Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (30 page)

Suspicion roiled in his belly. “Has it to do with the deer?”

She nodded, looking nervous and like she was hiding something.

“Tell me now,” he demanded.

“Well…,” she began, swallowing hard, “I’ve kind of been feeding without killing. You know, catch and release, so to speak.”

His blood pressure shot to the moon. “You’ve been doing
what
?”

“I thought it more humane and—”

“How many times?”

“Just a few,” she said meekly. “Have I done something terrible?”

Vibration in the pocket of his jeans prevented him from saying something he might regret. He fished out his mobile and, seeing it was Duncan, answered with an exasperated, “Aye, what’s up?”

“I’ve got the pictures,” his friend told him outright. “And Alasdair Sinclair has conveniently forgotten all about what he had. You’re in the clear, mate. So, it’s time to haul your arse back home and carry on with the campaign.”

He talked a little more to Duncan while shooting anxious glances at Vanessa. He couldn’t leave her here to fend for herself, but neither could he force her to come with him.

At the car, she stopped and looked at him, her face etched with apprehension. “I’m sorry.”

He smirked, mindful of her many crimes. “Oh, aye? For which part?”

“For everything. The Jehovah’s Witness, Beau, New Orleans, the whole stupid mess.”

“Are you?” He was as pleased by her apology as he was surprised.

She nodded. “I’ve missed you. A lot.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Something fierce.”

A hush fell between them. He sat there feeling like a dolt, searching for what to say. Finally, finding the words and his courage, he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Her eyes flicked toward him. “That depends.”

When she didn’t go on, he prodded. “On what?”

“You.”

He couldn’t have this discussion without putting his cards on the table. As tempting as it was to keep quiet, he couldn’t ask her to commit without making a full disclosure. In his book, omission was the same as a lie. Deception would quietly eat away at their bond, which was too tenuous already.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, “which you’re not going to like.”

Her lips pursed and her eyes darkened. “That sounds rather ominous.”

“’Tis, I’m afraid.” He licked his lips, gathering his courage. “Remember that female reporter who showed up at my book signing?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I don’t know quite how to put this, so here goes.” He took a breath. “I had sex with her the other day. But that’s all it was, I swear. Nothing more than a cold-hearted fuck.”

He saw her jaw tighten, her mouth compress, her eyes narrow. Fear slithered through him like a poisonous snake. He felt compelled to say something, to explain himself, to beg her forgiveness, but he couldn’t seem to find the words.

Meanwhile, she just stood there staring at him, her body tense and her expression pinched.

Finally, he found his voice. “Please say something, Vanessa.”

“Why?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Why did you fuck her?”

“Aye, well.” He licked his lips and rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs. “Because she was there.”

She flinched like he’d raised his hand to her, yet remained stonily silent.

He chewed his lower lip and wrung his hands. Would she end things with him? Cut her out of his life over one small infraction?

Regret wrung his heart. He should have kept his sins to himself, should have known she’d react this way. Aquarians were as paradoxical in love as in everything else. Why did he not see sooner what was going on with her? The reason she didn’t get in touch wasn’t because she didn’t care, it was because she cared too much. Deep down, she feared her desire for him would imprison her spirit; that staying with him was akin to cheating on her one true love: her freedom.

And now, because he’d failed to see through her mysterious Aquarian veil, he’d been unfaithful—the one thing a Uranus-ruled woman couldn’t tolerate.

“Have I ruined everything?”

He forced the words and, with breath bated, awaited her answer.

She looked away from his angstful gaze. “Beau told me what you were like, but I didn’t believe him.”

He swallowed with difficulty, afraid to ask the question whose answer he dreaded. “Do you...believe him now?”

“No.”

Though her answer was unexpected, he remained on tenterhooks. She must have more to say on the subject, another shoe to drop. He waited for her to go on, stomaching churning, fear gnawing.

“I trust my own observations more than gossip,” she said at last, returning her gaze to his. “And from what I’ve observed, you’re a good man. I’m willing to forget this, and accept part of the blame, if you give me your solemn vow it will never happen again.”

“I swear it,” he said. “On everything I hold sacred.” Relief washed over him, but so did something else. Clarity. She had demanded a pledge of fealty. Monogamy, which must mean she was ready to commit. She just had, in fact, in her own noncommittal way.

His heart sprouted wings and took flight. “If it helps, I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

The cold detachment in her tone surprised him, given what she’d just said. Typical paradoxical Aquarian. At least he could say this: she would never bore him. Holding his tongue, he waited for her to go on.

“I know I have no right to feel wronged,” she said with tears in her eyes, “but since when is the heart a rational organ?”

She got into the car on the driver’s side. Not sure what to do, he got in, too. She didn’t start the engine. She just sat there in silence until he could bear it no longer. She might be a textbook Aquarian, but he was the opposite. If he was willing to accommodate her contradictory nature, she’d have to put up with his Leo tendencies, too.

“I have tried, lass,” he said thickly, but with conviction. “To love you the way you want me to. With an open hand and all that. But, well…the thing is, I can only love the way I love.”

“Oh?” She met his gaze. “And what way is that?”

“With the heart of a lion.”

* * * *

Vanessa sighed and started the engine. Callum was right. If this was going to work, they had to accept who the other was. Reaching out, she touched his cropped hair. She’d warned him not to try to change her and in return, she’d changed him. Now, like Delilah, she’d robbed herself of her Sampson’s full glory. She’d also lost her job. Not that she wanted to keep it. What she wanted was to be with her lion. She might not be as romantic as he was, but she did have a heart, which now belonged wholly to him.

“Come on,” she said, pulling onto the road. “Let’s go home.”

She said nothing more on the drive back to the house. She was too busy analyzing her feelings to attempt conversation. She wasn’t angry. Hurt, maybe; jealous, definitely, but she could hardly take him to task for screwing somebody else when she was the one who’d left him behind. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked her to stay…or warned her what would happen if she didn’t. Plus, she’d more or less done the same thing herself.

Arriving back at the house, she pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and got out of the car. He followed her into the house, across the front room, and down the hall. The bedroom door was ajar. She pushed through it, tossed her handbag on the dresser, and perched on the foot of the bed.

Sitting beside her, he took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and kissed her cheek. What he said next was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Put on one of those outfits I bought you in Wick. With a pair of stockings and high-heels.”

She hesitated. Was she ready to forgive him? Ready to have make-up sex? She’d just killed someone, just learned the man she loved had cheated on her. Well, no. That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t cheated because he’d never agreed to be faithful in the first place.

Even so, she should have felt something akin to remorse and self-disgust. Over what she’d done to her neighbor at the very least. So, why didn’t she? She wasn’t heartless. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. That woman didn’t deserve to die. She had been annoying, yes, but that was hardly a capital offense.

Then, she realized. Another part of her had killed that woman. The same part that had attacked Beau Armstrong. A dark, animal part that didn’t have a human sense of right and wrong, didn’t give two hoots about laws or consequences. That part was feral; it lived by the laws of nature. Kill or be killed. Kill to survive. Killing came as naturally as breathing, sleeping, and mating. Animals didn’t feel guilt, regret, or self-loathing. Animals didn’t feel ashamed of following their instincts.

Kill, eat, fuck was the mantra of the jungle. And now, it was her mantra, too.

As she got up, she lifted Callum’s hand to her lips. Their eyes met. His smoldered with the same desire she felt for him. A smile stole across her mouth. Kill, eat, fuck. Animal instinct was uncomplicated. Animal instinct was easy. No thinking, no feeling, just acting on impulse, on natural desire.

The window was open. A warm breeze brought the scent of jasmine to her nose. She could smell him, too. All pleasant herbs, salty sweat, and masculine musk. The hairs on her arms prickled. Her sex tingled warmly and her nipples felt tenderly alert. Letting go of his hand, she crossed to the dresser and pulled out the bits and bobs of the Little Bo Peep ensemble.

Though her back was to him, she could feel the heat of his gaze. She peeled off her sundress like she was doing a strip-tease. What the hell? Why not milk the moment for all it was worth. Little by little, she let the dress slip down her body until it pooled on the floor at her feet. The noise he made at the sight of her in just her bra and knickers shot a thrill straight to her clit.

Keeping her back to him, she peeled off the last bits and tossed them over her shoulder. A backward glance told her he’d not only caught them, but was sniffing her knickers. Smiling, she fastened the corset, hooked the garter belt around her waist, and bent to slip on the frilly crinoline. She jumped when she felt his hand slip between her legs. With a laugh, she swatted it away.

“Look but don’t touch.”

Returning to the dresser, she pulled out a pair of stockings. Black with lace tops and a seam down the back. She let them float on the air as she back-stepped toward the bed. Sitting beside him, she gathered one delicate tube down to the toe before slipping it over her foot. As she unfurled the silk up her outstretched leg, she heard his breath catch. With a smile playing on her lips, she pulled the second stocking on in a similar fashion before fastening the dangling clips. When she stood and started toward the closet, he seized her by the hips and pulled her back, onto his lap.

He bent her backward, pressed his lips against her décolletage and slipped a hand between her legs. His fingers foraged for a moment before plunging inside her. She gasped with surprise and pleasure. He moved his fingers in, out, and around as he caressed her cleavage with lips and tongue. She melted into him, swiping her own needful hands at his shirt.

“Take it off,” she pleaded, her voice strained. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”

He ran the hand on her sex down her stockinged legs. “Go put on the shoes you wore to the book signing.”

Knowing which pair he meant, she climbed off his lap, hurried to the closet, and stepped into the shoes he’d requested. Returning to the bed, she found him stretched out, hands behind his head on the pillows, still dressed. As she approached, his golden gaze, ablaze with desire, swept over her.

“Come, my bonny butterfly.” His beckoning arms and beguiling smile turned up her thermostat. “Alight on your lion.”

She got onto the bed on all fours, crawled to where he lay, and straddled his pelvis. He let out a breath, but didn’t move. She reached to the top button of his shirt and eased it out of the hole before moving to the next one and the next. He watched this ritual with scorching intensity, but neither moved nor spoke.

She slipped her hands inside his shirt, hungry for the feel of bare skin and the hard plains of his chest. She stroked his hair and teased his nipples until they aroused. He made a sound low in his throat and rolled his pelvis under her weight.

“What are you thinking?”

“Only how beautiful you are and how good you feel.”

Fighting a smile, she bent over him, pressed her breasts against his chest, and nipped at his lower lip. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered against his mouth, and then kissed him so deeply it was all she could do to keep breathing.

As their tongues entwined, he pulled his hands from under his head and ran them down her back and over her bum before snapping both her garters. Tickled by his playfulness, she dropped a little laugh into his mouth before pulling away. She slid down him, raking his chest with her fingers as she went. Stopping on his thighs, she unfastened his trousers, freeing his erection. Her fingers danced over its length. She hadn’t fellated him yet, wasn’t sure she could, but was determined to try.

Sliding farther down his legs, she bent over and ran her tongue down his shaft and around his balls, gently suckling each one in turn. He squirmed under her and made a pleased sound—part groan, part gasp. She licked and flicked until his cock glistened with her saliva, and then blew on his damp skin, up and down his length and around the swollen bell. He shivered and made another carnal noise that threw fuel on the flames in her sex.