The Unicorn's Tail (The Artifact Hunters) (9 page)

"Thought we resolved that?" He stroked a thumb over the back of her hand.

"Yes, in part. But you're just so—" she waved her other hand, struggling for the right word. "Big."

He gave a snort of laughter. She probably didn't mean that the way he took it, though a certain part of his anatomy appreciated the compliment. "Hasn't dollface told you I'm all bark?"

She didn't pull back; rather her attention remained fixed on her small hand in his much larger one. "She did mention something like that." She raised her eyes, a tiny smile dancing over her face. "But you are rather intimidating when you loom over a person, Mr Jackson."

"Stop calling me Mr Jackson, it's Jackson to all around here."

She mulled it over. The tiniest hint of mischief crept in to the smile. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Jack?"

He gave a shrug and turned her hand to trace the vein in her wrist. "Why Jack?"

"We used to have this fiendish brute of a dog called Jack. You remind me of him."

He narrowed his gaze and met hers. A smile broke over her face. Minx had another reason, he'd lay money on it.
Let's see where this goes.

"Oh yeah? Let me guess, always won in the dog fights?"

A giggle burst from her before she swallowed it down. "Not quite. He used to chase the chickens and make a terrible ruckus."

"You think I'm a chicken chaser?" He growled. "I'll show you." He let her hand drop and lunged at her.

She gave a squeal and ran. She ducked for cover behind the sofa. "I meant it as a compliment, Jack." She said between bursts of laughter. "No one harassed bantams quite like that Jack Russell, even though he only had three legs."

"A bleedin' peg-leg Jack Russell?" He reached for her and she darted out of his way, running to the large divan.

Her laughter came freely now and he loved the sound of it. Then she frowned. "I think he was quite blind too. My point is, for all the noise he was entirely harmless."

"I'll show you who's harmless." He growled again and feinted left. She rushed the other way and ran straight into his arms. He spun so she had her back to the wall and caged her with his body and arms. Her chest rose and fell in heavy gasps as she laughed.

Joy transformed her from the plain mouse to a captivating rose, her eyes full of life and humour and a faint blush to her skin. She was sunshine and honey and he ached to taste her. It felt so natural to have her in his arms he never wanted to let her go.

He bent his head to the crook of her neck and inhaled. She stilled against him and when he looked up, her eyes were round and serious. He searched for any hint of alarm in her warm gaze. He never wanted to see fear in her face. He would chew off his own arm before he ever hurt her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. Her hands rested on his chest, but didn't push him away. Rather, her fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket, anchoring herself to him.

"I'm a blind three-legged yappy dog, remember?" He dropped one hand to her waist. She wasn't very tall, but her clothes hid a lush form that curved in all the right places, and she was soft in a way that made a man hard. "Woof."

She tilted her chin upward, partly because of the height difference, and partly because the kitten issued a challenge to the tiger. "No you're not. I was wrong, you're something quite different."

"Oh yeah? What then?" He focused on those lips as they formed each word. If she tipped her head any higher he would claim that rosebud and have his taste. And win the bet and get to turn flyboy into a chicken. Then the blasted pirate would leave her alone and he would have her all to himself. A win-win-win situation as far as he was concerned.

"I haven't decided yet." She raised one hand and cupped the side of his face, questions zooming through those so-expressive eyes. One finger traced the scar that ran down by his ear. "Things are not always what they seem."

"No, they're not, princess," he said, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips.

She inhaled sharply. Her bosom rounded with each breath and he leaned a little closer so it pressed against him. He dropped her hand and stroked her cheek.

"Have you ever been kissed by a man?"

She gave a snort. "Of course I have, don't be so impudent."

"I don't mean some wet toff pressing fish lips to yours. I mean a real kiss, by a man hungry to know the taste of you." He growled the words, his tone rough.

They scraped over her flesh and raised goose bumps along her arms. A faint blush travelled up from under her collar. "Really, Jack, a kiss is a kiss."

Heat radiated through his torso as he caged her against the wall, his face so close to hers. She shook her head.

He gave a chuckle. "So the answer is no, then."

Her breath came in shallow gasps. "You must let me go," she whispered, but she made no attempt to wriggle free.

"I don't have to do anything, princess." He chuckled again, as he held her close.

His hips held her in place. His arms blocked any exit. Flames licked along his body from where he touched her and if he didn't get his kiss soon he would combust.

"How do you do it?" The fingers still clung to him and questions swirled in her gaze.

"Do what?" He couldn't wait much longer, he dropped his head and placed a gentle kiss on the side of her neck.

She sucked in a breath at his touch and she shivered against him. "This. You scare me and exhilarate me at the same time. I want to run but stay. How is that possible?"

Smart kitten really, 'cause his game plan had changed. He didn't plan to just kiss her.

He planned to possess her.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Once, when I was twelve and egged on by Cara, we drank too much of her father's brandy. That's what runs through my veins now, when you touch me."

Drunk on him and he hadn't even started.

She opened her eyes and another layer peeled away. The woman staring back at him was a little more confident than the day before.

"Perhaps I could pay a toll to be set free from this predicament?" Her tongue sneaked out and wet the pink lips.

He bit back a groan; the sight of her tongue spiked straight to his groin.

"A kiss then, to set you free." He lowered his head, his breath feathered over her lips.

She held her breath. Considering.

What would she do? Hopefully not knee him in the nuts, 'cause he hurt enough down there already and she might break something off.

She tilted her chin higher and parted her lips.

He dropped his mouth to slide over hers. She gasped under him. Warm and firm, he took control. Exploring, he nipped at the corner of her mouth then sucked on her bottom lip. His tongue teased and played along the seam until she parted her teeth, wanting more. She tasted of sunshine and honey and was as addictive as laudanum. The more he took, the more he wanted, until it became a burning need pounding through him with every beat of his heart.

A soft moan escaped from her throat as she leaned in to him, eager to learn all she could from the experience. She followed his lead and her hands wound around his neck, pulling him closer as she blossomed under him.

His tongue played with her, darting and tasting and then retreating. He sucked hers into his mouth, held her captive until, emboldened by his slow dance, she explored his contours. Her soft moans were nearly his undoing; his cock ached in his pants to join in. Just as he hoped, she had a sensual side begging to be released.

He either let her go, or claimed her now.

He pulled back to rain soft kisses up her jaw line. "That is a real kiss," he whispered by her ear.

"I—" she couldn't form the words for a complete sentence. Her eyes closed, her knees crumpled, and she fainted.

He caught her and swung her into his arms. He carried her to the chaise and laid her down. Grabbing a pillow, he placed it under her head.

"Haven't lost my touch, then." He stood back with a smirk plastered to his face.

Chapter Eight

Sunday, 10
th
January

Amy lay in bed, one hand twirling the horse hair bracelet round and round on her wrist. A stray shaft of moonlight caught the silver strands and flashes darted around the darkened room. She never believed in the mythical creature when she made her wish. All she wanted was a fraction of what Cara had; a sense of purpose in her life and someone to love her, flaws and all.

She knew what she saw at the cottage, the entire location imbued with magic so it was no wonder a unicorn flitted amongst the trees. She'd thought Captain Hawke was all her dreams come true, delivered by the unicorn bracelet. So dashing, gallant, and his words full of lush promise. But it was quiet Jack who made her pulse pound and her body ache in a new and wanton way.

Why couldn't the unicorn just send her one or the other? Both men paying her attention seemed rather excessive, not that she had any experience with unicorn wishes.

She spent all day staring at one page in her book, her mind ricocheting in a thousand different directions but always returning to one particular memory. She replayed the kiss over and over. Never had she felt anything like it before. Comparing John's kiss to Jack's was like comparing a lone flickering candle to the public Guy Fawkes' display. Her former fiancé had just been blasted from her brain.

Even just the memory started an ache between her legs, and she clenched her thighs, but it only intensified. Under Jack's touch her body screamed for things she didn't quite understand, the only dominant message
more.

What had he done to her? She ran a hand down her stomach and over the juncture of her legs. The ache blossomed under her hand, and she bit back a cry.

Yes, more.

Jack was far more than he appeared. The gruff working-class exterior hid a gentle manner and a mind that played a fiendish chess game. He would never be acceptable to her family or in polite society, and yet he was so much better than any of them. Sometimes exactly what you need is the last thing you were looking for.

*

Monday, 11
th
January

The following morning, Amy donned her winter clothes for the walk to the cottage. Jackson was pulling on a heavy black jacket when the wet room door flung open. The man looked relieved on finding them.

"There's been an accident. Piece of metal flew off one of the machines, pierced a lad. It's not looking good."

Jackson swore under his breath and then shot a guilty glance at Amy then back to the man in front of him. "Have you sent for the doctor?"

"One of the lads just left, but it’s going to be at least an hour's hard ride, assuming they find him at home. We don't know if he'll last."

"Grab the emergency kit." He turned to Amy. "Stay here, the cottage will have to wait for today."

Amy sat back on her heels, about to obey. Her arm itched and she scratched, only to twine her fingers in the unicorn tail bracelet. Words buzzed in her head from the wish she made that night Jack gave her the gift:
Someone to love the real me. Not the image in the mirror.

The girl in the shadows only needed a chance to break free
.

She blinked. "I'll come, I might be able to help." The words shot out of her mouth before she could call them back. Why did she say that? She always did what she was told. Until the day Jack held her.

He cast her a dubious look and strode out the door. Amy trotted to keep up with the men, who moved faster in their pants and boots. They crossed the expanse of lawn to the workshop, the large converted barn at the back of the house where the men laboured to make Nate's da Vinci inventions or to create other mechanical devices used in the Lyons Empire.

One of the double-height doors stood open, pushed back on its roller. Amy stood on the threshold. Heat and sweat assaulted her nostrils. The assorted sounds of machines — hammering, hissing, and low moans — washed over her.

"You should stay here, it's going to be messy." Jackson held out his hand to keep her from entering.

Amy's world split into two paths. The dominant part of her brain told her to go back. Noble girls did not wander around in sweat, dirt, and blood. If she did cross the threshold, society would expect her to swoon and need to be carried back to the house. Her entire upbringing was designed to turn her into a crystal ornament. Something fancy and expensive that needed occasional dusting. Nice to look at sitting on the mantle but completely useless, with no practical purpose.

The girl in the shadows, long ignored and neglected, finally took a stand. She offered a different route, one Amy hid so she never suffered the pain of longing and disappointment. It reminded her that her father was a renowned surgeon, she grew up listening to medical talk at the dinner table. She had on occasion acted as his nurse while he tended to some stupid noble. With the doctor at least an hour away, for once in her life she could be useful. She could
do
something.

She swallowed hard. "My father is a surgeon, I know a thing or two about wounds and stitching. I may be of some practical use."