Powerful Magic (5 page)

          
Though a large man, this Kenric didn't hurt her or crush her small body to his massive chest.
 
Rather he kissed her with a desperate sort of possession, the heat of which she could not fail to answer.
 

          
She had never felt such passion from a man.
 
Certainly not from Roger, whose kisses were more the chaste, brotherly sort.

          
Her knees went weak and, of their own accord, her arms wound up around Kenric's neck, her hands tangling in his thick mane of chestnut hair.

          
He was beautiful, she had to admit, and so totally male.
 
And she, after all, was female, dreaming or otherwise.
 
It felt good to let her body melt in to his rock hard chest, good to feel the restraint in his huge, muscled arms as he held her.

          
Though they were alone, she wasn’t afraid, even as he deepened the kiss and his breathing quickened.
 
Even as she felt his arousal, swollen hard against her belly.
 

          
It was he who pulled away, wearing a stunned look on his handsome face.
 
Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he glared at her.
 
Equally stunned, Megan stared back.

          
With deliberate care, he reached down for the blanket and handed it back to her.
 

          
"Cover yourself, woman."
 
His voice sounded gruff, strained.
 
"I will not lie with you, despite your brazen display."

          
Startled, she flashed him a look.
 
Did he really think
she
meant to seduce
him
?

          
"Take it."
 
He ordered, thrusting it at her.

          
With clumsy haste she did as he bid her, her fingers colliding with his big hand as she snatched the blanket from his grip.

          
Outside, the wind hissed and moaned.
 
Save for a few feet at the top, the entire entrance to the cave was blocked with snow.
 
Their small fire still burned, though it sputtered and sparked.

          
But she wasn’t cold, not at all, not now.
 
From one kiss, one earth shattering, wonderful kiss, her entire body felt on fire.

          
Who was this man?
 
Why did he affect her this way?

          
"You are betrothed."
 
His deep voice, harsh and emotionless, broke the silence.
 

          
Because technically this was true; she hadn't had time to break things off with Roger before the lightening had hit her, Megan did not contradict him.
 
Instead, she looked away, recognizing the condemnation in his statement and wishing she knew what the hell was going on.
 
Was she dreaming or not?

          
"And you?"

          
"I?"
 
His dark eyes narrowed, making her wonder if she'd stepped over some invisible line.
 
Still, he'd been the one to kiss her, not the other way around, and she supposed she had a right to know.

          
"Yes you. Are you betrothed or," she stumbled over the strange word, "married?"

          
He laughed at that, a bitter sound so utterly devoid of humor that she shivered.
 
"I am alone."
 
He told her.
 

          
The wind, finding some hole somewhere by which to enter, shrieked through the cave as if in agreement.
 
The fire sputtered, danced madly, and nearly went out.

          
"What a strange way to put it."
 
She mused, shivering.
 
"What about your family?"

          
The silence stretched on so long she wondered if he meant to ignore the question.
 

          
When he finally answered, his words were as bleak as the winter landscape outside.
 
"My family is dead.
 
All of them."

          
Stunned, Megan didn't know what to say.
 
"I'm... sorry."

          
But he had turned back to the fire and if he heard her he gave no sign.
 

          
Her stomach growled, reminding her that all she'd eaten had been a cereal bar that morning.
 
She'd been so worried and afraid about breaking up with Roger that she hadn't been able to eat much for days.
 

          
Roger terrified her.
 
It had come slowly at first, the small slights, the put-downs, the sneers.
 
When he'd begun hurting her, she'd slid into a kind of meek acceptance.
 

          
But recently she'd begun to realize she might be in even more grave danger.
 
He'd begun pestering her to change her will.
 
Then she knew she had to end things.
 
Whatever Roger felt for her, Megan knew it wasn't love.

          
Now here she stood, feeling like she was starring in some old episode of The Twilight Zone, with a man who looked like Conan the Barbarian.
 
Freezing her heinie off.

          
Despite the increasing weirdness of her situation, the thought made her smile.
 
Maybe she really was dreaming.
 
That would explain the change of season and the reason she'd responded so strongly to the kiss of a stranger.

          
A gorgeous stranger, she reminded herself, but a stranger nonetheless.

          
If it were a dream - and really, what other explanation could there be - she ought to enjoy it.
 
Obviously, her subconscious had conjured up this hunk because he was exactly what she needed at this point in her life.
 
He was nothing, she let herself eye him up and down, nothing whatsoever like Roger.

          
Thank God.

          
And until she woke up - if she woke up - and had to face her fiance's furious face, she might as well have a little fun.
 
At the very least, this big warrior would keep her warm.

          
Bold thoughts for a coward.
 
The plain truth of the matter was that Kenric of Blackston's kiss had left her hungry for more.
 

          
Still, trying to plot out one's own fantasy might be

easier thought of than done.
 
This man, this warrior was one intimidating specimen.
 
He had made it perfectly obvious he thought her slightly unbalanced, if not downright insane.
 

          
But she'd seen the hot look in his eyes as he'd perused her body, felt his arousal when he'd kissed her.
 
Her own body tingled, her heart beat faster when she thought of it.
 
She'd never felt like that before.
 
She wanted to feel that way again.
 

          
If this wasn't a dream - and really, what else could it be - she was in trouble.
 
Megan Potter, twenty-eight year old heiress and straitlaced socialite, desired a man who dressed in clothes more suited for some sort of playacting group, whose hair was longer than her own, and of whom she knew next to nothing.

          
But she had been engaged to Roger for nearly three years and he'd never, ever made her hunger for a kiss as this man had.

          
Working up her courage, she moved closer.

          
His shaggy head came up, his expression fierce and wary as he eyed her.
 
"What do you want?"

          
Now or never.
 

          
"I want you to hold me."
 
She managed to say in a strangled whisper, feeling her face heat.

          
Disbelief flashed across his rugged face.
 
Then slowly, his gaze darkened and she saw the fire of passion heat his glittering eyes.

          
"Woman, be careful how you tempt me."
 
He growled.
 
"I have already told you--"

          
"No."
 
Still blushing furiously, she struggled to find words to explain.
 
Or an excuse.
 
"It's cold."

          
"Cold?"
 

          
Like he hadn't noticed.
 
Megan sighed.
 
"I thought

maybe..."
 
Heaven help her, she couldn't do it, even if this

was
a dream.
 
"Never mind."

          
"You thought perhaps the heat from my body would warm you?"

          
Miserable now, she shot him a look from beneath her lashes.
 
As dreams went, this wasn't going exactly like she'd like.
 
By now he should have swept her up in his muscular arms and kissed away any lingering doubts.
 
Instead, he stood there glowering at her like she'd somehow insulted him.

          
"I said never mind."
 
Turning her back to him, she shivered and held her hands out to the fire.
 
She didn't remember ever being this uncomfortable in a dream either.

          
At precisely that moment an icy wind gusted through the cave opening, dumping wet snow on the small fire and putting it out.
 

          
"Perfect."
 
Megan muttered.
 
"Okay, that's it.
 
I've had enough.
 
Dream's over.
 
It's time to wake up."

          
From behind her, she heard a muffled curse.
 

          
"Stop this foolishness."
 
His gravely voice sounded weary.
 
"We must make another fire, here in the back of the cave."

          
"But the smoke-"

          
"Breathing smoke is better than freezing to death."

          
To confirm his words, another icy draft whistled around the cave.
 

          
If he could pretend that she hadn't made a fool out of herself, so could she.
 
Bowing her head, shivering so hard she could barely control her hands, she went to his stack and immediately grabbed up as much dry kindling as she could carry.
 

 
         
"Where do you want it?"

          
"There."
 

          
She could have sworn amusement flickered across his harsh features before he turned away to get more wood.

          
"Now what?"
 
She didn't have a lighter, or even a match.
 
And she'd never been a girl scout, so she had no idea how he meant to start another fire.

          
Ignoring her, he reached into a pouch and pulled out some sort of stone and scratched it on another.
 
From a spark he coaxed another; before too long a small fire sputtered to life. Of course he would know how to start a fire.
 
And she'd lay bets that he'd never been a boy scout either.

          
"Warm yourself.
 
Then we will eat.
 
I have bread and cheese."

          
Great.
 
Now all that was missing was a jug of wine.
 
Some dream, she thought with disgust.
 
At least she could have conjured up a lobster or even a thick, juicy steak.