Black Swan Affair (18 page)

“Pop Rocks?” I tease. I haven’t had Pop Rocks since I was seventeen.

He winds his arm around my waist, drawing me to his side. “I thought you loved those.”

“I do. In strawberry explosion.”

Leaning down so far I think he’s going to plant one on me right in front of the cashier and the patrons behind us, he whispers salaciously, “We can make our own explosion with them.”

My eyes flick to the big man standing behind us. He’s snickering, not even bothering to look away. “Okay,” I reply lamely, not understanding what he means.

Kael does kiss me then. And he makes a big production of it. Tongue. Moans. Even a little backward dip. I hear a few gasps and whispers but keep my eyes tightly shut. When he releases me, my face is flaming. Kael is grinning. The cashier is gaping. The guy behind us is full-on laughing.

“Newlyweds,” Kael offers loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the woman who was outside the bathroom, eyeing us with disdain as she skirts her daughter outside.

“Congratulations. Lucky guy,” hefty behind us says with appreciation.

Kael’s grip tightens. “Don’t I know it.” But he didn’t say it to him. He said it to me. Soft and sexy and with so much love it makes me liquefy. My lips turn up so high my face feels as though it may split in two.

God, who knew I could be this happy after being crushed a few short months earlier? But I am. The more time I spend as Kael Shepard’s wife, the lighter and happier I feel. The more I think maybe it was meant to turn out this way all along.

We collect our goodies and head back on the road. Two hours later we’re pulling into the driveway of a quaint, all-brick Victorian B and B just a few blocks from downtown Saint Paul, Minnesota. The wraparound porch is enviable with wrought iron drop lights every few feet and large cushy furniture you could get lost in.

Kael turns off the engine and slides his gaze to me, that smile firmly intact. “I know how much you love these.”

I do. I love the intimacy of such a small setting. That one-on-one attention you get from the owners. The fabulous, over-the-top breakfast they make. The comforts of home while away from your own bed.

I lean across the interior and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

In this moment, there’s absolutely nothing that could top this. Getting away from Dusty Falls and the shit we left there is exactly what both of us needed.

“
W
hat do
you want to do today?” The soft stroke of Kael’s fingers lightly on my bare arm gives me goose bumps. I shiver and he chuckles, holding me closer.

“Don’t stop,” I tell him quietly when he wraps that hand around my waist instead.

“Your wish is my command, Swan,” he replies saucily, already sweeping his fingers over my flesh once again.

I sigh, utterly replete. We’re curled up in bed. Naked. Blissful. Momentarily sated.

After arriving yesterday afternoon, we were greeted by Sheila, the plump innkeeper, who told us all about her five grown children (all girls) and six grandchildren (all boys). She also informed us if we heard any unusual noises, it was just Pierre LeMars, the original homeowner—who hung himself in the attic after his wife and daughter drowned in a boating accident. He is apparently their resident ghost and friendly, she assured us. Kael just shrugged but I was a little unnerved as she ushered us up a wide, grand, two-tiered staircase. The energy changed. Unseen eyes were on me. I was convinced I walked through a pocket of cold air.

I squeezed Kael’s hand so hard he winced. All of that nervousness evaporated, though, the second she opened the door to the King’s Suite—one of four bedrooms in the old mansion—and settled us in a very stately, spacious room.

An enormous, antique-looking sleigh bed sat in the middle, covered in an ivory eyelet comforter and a mound of neutral throw pillows. The bathroom boasted a walk-in, all-glass shower and a sunken whirlpool tub that could fit four. There was an expansive turret with a cathedral-like ceiling off to our left. A small table and two chairs sat in the center of the glassed-in area. It would be lovely for a cozy cup of coffee in the morning or cocktail in the evening. And the views from the tower were spectacular.

But what drew me like a magnet were the walls. Above the whitewashed wainscoting was the most unique wallpaper I’d ever seen. Secrets whispered from it. They echoed softly in my ear. I could feel haunting pain radiating from the foreign words even before Sheila spoke. My breath caught when she told me it was a replica of a love letter written by a young Italian woman who had fallen in love with an American soldier during WWII.

“
T
his letter was supposedly found
in the young soldier’s pocket by his brother. The soldier died in his brother’s arms from several gunshot wounds to the chest. And rumor has it in a strange twist of events, the young lady ended up marrying the brother,” Sheila whispers to me as Kael checks out the bathroom.

She married his brother? My heart pounds. Is this some sort of strange coincidence or was I meant to be here hearing her story? Seeing her words? Feeling her pain?

“Was she happy?” I ask absently, tracing my fingers over softly muted print.
Did she love the second as much as the first?

“I like to think we all end up in the place we’re supposed to be eventually,” Sheila answers wistfully. “The sum total of our choices carries us to our destiny.”

Is that true, I wonder? Or do those choices really
change
our future instead? I want to believe her. I want to believe that I’m standing here in this room for a reason other than the stacks of bad decisions I’ve made.

“Do you think so?” I turn then and look at this woman I don’t know at all but who radiates this innate purity that’s enviable. Maybe it can wash away all my sins. Maybe that’s why I’m here. She stares into my eyes as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. What I’ve done. Can she see inside my guilt and free me?

She reaches out to gently wrap her fingers around my arm and smiles warmly. “I do.”

I
’d never wished
I could speak another language until right then. I wondered about her. That woman. Although I couldn’t read the words, they looked forlorn, wistful. Were the rumors true? Did they go on to live a long and fulfilling life together? Or did she look at him and always think of the one she lost? Is it possible to lose the love of your life then find it again in the most unexpected of places?

Four months ago I would have said no. But now, I think the answer is maybe.

Even at this moment, as I lie in Kael’s arms, I’m still thinking of her. Hoping she got her happily ever after. Feeling like I actually might get mine when not that long ago, I felt hopeless. I imagine that’s how she felt when she discovered her American lover had died.

“Earth to Maverick.”

“Hmmm,” I hum absently against his chest. I twirl the few hairs he has smattering between his pecs around my index finger.

“Care to don some clothes and do something or do you want to lounge in bed, naked, all day?”

Naked sounds like a good plan to me.

I tilt my head up. “You mean you don’t have the entire weekend planned, minute by minute?”

He laughs. Kael may do things off the beaten path, but he’s a planner while I’m more comfortable winging it. As much as it makes him itch to do it my way, it makes me equally itchy to plan every single second of life. That leaves no room for spontaneity. I’m not sure if I’m like this to spite my mother, who is spontaneity’s deathblow or if I was born this way. And although my impulsive tendencies have gotten me into more than one mess, I feel like they also may have led me to my true destiny.

Kael.

“I’m free-balling this weekend,” he tells me.

Yep…naked it is.

“Mmm. I like the sound of that,” I quip. My hand snakes down beneath the sheets but doesn’t reach its intended target.

“As much as I want your hand wrapped around my cock, Swan, don’t you want to get out and see the historic city of Saint Paul?”

I run my tongue along his throat, whispering in his ear, “I was kind of digging the naked and lounging suggestion.” I try to break his hold, to no avail.

“We could have just done this at home,” he says. “Come on, baby. I want to show you the city. You’ll love it.”

As many times as I’ve been to Minneapolis, I’ve never spent time in its redheaded stepchild. But right now, I don’t care to get out of bed. I want to live in this bubble we’ve created for as long as possible before we have to head back home and face our real lives. As much progress as I’m making eradicating Killian from my soul, it’s a laborious process. Somehow not being in the same vicinity, knowing he’s not just ten minutes away, makes it easier to forget about him.

“It’s cold,” I whine, snuggling closer. It’s December in Minnesota. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the temps are about ten degrees cooler here than in Dusty Falls.

“That’s why I brought your favorite sweater. I hear the Cathedral of Saint Paul is supposed to be one of the most elaborate in the entire country. I know how much you love old churches.”

I push up on my elbow, resting my head on my palm. I run my other hand, which he’s now freed, over my breast, down my torso, and sweep the globe of my ass before I use my finger and thumb to pinch my nipple to a pointed peak.

He groans, long and needy.

“You really want to leave this?”

Then I’m on my back, my hands stretched above my head. He’s wedged perfectly between my legs. I already feel how fast he’s thickening. His breathing has picked up and his eyes have gone dark.

Yes.

I win.

Only he doesn’t make a move to use the impressive equipment he’s been blessed with. It’s mere inches from home plate and twitching like mad. “As much as I’d like to say otherwise and as much as your romance novels contradict me, I can’t physically fuck you all day. You know this, right?”

We’ve had sex three times already since we left Dusty Falls less than twenty-four hours ago. A quickie in a dirty public bathroom. Languid lovemaking last night after an intimate Italian dinner at a hole-in-the-wall down the street. And a rough and dirty round this morning when Kael whispered all the sinful things he’s been dreaming of doing to my body as he made me come repeatedly with his mouth first, following that up with his talented cock. I’m pretty sure I screamed his name more than once. I bet I screamed so loud even Pierre LeMars heard me.

Just thinking about it makes me all hot and bothered again. I wiggle, trying to align him the way I need. “Care to test that theory out?” I taunt, my breaths now coming in short pants. I move my hips down and tilt my pelvis up. Almost…there…

Kael dips until his mouth brushes mine when he says, “No. I care to show off my sexy as fuck wife around town, then come back here and fuck her all night long on every surface of this room instead.”

I stop moving. “Oh? All night, you say?”

He laughs even though his lips now cover mine. I wriggle my hands free so I can wind them around his neck. I bury them in his hair. Scrape my nails along his scalp as he kisses me slow and sure.

“Now, come on,” he tells me, drawing back all too soon. “If I have to lie here any longer and smell fresh cinnamon rolls and hazelnut coffee, I’m going to start eating my limbs.”

I grin. “You can eat me instead,” I offer. Selflessly, of course.

Chuckling, he shakes his head and pushes himself off me. He’s hard as stone. I bite my lower lip, letting my eyes drink in the erotic sight of my husband stark naked. “You are a wicked temptress, you know that?”

“I do.” I lever up to my elbows, acutely aware of my tight nipples pointing in his direction. “But apparently not tempting or wicked enough.”

“Oh, trust me, Swan. You are,” he rasps. “I just happen to have tremendous self-control.” After a quick, hard peck, I watch his fine, tight-as-a-running-back ass saunter away. I sigh when he disappears into the bathroom, flopping back. My entire body is throbbing with unfulfilled need.

“Shower, Mavs,” Kael yells from the other room.

“Shower, Mavs,” I mock quietly.

“I heard that, snotty girl.” He pokes his head around the corner and holds out his hand. “How about I offer to wash your back?”

That perks me right up. “Just my back?” I ask, sliding off the soft sheets and making my way toward him. The subway tiles are cold on my feet the second I step from the carpet into the bathroom.

When he presses me against his manly nakedness, he whispers, “Be a good girl and you can get me to do anything for you.”

My skin tingles as chills break out.

“Anything?” I look up into his brilliant brown eyes, a big smile on my face.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, tucking wild hairs behind my ears. It’s a gentle move. One he’s probably done more than a hundred times before, but it feels so different now. At least for me. I’m getting that it’s always meant something more to him. “Anything.”

The way he says that one word is ominous. Foreboding, even. Like he would kill, lie, cheat, and steal for me. “I think you mean that.”

His lips turn slightly before flattening back out. The moment turns from playful to serious in an instant. “I’ve never meant anything more.” Then, the moment passes before I can blink again and he brightens up, all good-natured again.

Less than forty-five minutes and two more orgasms (mine) later, we’re heading down the theatrical stairs. I’m relieved that I don’t feel any cold air or that sense of being invisibly stalked. We wind our way through the grand parlor where two guests sit reading the paper and enjoying their coffee. We politely say good morning, but keep walking.