Impassion (Mystic) (42 page)

“What if I lose the underwear?”

“No, Layla. I like the underwear, and stop trying to tempt me. It won’t work right now.” He ran his palm between her breasts, stopping it on her black and blue ribs. “When you feel better, you can try again, and I promise it will work.”

“How well?”

“What do you mean?”

Her mild blush intensified as she pulled his hand to her left breast, centering his palm over her nipple. “I’m ready, Quin. I see no reason to wait. I love what I’ve found in you, and I want more. I want it all.”

He lowered his lips to her cleavage and breathed deep, filling his senses with her bare and aroused flesh. “I want you to have it all, Layla.”

“You’re not answering my question, Quin.”

He sighed and laid his ear to her heart, listening to its healthy beats. “Not tonight. It’s been a bad day, and you’re going to be sore for a while. I don’t want you feeling anything but pleasure when we make that move.”

Her lungs deflated as her breath swept into his hair, followed by her graceful fingers. “You’re right. I don’t want anything ruining it. I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” he vowed, sliding his hand to her ribs. Then raised his head and gave her a kiss. “Now try to relax and let me heal you.”

She obeyed, and he worked on her for several hours, healing damaged flesh and bone. She fell asleep when he was halfway done, and her peaceful aura soothed him as he continued making her well.

Once the bruises were gone, he floated to her feet and gently ran his hands along every inch of unveiled skin, looking for spots he might have neglected or never knew about. The process took a long time, but he didn’t mind. He’d do anything to make her feel better, and touching her body was a pleasure, not an inconvenience.

Convinced he’d mended her as much as he could, he floated to the spot beside her and eased onto the bed. He laid his hand over her heart. Then he counted its beats while watching her profile.

He loved her more than he ever thought he could love someone. He loved her the way he always wanted to love someone. Now it seemed he was but a breath away from losing her. It had almost happened, in broad daylight, right on the coven’s property. How could he keep it from happening again? One thing was certain, whether she liked it or not, he was on a hiatus from work until she was out of danger. His own life no longer mattered. It was hers that meant everything.

As he analyzed and sorted his emotions, trying to put everything into perspective, he eventually landed on a prominent and dreaded concern. Finley—the wizard who somehow managed to be in all the right places at all the wrong times.

Quin didn’t trust him. Mostly because the guy lacked manners and had an ego the size of Alaska, but Quin couldn’t deny his concern about losing Layla to the twice bonded male. She had no interest in Finley now, but he’d weaseled his way into their community, which would give him plenty of opportunities to win her over. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

Not for one second did Quin believe Finley accidentally stumbled upon his equal. How he managed to discover and locate Layla, Quin didn’t know, but he was sure their meeting on the beach wasn’t an accident. Finley had a plan. He intended to use his unusual status to convince Layla they were made for each other. And if the two of them weren’t as different as night and day, Quin might believe that was the case. They were probably the only twice bonded children on earth, and the fact that they were male and female of the same age was an intriguing coincidence.

Coincidences were rare in the magical world, but it had to be just that. No way was Layla fated to be with Finley, and Quin had faith she’d see that as clearly as he did. She was sweet, happy and humble, while Finley was rude, antagonistic and arrogant. But if Finley preyed on her naiveté and somehow convinced her their union would serve the greater good… well, if Layla was anything, she was good. Her life meant little to her when compared to others.

Her aura swirled faster, so Quin summoned a fresh cup of coffee onto the nightstand and pulled the blankets over her body. She mumbled his name when she stirred, and his heart soared. He’d give anything to keep his name the one on her lips.

She rolled onto her side, finding him with soft palms. Then she smiled and opened her eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she answered.

“Liar,” he accused.

Her smile stretched as she took a moment to focus on her body. “I’m a little achy, but nothing like earlier.” She paused, pressing her fingers to her brow, cheek and jaw. “You’re a miracle worker, Quin. If I hadn’t lived through it, I’d never know these bones were broken.”

She seemed sincere, so he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“I will.”

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Then he lowered the blankets to her hips and trailed a finger down her spine. “How’s this?”

“Perfect,” she approved, nuzzling his pecs.

“Are you cold?” he pressed.

She crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin on them. “Stop fussing over me.”

“No,” he refused, tapping her nose.

“I thought you couldn’t tell me no,” she countered.

“I can when it’s for your own good,” he explained. “Besides, I want to fuss over you. Are you going to tell me no?”

“Maybe,” she answered, moving her arms out of the way. Then she showered his chest in kisses, talking between each sweet caress. “Someday... I’ll be the one who gets to fuss over you... and when you tell me to stop... I’ll look at you and say
no
... And if you argue... I’ll say
it’s your own fault
...
You shouldn’t have told me no that one time
.”

He laughed for the first time since that morning, and it felt wonderful.

“Mmm...” she murmured, kissing closer to his throat. “That’s what I needed—your laugh. It makes me feel much better about life in general.” She buried her face in his neck and kissed his pulse. “This feels fantastic, Quin. It’s exactly what I wanted earlier. Consider your promise fulfilled.”

He stopped tracing her spine and wrapped her in a hug. “No.”

“You’re getting good at telling me no. Should I be worried?”

He smiled into her spirals. “No.”

“You’re starting to sound like a broken record,” she laughed. “I’ll have to come up with a question you’ll say yes to.”

“There are a lot of them, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

She raised her head and grinned. “Does it feel fantastic for you?”

“Yes. It feels perfect.”

She puckered and wiggled her lips. Then her eyes sparkled as she dipped her head and softly nibbled his ear. “How about this?”

“Yes.”

Her lips trailed along his jaw. “And this?”

“Yes.”

She found his mouth and sucked on his bottom lip, smiling when it slipped from her teeth. “And that?”

“Yes.”

She kissed him deeply and for a long time, coming out of it breathless. “And that?”

“Yes,” he assured, grinning hugely.

She laughed as she shook her head. “You’re still a broken record.”

“I’m not broken,” he disagreed. “Not when I’m holding you. When I’m with you, I’m a whole man.”

“I don’t ever want you to be broken,” she whispered.

“Then don’t break me,” he returned, “because you hold all the power.”

“I don’t hold all the power, but I’m confident I have some of it.”

He watched her eyes for a long moment. Then he tucked her head into the crook of his arm and rolled onto his side. “Hey.”

“Hey back.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Quin.”

“And I love that as well. I want us to love each other forever.”

“Sounds like a dream come true,” she approved.

“If it ever changes for you,” he whispered, leaning closer, “or if you feel it slipping away, I want you to tell me, because I’ll do anything to keep you. Anything. If the love can be saved, I’ll save it.”

“You’re talking crazy, Quin. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll agree.”

“It does make me feel better. Thank you.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but was interrupted by Caitrin’s mental voice.

“What’s up?” Layla asked.

Quin finished the silent conversation then focused on her. “Your grandparents want to see you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Will you let me pick up where we’re leaving off?” he asked, drifting his fingers across her breasts.

She grinned as she cuddled closer. “You mean you aren’t going to make me beg?”

“I might,” he teased, “and it would probably shoot my ego through the roof.”

Following three failed attempts and eleven kisses, Quin forced himself out of bed and walked to the closet. He picked out a canary yellow sundress then got her approval before magicking the frock onto her body.

“Yellow looks good on you,” he said, admiring how it matched the joyful rivers in her aura.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I like this shade of yellow. It’s like lemonade and sunshine, a happy color.”

As he listened to her speak and marveled at her beauty, the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. Just like lemonade, she quenched his thirst while making him crave more; and just like sunshine, she was almost too radiant to look at, yet he couldn’t look away as she lit up everything around her. “It is a happy color,” he agreed, “and you wear happiness well.”

She grinned as her aura picked up speed. Then she blushed and looked away. “I don’t want to stay in here. I’d rather visit with them in the living room.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, snapping out of his reverie. “Will you let me carry you?”

“I’d love to let you carry me, but I need to know if I can walk.”

“I guess you do,” he conceded, offering his arm.

She took his bicep then gingerly worked her way off the bed, standing on her left leg first, then her right. After taking a moment to balance, she released his arm and limped toward the door.

He stuck close, and she grinned as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m fine, you know?”

“Yes,” he answered.  “You’re moving great considering what you went through today.”

She halted at the door and turned. “Okay. As long as you know. Now carry me the rest of the way. Not because it hurts, but because I want you to.”

He smiled and gently scooped her off her feet. Then he nuzzled her curls as he carried her down the hall.

Her grandparents showed up mere seconds after she got comfortable on the couch, and though they were thrilled to see her looking so well, Layla could tell the day’s events weighed heavily on them.

After showering her in hugs and kisses, they thanked Quin profusely then announced they were going home. Layla would have argued, but they almost looked their age they were so tired.

“Kemble says you’ll be home tomorrow,” Caitrin noted, looking at Quin from the foyer.

“What?” Layla asked, flipping her gaze around.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Quin told her. “My mind’s made up, and you’re not going to change it.”

“But...”

“No, Layla. This is the way it’s going to be.”

She sighed and looked at Caitrin. “Guess he’ll be here.”

Caitrin smiled and blew her a kiss. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Layla Love, and we’ll miss you tonight.”

“I’ll miss you guys, too,” she returned, smiling at the sweet farewell.

They waved then showed themselves out, and Layla frowned at Quin. “You didn’t tell me you were taking off work.”

“I did,” he countered. “I told you I wasn’t leaving your side. Did you think you’d go to work with me?”

“Of course not. Tagging along would make me feel helpless and immature.”

“Then we’ll stay here,” he decided, lifting her from the couch.

She sighed and cuddled into him. “Someday you’re going to have to get back to your old routine, you know.”

“Nuh-uh, Layla Love. My routine has changed, and that’s fine. I like the new routine much better.”

He carried her to the master bathroom then lowered her feet to the floor. “Meet you in bed?”

“Goody,” she agreed, pulling him down for a kiss. Then she hobbled backward, grinning as she closed the door on him.

When she limped back into the bedroom, Quin lay in bed in a pair of cotton pants, staring at the ceiling, but he quickly sat up. “Do you need help?”

She leaned against the armoire, playing with her hair as she scanned his fine form. “No. Just stay right there and let me look at you.”

“Why don’t you float over here and get a closer look?” he suggested.

“Good idea,” she approved.

She kept her gaze on his torso as she drifted across the room and seated herself beside him. Then she reached for his hard stomach. “You’re a fine specimen of a man, Quin.”

“I like that you think so, but in the magical world, I’m pretty average.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” she challenged, looking from his chest to his face.

He crossed his legs and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her in strong biceps and a bright aura. “I have no intention of proving you wrong.”

Keeping his eyes on hers, he vanished her dress. Then he gave her time to adjust before slowly sweeping his gaze from her head to her toes. “You, however, do not have an average body. Other witches pale next to you.”

“I’m not sure I believe that either,” she whispered, awash with a disconcerting combination of nerves and arousal.

“You don’t have to believe it,” he replied, sliding his hand up her thigh. “Just know your body speaks to me like no one else before you. And these,” he added, lightly tugging on her underwear, “provide an experience that’s both new and incredibly stimulating.”

“What do you mean? They’re just boring, cotton underwear.”

“No,” he disagreed, keeping his eyes on the garment, “they’re definitely not boring.”

“Yes they are. Why would they do anything for you?”

“Because witches don’t wear them.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

He smiled as he found her face. “Witches don’t wear underwear.”

“Ever?”

“Never. I have never been with a woman who wears underwear. It was a pleasant surprise to find yours Sunday night. It turned me on in ways I never dreamed possible.”

Layla recalled the first time she searched her new wardrobe. She hadn’t found any underwear or bras, and Morrigan had seemed amused when Layla mentioned their absence. “Wizards, too?” she asked, remembering Quin hadn’t been wearing anything beneath his shorts the night before.

“Yep,” he answered, “wizards, too. Magicians don’t bother with underclothes.”

“Why not?”

He laughed as he glanced at her panties. “Why do you wear them?”

“I don’t know. I guess because it’s the modest thing to do, and because certain clothes would be uncomfortable without them.”

“We don’t wear uncomfortable clothes,” he countered, “and if we do wear something that would benefit from underclothes, our magic supplies better results than a piece of cloth. Furthermore, witches and wizards aren’t raised to be modest. I’m sure you’ve noticed. We’re open with our feelings, unashamed of our sexuality, and comfortable with our bodies, so we’re unafraid to let others see them.”