The Matchmaker's Mark (29 page)

"Your world." She shoved at him again. "This is my world. My home. I like it and want to stay on this side. Your house needs you and – "

"An infusion of magic," he finished for her. "That's all, just an infusion of magic." He reached for a leaf still caught in his laces. "I've already testified that your magic is strong enough."

"What about the Matchmaker?"

"Camille?" The formal inquiry had relieved him of responsibility and specifically forbidden him to go looking for her.

"No. Amy. Didn't she mark you or whatever she does to see your mate?"

"I didn't let her." He was inordinately pleased when that brought her up short. "She offered. I said it didn't matter." He caught her hands, held them. "My heart is with you. I don't need a mark to prove it."

"Good." She glanced at her inner wrist. "This isn't a matchmaker's mark." She twisted her hand free, turning her inner arm to the light. "But it is a mark of power. I haven't learned all of it yet."

But he could tell she'd been using what she did understand. "So if you're not waiting for the match to the mark, what keeps you from being with me?"

He let his hands cruise up and over her shoulders, and down her back to rest on her hips. The resulting hitch in her breathing pleased him. It was better if she didn't think, better if she could just feel.

Moving slowly, he bent his head until his lips just grazed hers. Slower still he eased into the kiss, until he thought his patience would snap before she kissed him back. He gave in to the wonder of her soft lips and questing tongue.

His hands laid claim and fitted her closer to him. They were perfect. She had to see it, to own it, to embrace it as he did.

He would be lost if she didn't.

Lily felt her common sense slipping away with every bold stroke of his tongue against hers. She couldn't recall any shred of her several intelligent arguments against being with Dare.

It was a wonder…but he had to let her go. No, that wasn't quite right. She had to let him go.

But instead of stepping back, she let him draw her in, let herself melt into his strength.

She went soft against all of his solid muscle. Her heart thudded erratically, as if tripping and rushing to match the steady beat of his.

Her hands mapped his body and she resented the rude barriers of clothing. "I want you," she whispered as her head fell back, giving him full access to her sensitive throat.

He bowed her back, searing her skin with hot kisses, and – yes! – he closed his wonderful mouth over her needy nipple. The fabric was an erotic tool he applied expertly as he suckled and nipped and sent her flying toward an orgasm.

Then his mouth was gone and he blew a soft breath across damp fabric and heated skin. She shivered as goose bumps erupted in waves and shamelessly rubbed herself against him to get warm.

Except she was far beyond warm, and not quite hot enough to be satisfied. Craving him, she pushed and tugged until his torso was bare and she could nip at all that gold-tinted skin. He groaned, and she reveled in the knowledge that she was the cause.

It was glorious to have power. And only fair as he surrounded her, dominating her senses. His big hands cupped her bottom and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding her core against his straining erection.

She nearly came apart right there, but he eased her away, his touch alternately soothing and teasing.

"Dare?" He was moving, setting her away from him. What the hell? He situated her in the arm chair and she worried he'd try to start another conversation when she could barely remember her name.

Kneeling in front of her, he reached for her boxers, tugging them down her hips and away. Tenderly, he raised her legs over the arms of the chair, exposing her completely to his hungry gaze. Quivering with anticipation, she reached out, but magic cuffed her hands over her head.

"Dare?"

"Shhh," he murmured against her ankle. She couldn't quite relax as his mouth traveled over her skin. He paused at her knee, tickling her with lips and teeth and tongue until she squealed and tried to squirm away.

He moved on, up over her thigh, his voice humming soft compliments against her skin, her blood humming just beneath the surface.

It was unbearable. She hoped he'd never stop. When his mouth found her – hot and ready for him – it was a moment of such bright sensation. His hands lifted her closer to him, giving him full access. He drove her to a fast climax, then nuzzled her gently as she floated on the peak so she was arching again, begging for more before she'd even caught her breath.

He whispered endearments or encouragement, she couldn't tell which as they tickled equally. She reached for him, but her hands were still pinned by his magic. "I need you," she gasped. "Inside. Me."

She was spent and sprawled wide and aching for him, and he sat back, staring at her.

"I need you." His palms coasted over her legs, thigh to ankle, over and over.

It should have soothed, but it only fanned the flames. There was something in his eyes, something she was afraid of wanting too much.

She looked away, frightened. Dare wasn't forever, no matter what nonsense he spouted.

"Please?" She needed his body, would bet anything he was aching too.

"Please?" he echoed, but she heard so much more than this moment in his request.

It made no sense to her, but nothing other than him, his body, would make sense right now. She nodded, afraid to contemplate how he'd interpret the move.

"Tell me what you want."

Oh, no. He was playing hard ball, but she wanted him too much to be shy or smart. Biting her lip, her hands still pinned, her legs so rubbery from the pose and his intimate attentions she didn't trust herself to stand. "Undress."

She should've said please. Polite, proper Lily would have said please, but the Lily currently sprawled across a chair, eager for another orgasm, didn't care much about polite.

Especially as Dare's lean, carved body was revealed in all its glory. Instinctively, she reached for him, pleased to discover her hands were freed. She indulged herself, wallowed in the feel of his warm skin over taut muscles. With a wicked glance, she tugged on his hands, urged him back to his knees. "Better," she said pulling him closer so his erection rubbed against her aching core. Cradling his jaw, she bowed up, pressing all of herself – lips, breasts, legs – to all of him.

It was perfect, or nearly so. Reaching down, she guided the hard length of him inside, sighing with the sheer, full joy of him. Just Dare, right where she needed him. Tomorrow didn't matter, only now.

He started to move, so slowly, thrusting inside her so deeply, she hooked her legs around his hips and hung on while he set a devastating pace.

They were one body, one heartbeat, one breath. She gave herself to him like an offering, accepting his body as the same.

It was beautiful. It was terrifying. Then it was beyond any thought or description as he drove them both into a sparkling abyss.

~*~

Dare was involved in a deep study of the perfection of her ear as Lily slept in his arms.

He'd carried her to her bedroom as soon as the feeling had returned to his legs. She'd slept so soundly, but he'd only dozed, afraid of missing a moment with her.

He was so happy, and still so afraid she didn't understand or return his feelings. He thought back to the sly look on her face when she commanded him. To the pure pleasure when she'd broken through his magic.

Did she understand she'd done that? That he hadn't just let her go?

How was he supposed to win the girl, as Amy put it, if she didn't appreciate the nature of her talent?

And when she did understand, understood she could have anyone, would she still want to be saddled with him?

He drew back to trace her ear once more. It wasn't pointed at all, just a delicate curve of perfection. God, he was lost to this woman, which brought him right back to deciding the best way to convince her to keep him.

~*~

Amy knew better, but when she returned from the edge of the elf realm, she insisted on seeing Maeve. Guilt or friendship, a visit was in order. Mac had grumbled, but she nagged him into submission.

Envious of Guinness snoozing belly-up on Lily's small couch, she nervously paced the length of the sitting room. She might as well label it correctly: paranoia. She, Guinness, Mac and the book would relocate as soon as she spoke with her best friend. And Lily's shop, rooted in magic, was the only safe setting.

Since meeting with the wood elf Royals, she couldn't seem to prevent the affect she had on humans. The lovesick gazes were bad enough, the public displays of affection were worse. It upset her to think her 'magic' might even derail current, healthy relationships.

Trying to settle while she waited for Maeve, she turned again to her study of the Clan Campbell. She made detailed notes of her mother's ancestry where legends had her female predecessors intersecting with other notable people along the way.

The Campbell name was common enough, and boasted a far reaching family tree, but she'd learned the key names and places from her grandmother's stories that prevented too many tangential searches.

So far her favorite was a story of a Campbell witch called on to toss out a prophecy on a band of thieves. This Campbell woman had warned the thieves, but they chose to interpret her words as nonsense. To their own detriment.

Amy leaned back, frowning. That was the thing about prophecies, they were so very easy to manipulate for anyone's agenda. She hadn't found any specific prophecies about Campbell women, but she'd found plenty of references to the power and influence they wielded. Now, if she could just figure out how to use the past to brace herself for the future.

A soft rap sounded on the door downstairs and Amy jumped up, eager to see Maeve. She heard Lily greet Maeve, and Guinness rolled off the couch to wait for her at the stairs. For hormonal security, the men had offered to vacate the premises for the afternoon.

Guinness squeezed between them as she gave Maeve a big hug. "Thanks for coming."

"I should be mad at you."

"You should." Amy nodded. "And I understand if you are. But thanks for showing up anyway. It's important." She wanted her friend's full attention for the warning she intended to offer.

"Yeah. I got that." Maeve crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You better start making sense soon or I'm going to take you to my favorite mental health professional."

Amy laughed. It was exactly what the RA from their freshman dorm used to say whenever anyone was upset.

"Just have a seat. I didn't mean to leave you hanging on the interim thing."

"Done's done. It's not every day your best friend turns into a super hero." She grinned. "The class is fine. Although Goth girl creates plenty of her own PDA magic without your effect. What's your plan?"

Amy dropped onto the couch and signaled Guinness to mind his manners on the floor. She'd practiced the approach and delivery and hoped she could stick with the facts. "Remember those crazy letters Aunt Camille used to send when we were in college?"

Maeve smiled, but worry and irritation lingered in her eyes. "Of course. She came up with the craziest advice and some wild stories. Remember that one about two boats on a loch?"

Amy didn't recall the precise details of that one, but she promised herself she'd find it when she got back to her office. "I've saved all her letters."

"And you were planning a book. Comparison study, myth and literature right? What's that got to do with everything that's happening lately?"

"I'm still going to write that book." Amy took a deep breath.

Maeve leaned forward, resting her hands on Amy's knees. "Honey. It's me. Just spit it out."

With that invitation, Amy forgot her careful plan. They'd been joined-at-the-hip-friends for years and she trusted Maeve not to judge her now.

"I want you to promise me you'll be careful. In the office, that guy –"

"Barclay."

"Yeah." She didn't care for the dreamy look on Maeve's face. "He may come looking for you."

"Promise?"

"Be serious. I may have put you in danger." How was she supposed to tell her best friend she'd inadvertently matched her with a werewolf? No greeting card for this, no sample letters on the internet.

"I don't believe that for a minute." Maeve sat back. "Besides I've dealt with my share of stubborn men."

"This is different. He's different."

"I remember he had great arms."

Amy groaned. "You're a mess."

"Apparently that's all your fault," Maeve teased. "So what's really the trouble? Jealous?"

"No. Worried. The guy didn't want to be marked, has been pretty pissed about it." Hopefully when she got the hang of this she wouldn't make as many enemies. "He accused me of being careless."

"How does it work, Amy?"

Fresh, potent relief poured through her. It was obvious Maeve believed her, regardless of the ridiculous nature of the circumstance. "With a lot more careful consideration if the werewolf's to be believed."