Kindling the Moon (31 page)

“Uh-huh. No wonder you got booted. That makes more sense now.”

He motioned toward the floor beside him. “I found another blanket.”

Not a scratchy one, much to my relief. I draped it over my shoulders. He politely kept his eyes down, so I shimmied out of the wet towel beneath it. Much better. I kicked away the towel and plopped down on the cushion next to him.

“They took my deflector charm,” I said.

“I'm sorry. I might be able to get it back for you later.”

I nodded, but we both knew it meant that I was now open to magical attack. At least Jupe was far away from me right now, safe at home; I wondered if Lon was thinking the same thing.

“So,” I said. “Are you mad at me again?”

He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. “Should I be?”

“I thought you might be because of what started all this. The incubus incident.”

His face relaxed. “That sounds like a bad movie, and no. But what happened?”

I drew my knees up to my chest under the blanket. “I have no idea.” I explained the strange event as best I could and he was equally puzzled.

“Maybe something in that particular room?” he suggested.

“Like a vein of alien metal running through the walls? Some sort of antikryptonite?”

He shrugged. “Vermilion? Or maybe gypsum?”

“No, that wouldn't be it.”

“Some other kind, a magical moon rock for the Moon-girl?”

“Moonchild, not Moongirl.” I propped my forearms on my knees and rested my chin on them. “I definitely think I
should
be concerned, but at this point, I don't have the strength to care anymore. My life is in total disarray. I don't know whether I'm coming or going.” I lazily watched the gas flames lick at the ceramic logs. “I'm just glad you're not angry.”

“If anyone's to blame for tonight, it's me, for hauling you over to that damn place. I should've just gone by myself like I originally planned.”

I sniffled and wiped my nose as the fire loosened my sinuses. “Why
did
you bring me?”

It took him a while to answer, but I didn't rush him. “I wanted to know how you'd react to me transmutating. And, more selfishly, I wanted to experience you from that perspective.”

Embarrassment flared through me as I remembered all the random thoughts he overheard.

“Stop. It was … nice.”

I scrunched up my face and turned to look at him. “Nice, huh?” It was his favorite word.

“I liked the way you saw me.” His eyes darted toward mine as he stretched out his legs until his toes peeked out from the edge of the blanket. “Yvonne never saw me that way.”

“I'm sorry.”

He grunted and shook his head once, as if it was of little consequence. “As much as she keeps coming up, I want you to know that I
am
over her. If it weren't for Jupe—well, it's just harder to work through issues with him in the picture.” His toes curled and flexed several times in succession.

“But, you know what?” he said. “Every shitty thing she ever put me through, all the grief … I would endure it all over again just to have him. He's the most important thing in my life and I wouldn't give him up for anything.”

I smiled at him. “Don't blame you one bit.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?” I asked.

“You really aren't bothered at all that I have a kid.”

“Why would I be?”

“Most women try to be gracious about it, but they see Jupe as baggage. You don't.”

A crack of blue-white lightning illuminated the windows outside, followed seconds later by a roaring boom that rattled the windowpanes. We both started, then relaxed. “I'll admit that I was kinda freaked out by the notion of you having a kid that
old
at first. When I met him, though … well, he's pretty easy to love, isn't he?”

Lon smiled. “Is he? I don't think anyone's ever said that about him. He'd be pleased.”

“Don't you dare tell him I said it or he'll use it against me. What a manipulator! Maybe he got that from you, huh?” I grinned, elbowing him, and we both laughed.

I propped my chin back on my forearms. I was finally thawed out. My face was even starting to get a little warm.

“What about me?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I … easy?”

A bold question, considering the amount of time we'd known each other. I laid my cheek on my arm to look at him. I thought he might be teasing me, but I wasn't sure, so I answered honestly. “Not exactly.”

Considering my answer with the barest suggestion of amusement on his lips, he drew his legs up to his chest, mimicking my posture. The flames from our less-than-romantic fire cavorted across his face, deepening the long hollows of his cheeks and darkening his tight eyes. He made a small noise, then spoke again. “When I've said that I ‘sense' someone's feelings with my ability, that's not really accurate.”

“Oh?”

“Especially when I'm touching someone. It's more like I
feel
what they feel. I experience their emotions as if they were my own. But when I'm not transmutated, I can't read their thoughts, so it's like solving a puzzle; I have to figure out what caused the emotion.”

“Like a blindfold taste test,” I suggested.

“In a way, yes. It's like someone has blindfolded me, stuck a piece of raw fish in my mouth, and I have to figure out whether it's salmon or toro.”

“I think I could tell. Toro is way better.” I grinned at him, and he extended his foot to gently kick me.

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. “Remember when I shook your hand? When Father Carrow introduced us?”

I nodded in affirmation. “When I meet someone, I feel their first impressions of me. I call it listening, but I suppose we could call it tasting, like you said. And everyone tastes different.” He poked a finger through his blanket to scratch his cheek. “When I met you, well, I knew there could be something between us.”

“Hmph. That's probably just because you saw me in my underwear that first night,” I teased.

“That was just a bonus.” He grinned. “What I meant is that there could be something more between us than just me wanting to jump in bed with you.”

Huh. Okay. Not exactly poetic, but his words made me smile.

“Have you been serious about anyone in the past?” he asked.

“Not until recently. It's always been difficult. Last year, I saw someone for several months, but I broke it off because it got to the point where it either had to go forward or stop. I couldn't tell him who I really was, and I couldn't keep lying.”

He shifted under his blanket. “But you don't have to lie to me.”

“No … no, I don't.” Not much of a choice in that; but I guess I really didn't mind too much, and he probably knew that.

A long moment stretched as we sat together in silence, staring at the fire. His eyes fell on me now and then, but he didn't say anything. Then a detail of what he'd said shifted around in my head. It wouldn't go away, and I became self-conscious that we were both sitting there naked, with nothing between us but a couple of ratty blankets.

His lips curled into a slow smile.

I groaned in annoyance, then gave up trying to hide anything. What was the point?

“So you
don't
think I'm too young?” I challenged.

“That depends. Do you think I'm too old?”

“Like you told me before, you're not a ‘fucking grandfather' or anything.”

He chuckled.

My blanket had dipped down my back, so I rocked forward onto my knees to pull up the slack and tug it over my shoulders.

“Are you on birth control?”

I froze, kneeling in front of the hearth. Several seconds ticked by before I answered.

“I am. Is that your idea of seduction? Because if it is …” I turned in place to face him.

He rose up on his knees and waited for me to finish, a merry glint in his eye.

“Because if it is,” I repeated in a softer voice, “you kinda suck.”

His head bobbed up and down in resignation. Clearly he agreed with my summation, but felt powerless to do anything about it.

“Do you trust me?” he murmured.

“Should I?”

He nodded. “And I trust you. Are you still cold?”

“No …”

“Then drop your blanket. I want to see you.”

I squinted, heart on a roller coaster headed up an incline. “Nope. You first.”

Frankly, I didn't expect him to consent so fast. The blanket fell around him, and there he was, on his knees, proudly on display in front of me without a stitch of clothing.

I looked him over as slowly as I could manage, appreciating the beautiful intricacies of bones and muscles, the angle of the scar over his ribs … using every ounce of willpower I could muster not to follow the golden line of hair on his chest all the way down. But, half a second later, when my eyes disobeyed me, my lips parted. I began breathing hard through my mouth. My belly tightened.

“Hmm?” he inquired, one brow arched.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Then I let my own blanket puddle around me.

Damp, uncombed hair … no makeup, no flattering lingerie. For the tiniest fraction of a second, insecurity raced through my brain carrying a small sign that read
Supermodel ex-wife—what are you thinking?
But the sign began fading as he gaped at me … and when I became plainly aware of the physical effect I had on him, the sign disappeared in a poof.

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” he said huskily. His half-lidded eyes roamed without inhibition.

A soft chuckle buzzed in the back of my throat. “Jesus-fuckingchrist yourself.”

We locked gazes, and in one sweeping movement, we both lunged forward.

His mouth was hot and welcoming. A flood of chills ran down my arms and bloomed through my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and tasted salt water on his skin, while his open palms skimmed over my neck and shoulders, down the length of my back. Slowly, with adoration. His hands lingered over the curves of my hips, then grabbed my ass with great enthusiasm, pulling me against him. He felt fantastic.

We broke apart just enough for a rush of cool air to glide over my now-exposed skin. His hands competed with mine for occupation of the slender space between us. We managed a compromise: his on my breasts … mine lower. He groaned when my fingers circled him. He was heavy and thick, and I wasn't sure whether his age was a factor, but he felt more like a man to me than anyone else I'd touched. My body turned cartwheels in anticipation.

Liquid and on fire, I placed my hands on his chest and forced him back against the cushion. He leaned back on his elbows, half lying, half sitting. As I crawled across his hips, he reached forward with one hand to slip several searching fingers between my legs.

I impatiently pushed his hand away and continued on to my goal. He aided my cause by unabashedly holding himself rigid as I reached for an anchor, clasping both hands around the back of his neck. Heads bowed together, his pirate mustache tickling my cheek, silver halo mingling with gold, we both watched as I slowly slid down upon him.

Neither of us drew a breath during the first shallow stroke. But as my body accommodated him, I broke the silence with a gasp. He pulled his head back, and grass-green eyes peered at me through narrowed slits. “Goddamn,” he murmured reverently.

As we settled into a rhythm, he continued speaking to me in a hushed, urgent voice. A stream of whispered sentiments, instructions, and praise spilled from his lips—some tender, others downright crude and filthy. He'd never been so chatty. Surprised by the unexpected intimacy, I listened carefully to each word, answering his questions between metered breaths as he thrummed his fingers across every inch of my skin within his reach.

Halfway through, he staged a coup and pried me off. I protested weakly until I found myself on my back, him above, his weight resting on his forearms. My legs fell open around his hips as he plunged into me, over and over, with ardent zeal.

Drunk with lust, mouth open, my teeth gripped the side of his neck. Lightly at first. But the harder I bit, the faster he labored. When I tasted copper, I eased up, but he begged in a rough whisper, “Don't stop.” I repeated the plea to him in turn with an urgent arching of my hips; we both got what we wanted.

“Arcadia …” He groaned in desperation as he slipped a hand between us to ensure victory. I knew he couldn't last much longer; it didn't matter, because I was already there.
Straining against him, I shook uncontrollably, crying out. His head reared back, then he joined me, releasing into my body with abandon while I spasmed beneath him.

As my tremors calmed, he slumped in exhaustion, then rolled us to our sides and clung to me like death. “Jesus,” he said between breaths, “
Je
-sus.”

Amen to that.

After a long moment, he made a low, satiated noise in the back of his throat, then kissed my forehead. “
Et in Arcadia ego
,” he murmured with a crooked grin.

I laughed in surprise. “I don't think that's what that phrase means.”

He grunted, cracking one eye open. “It does now.”

Though spent, I suddenly thought of a hundred things I wanted to tell him all at once. “Lon—”

“Shh, hush now.” He ran a tender hand over my hair, holding me firmly against him. “I'm trying to listen to you.”

I buried my face in his neck and didn't say another word.

I was groggy; Lon's twitching woke me. It took me three panicked heartbeats to realize where I was. Head nestled on his shoulder, I'd dozed off in the small cottage bed, with one leg slung over his hips, staking a stubborn claim on my newly won territory. He was still asleep. Droplets of sweat hung on his forehead and matted his hair.

I tried not to wake him as I lifted my head to glance at the hands of the tiny battery-run alarm clock on the bedside table. Six thirty.
We should be leaving soon
, I thought with a reluctant, silent whimper. Leaving, as in trudging several miles back down the beach to get his car, after only bits and pieces of sleep. Worse, leaving behind the safety and comfort of the tiny cottage that had provided me hours of pleasure and
joy … maybe more than I'd ever allowed myself. Certainly more than I'd ever been offered.