ?” her voice rose on that last word, and he winced.
O-kay. He’d screwed this up. Monumentally. And he’d managed to minimize the first real emotional connection he’d had with a woman in years. Ever. “No. Yes. Hell, sort of.”
She gaped at him. Then she held up a finger. “Okay, first, the correct answer to that was supposed to be a hell, no.”
“What we shared meant something to me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And that is the problem. I’m not supposed to feel this—” he held up his palms, shrugging. “I don’t even know what this is, that’s how foreign it is,” he exclaimed. “I’m supposed to up and go when the Ancestors call, and if we keep going down this—” and again he gestured, palms up “—then I won’t want to answer the Ancestors’ call.”
She stared at him for a moment, and that cute little crooked pout of hers got more crooked, the tighter she pursed her lips. “I see.”
His eyes narrowed. “See, I get worried when you say that,” he said. “I think you see something that I don’t mean.”
“Okay, well, let me break it down for you,” Sully said, her hands dropping to her waist. The position hiked up his shirt, exposing more of her tanned, toned thighs. “You are hiding from this,” she said, and gestured between them. “You feel something, so you are running. You’re using your vocation as an excuse to avoid a personal relationship. With...me. You don’t trust. You don’t trust me, you don’t trust us.”
His eyes rounded. “Trust?” He placed his hands on hips. “Really? Me? Trust issues?” He found he could only repeat the hot words, so surprised was he by her comments. He was sure he’d get around to forming some rational response.
“Yes. You. Trust issues. You didn’t want to tell Sheriff Clinton about the killer witch. Reform law recognizes your authority as a Witch Hunter, Dave—just like they would a guardian enforcer hunting down a werewolf, or a vampire guardian hunting a rogue vampire. Tyler’s not going to arrest you for enforcing tribal law on one of your own kind. But you don’t want his help—because you don’t trust him?”
Dave frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but she was already talking.
“You don’t tell the nulls there’s a null-killing witch coming after them, you don’t want to trust them with the information and still allow you to hunt that witch down. And if I hadn’t enhanced that white lie you told about us dating with the breakup factor, you wouldn’t have allowed me to tag along in your investigation—because you don’t trust me. I’m a witch who wants to help, and you don’t trust me to do that. Now, you’re starting to feel something, and you don’t trust us . You want me to believe that all I am to you is some quick screw that you can’t get involved with.”
“Hey, there was nothing quick about us,” he told her, and she shot him an exasperated glare. “And you’re not completely wrong,” he allowed, holding his hands up. “You’re right. I don’t trust the sheriff. Nice guy,” he said quickly, “but once I approach him, I have to follow Reform rules, and they don’t work, not for us. He’d want us to arrest the witch, and have him stand trial with Reform peers—who may or may not be witches, when we already have a higher authority who have made a decision. I trust Tyler—to do exactly what his job tells him he has to do, which doesn’t align with what I have to do.”
He sighed. “The nulls—I’m not sure about them. Someone is walking among them. Both Amanda Sinclair and Jenny opened their front door to this guy and let him walk right in. He’s somehow been accepted by that community, and is able to walk freely among them, so yeah, you’re right, I don’t trust them. But you...”
He stepped around the counter. “I have never met anyone who is so damn trusting, and that scares me.”
Her frown deepened, and he paused, searching for the right words. “You...you’re amazing. You’re so...big-hearted,” he said, shrugging. It was the only word he could think for her. “You can’t help yourself, you need to help others. You try to ease people’s pain—I saw you with Jenny. You were so frustrated that you couldn’t use your empath powers on her and ease her suffering—yeah, I saw that.” He nodded at her shift in position, her disconcerted expression. “You tended to my wound, when I’d done everything that should have made you run in the opposite direction. You’re wanting to hunt down this killer—to prevent him from hurting others. You’re helping me, because I need it. I saw you at the funeral, Sully. When you take on the pain of others, you put yourself at risk. When I visited your shop, you made me tea.”
“After I tried to skewer you with a fork,” she argued.
He nodded. “Okay, granted. But that’s my point. It’s so easy to get past your defenses. You sense, therefore you trust, regardless of whether I’m worthy of that trust. You don’t really know me,” he told her, and he had to force the words out of his throat. “You don’t know what I’ve done. You’re right—I don’t trust easily, but in my line of work, that’s a survival skill, not a flaw.” He ran his hand through his short hair. “Which is why I have to leave. The longer I stick around, the more danger I put us both in.”
Her blue gaze was dark and solemn, and she sighed. “I would never, ever, beg or force someone to stay with me against their will,” she said quietly. “You want to leave, leave.” She levered herself away from the wall, and dragged his shirt over her head, and tossed it to him.
He caught it to his chest, still warm from her body. He looked at her, standing naked and proud, her shoulders back, her chin up. And no, he damn well didn’t want to leave.
“I hope you find your witch,” she told him sincerely. “Be safe.”
She turned, walked across the short hall to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
He turned in her kitchen, holding the warm garment to his chest, and stared at the abandoned plates on the counter, the sullied remnants of a glimpse of heaven.
He’d blown it. He blinked, then turned and walked down the hallway to the living room. He scooped up his gear and was dressed in minutes. He looked around for his jacket, and realized he’d left it in the back of Sully’s car the night before.
He glanced down the hallway, toward the bend that led to Sully’s bedroom. This was lousy. He didn’t want to leave her like this, thinking...thinking what? That he thought she was just a brief dalliance? Or that he didn’t trust her?
His lips tightened. Maybe that was for the best. If she knew how he felt, that he wanted nothing more than to walk down that hall and crawl into bed with her and never, ever leave—would that change the situation? Would it make her feel better, or worse?
He closed his eyes, letting his senses drift down to that bedroom at the end of the hall. He could sense the peace and tranquility of her room, and he tried to sense her, to comfort her. He gently searched for her essence—a spark exploded in front of him, and he flew across the room, flipping back over the sofa.
Ouch. He looked up from his position on the floor. Okay. She was pissed. He could respect that. He’d knocked, and she’d sent him flying. He got the message. Go away.
He rolled to his feet, pulling up his backpack as he did, and strode out of the house. He shoved his backpack into one of the panniers on his bike, then crossed to the trunk of Sully’s car for his jacket. He shook his head. Sully had left the rear window down. The woman had no regard for securing herself or her possessions. He reached in for his jacket and tugged at the sleeve. It caught on the lid of a long metal box in her trunk. He tugged harder, and the jacket pulled free. The lid clanged open, and Dave froze when he saw the contents.
What the—? He reached in and pulled the box closer, frowning at the weight of the darn thing. He peered inside, his jaw dropping.
A supply of swords, axes, knives and arrows—along with a heap of deadly looking blades, gleamed in the light of day. A cloth bag sat in one corner of the box, and when he pulled at the fabric, he heard a clink, then saw the treasure of Reform dollars winking up at him. A lot of them.
He heard the soft slap of flip-flops on the veranda, and looked up at the woman, that sweet, naive, gullible woman, standing on the top step, hands on hips, as she glared down at him. He glanced back down at the mobile armory and cash stash in the trunk of her car, then back up at her.
“Who are you?” he exclaimed.