A Taste of Ice (26 page)

A big hand slapped her thigh, just below her butt, and clenched, as though she might try to get away or something equally as ridiculous. The other hand started to roll on the condom.

She said, “Don’t forget to pull my hair.”

With a single motion, he entered her. Another cry—this one of relief, of such intense pleasure—ripped from her throat and bounced around the empty restaurant. Her body offered no resistance whatsoever.

He was nothing if not honest, and he took her hard.

She sensed the freedom in his body, in his movements. And even though he plunged into her with ferocity, his hands moved softly across her back, arranging her hair, like he’d said he wanted to see. Like last night, he barely made any sounds, but she listened to the thick pattern of his breath, and she realized that she wanted to hear him scream, too.

He slid in and out of her, so thick, so consuming, that her whole existence spun down into the small, slick place where their bodies joined. He felt impossibly good, and every second was better than the second before.

He started to slow down as his thumb worked across her back, gathering her long hair into his fist.

“
Yes
,” she hissed.

Without warning, he tugged her hair, bringing her cheek off the table. She arched her back, and with a low groan of approval, he picked up speed, driving her with an emotional
intensity she didn’t have to see to feel. He was losing himself, and she loved it. Loved how his freedom set them both on the edge of something greater than just sex.

She loved proving him wrong. Proving that they were together in this.

His body loosened, his strokes inside her losing the driving rhythm. He was getting close; she remembered how the movement of his hips had changed when she’d ridden him last night.

“Now I want to hear you,” she managed to say. “Please.”

There was only the slightest pause. In it he released her hair, planted his hands on either side of her hips with a slap to the table, and fucked her, exactly like he said he would.

When another orgasm snuck up on her, and started to throw her into bliss, she bit her own tongue to keep from making a sound. Because behind her, he was shouting his release, and it was as dramatic and glorious as a symphony.

When it was done, he pulled out and took her waist. Flipping her over, she finally got a good look at him. She gazed into his beautiful silver eyes and found them clearer. Less unsure. Less afraid.

He picked her up, cradling her gently against his chest, his warmth enveloping her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms tight around his neck, and buried her face in his tangled hair.

A vision came to her: a new painting, of swirling, pale colors dominated by bolder strokes. Water held by something strong and yet fluid. Possessive and yet yielding.

He squeezed her tight, drawing tender hands down her hair in slow strokes. She knew what he was going to say before it came out, but it made her eyes fill with tears nonetheless.

“He’s gone, Cat. The Burned Man…oh, God. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The bathroom filled with thick steam. Michael drew the razor
around his jawline, swiping away the last bit of shaving cream. Putting the razor into the filled sink, he swished it around, watching the dirty water and white foam mix with the short black and silver whiskers.

Where had it gone wrong with Cat? A woman who breathed fire was caged in his garage, threatening war, and all he could think about was the one woman he wanted to introduce to Raymond as his.

She’d rejected him. In public. She’d taken all that he’d given her and thrown it in his face, walking off with that townie. So she liked nobodies, huh? Made sense, since she still technically was one.

He slapped down the sink plunger and watched the water swirl down the drain. Towel wrapped around his waist, he slid open the bathroom door and stalked into the master suite.

“Lea.”

The master suite was a long room with a king-sized bed on one end, and a sitting room with a couch and TV on the other. Wooden posts carved like trees divided the two halves, and Lea leaned against one. She was smiling at his half-naked state, but it wasn’t meant to be seductive. There was a coldness to her that appealed to him on occasion, when he wasn’t looking for someone more—or someone like Cat.

He advanced on her. “Where the fuck have you been?”

She uncrossed her arms. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Is Jase with you?”

She smoothed her shoulder-length blond hair back into a
ponytail. “And the new girl. The whole happy family’s together again.”

His arm snapped out, his fingers digging into her neck. He pushed her back against the post.

“Hello, Ofarian.”

Her brown eyes narrowed and her upper lip twitched. Then she erased it all and donned an air of nonchalance. “Finally did your research, huh?”

“No. Your little fire gift told me. She seems to know a lot.”

A million unsaid things danced across Lea’s expression, and he vowed to learn every last one of them. Secrets weren’t going to erase all the ground he’d gained with Raymond. Lea wasn’t going to make a fool of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you are?”

Lea shrugged. She had such an innocent look about her. Plain, straight hair. Wide-set eyes, very little makeup. Unassuming clothing. She didn’t look frightening at all. “Because for all intents and purposes, I’m not Ofarian anymore.”

“You led me to believe that Secondaries are rare.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Wow. Big word.”

“The Chimeran told me. Yeah, she and I are tight now.”

Lea sighed. “I’ve never lied to you, Michael. I stumbled upon you and Sean in Miami, told you I could find more people with magic, and you just assumed we were all like you. Special. Few and far between. But that’s typical. For you.”

“So why’d you take another water—another Ofarian?”

“Relax.” She slid a hand around his wrist that still held her to the post. He was getting hard, because power did that to him. And because Lea had already proved herself worthy to him—unique and formidable and elevated to his level. “I’m not trying to
take
anything from you, Michael. I help you, you help me, is all.”

“I wasn’t aware I was ever helping you.”

“Again, not my fault.”

He removed his hand from her throat and dug his fingers into her shoulder. She winced. “Ow. What the—”

“The Chimeran said her people would come for her. That they’d bring an army.”

Lea’s face was blank. Dangerously blank. She didn’t deny it, and suddenly clues fell into place.

“Little Lea.” He slowly shook his head,
tsk
ing his tongue. “Are you trying to start a war?”

“You go about your business,” she replied darkly. “I go about mine.”

He squeezed harder. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

“Do what? Stop that. That hurts.”

“Want me to go back to the throat? You know what I’m talking about. Going behind my back. Using the Chimeran—and maybe this second Ofarian—for something you’re not telling me about. Don’t give her to me as a gift then plan to snatch her out from under me. What’s mine is mine.”

“I’m not planning on taking her from you, asshole. You and I have different goals, and they don’t cross each other.”

“She’s not leaving me.” His voice quivered with fury.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“What about this army? I don’t want any exposure. This is between me and Raymond.”

“I told you, the Secondaries move and work in secret. Under the radar. You think her people are going to attack someone as visible as you?”

His hand dropped. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Just trust me. Have I ever done anything to compromise you?”

She had him by the balls and she knew it. He couldn’t find Secondaries without her. And he’d never finally earn Raymond’s respect without the collection.

She pushed away from him and sauntered toward the bedroom door. He watched her ass jiggle and she peeked over her shoulder to check if he was looking. She never flaunted herself if she meant to tell him no.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He snapped off the towel. “I’m not done with you.”

Gwen Carroway sounded as receptive and intelligent on the
phone as Xavier had made her out to be. That told Cat a lot, that Xavier spoke so highly of her—an Ofarian and a woman, to boot.

To his credit, he’d taken his loss like a man. The Burned Man hadn’t shown his face when Cat and Xavier had had sex in Shed, or here in her hotel room. Now she sat on the edge of
the bed, his legs bracing the outside of her hips and thighs, his arms around her waist. As she held the phone to one ear, he kissed the opposite side of her neck.

“We’re looking for your parents,” Gwen told her. “We have to sort through a lot of messed-up info, but we’ll find them. In the meantime, I want you to stay out in public as much as possible, just to be safe. Stay with people you know, people you trust.”

“I’m with Xavier right now.”

Gwen paused. “You can trust him, Cat. Above everything, I know that.”

Xavier squeezed Cat’s waist, shifting his mouth on her skin.

Gwen said, “I think you should go to San Francisco after you’re done in Colorado. It’s Ofarian HQ. Griffin Aames, our leader, is there. You can learn all about us, all about you. Immersion, if you will. You’ve already missed the Ice Rites, but maybe you could stick around for the summer Water Rites…”

Immersion. Ofarian HQ. Rites…That dizzying, sinking feeling of being overwhelmed rolled over her. “I don’t know, Gwen.”

Gwen sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Too much?”

“Maybe a tad? Guess I’d rather wade in than be thrown in.”

“That makes sense. I’m just excited to have found you. That Xavier has found you, I mean.” Cat didn’t think she meant that solely in context to the threat against Secondaries. “What if you came to Chicago instead? It’s just me and Reed here. I can teach you a few things.”

Cat exhaled. “That sounds better.”

“Xavier says you’re an artist. I love art. Seriously love it. Remind me to tell you how Reed and I met. Oh, man, I could take you to the Art Institute…”

They talked for a bit longer and Cat grew more comfortable. As they said good-bye, Gwen said something in the Ofarian language. “That means, ‘may the stars’ blessings be upon you.’ It’s very formal, but I think it’s fitting.”

Though Gwen was lovely, Cat couldn’t help but feel like she was shaking her arm again, trying to throw off the water bracelet.

She turned in Xavier’s arms and kissed him. “You won’t go to San Francisco with me.”

He met her eyes. “No. I can’t go back. I’m sorry.”

“How about Chicago?”

She watched him weigh it in his mind: face one Ofarian or face many. Gwen versus the whole lot. “Yes,” he replied. “If you come somewhere with me.”

“Where?”

“Shed. While I work today. At least until your lunch with Helen, just so I know where you are.”

So Cat sat at Shed’s bar all morning, watching him work. The other cooks and servers eyed her. Then teased Xavier. He just smiled furtively at his cutting board.

Once, at the same time, they both looked over at the corner booth. They’d cleaned up their mess and re-set the tables so Pam would never know, but Cat could still picture what they’d done there. How he’d bent her over. And then how he’d given himself over.

Two other singles sat at the bar. A thirtysomething guy pecked at a laptop with one hand and nursed a glass of draft beer with the other. A petite blond woman occupied the seat at the far end of the bar, and she alternated between reading snippets of what Cat guessed was a movie script and flirting with the receptive bartender.

At one o’clock, Cat slid off her bar stool. She tapped the kitchen glass. Xavier looked up, and she mouthed, “I’m going.” He frowned, scanning the restaurant with worry. He’d wanted her to cancel, but she’d insisted that she’d be with Helen all afternoon, in the middle of White Clover Creek, and that she’d come right back to Shed the moment the meetings were over. He nodded reluctantly, and she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the glass.

Helen waited in the alley outside, leaning against one of the potted yews, tapping at her phone. She’d arranged for a meeting with Jim Porter, an art dealer in L.A.

“Jim’s a few minutes behind,” Helen said as Cat greeted her. “We’re meeting him at the restaurant.”

“Okay.” She glanced warily back at Shed.

Helen assessed her. “Everything all right?”

Cat threw on a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Last night? The way you left the party? I’m worried.”

“No need to be. I’m fine.”

“Cat, I feel awful. I had no idea things between you and Michael Ray had soured.”

And just like that, like Helen speaking his name had conjured him out of thin air, Michael appeared at the mouth of the alley. The silver in his hair glinted especially bright in the winter sun. Cat held her breath, hoping he’d pass by, but instead he turned and made a beeline right for her. His eyes were carefully blank, his mouth drawn into a hard line.

“I’m so sorry,” Helen said, her voice low. “I meant to tell you before he showed up. Jim insisted he come. They’re old friends.”

Or Michael had called Jim and slyly inserted himself into the lunch meeting.

Cat really wanted to hit it off with Jim Porter. Having him represent her in L.A. could catapult her career. She couldn’t cancel on a guy who’d come specifically to Colorado to meet her. She drew herself up with a deep breath. “It’s all right. This is business. If I can remember that, so can he.”

Helen smiled, but it was clear she was torn between Cat and the former stepson she cared about.

“Good morning,” Michael said as he reached them.

“Morning,” Cat managed.

His presence buzzed around her brain, poisoning her consciousness. It brought to mind the day they’d met in the local art fair, how she’d felt this instant affinity for him—a trust that was more feeling than proof. Similar to what she’d felt toward Xavier that morning on the sidewalk. Similar…but mostly different.