Ocean's Touch (6 page)

The look on his face was so sensual and predatory when he said that last sentence that her heart actually skipped a beat.

This is ridiculous. First dreams of sex with magical men on beaches; now practically swooning over Ladislaw, of all people. The day he’d go for a boring widow like me is the day someone like me would go for a cad like him. We are fire and ice.

But fire melts ice
, some deeper part of her crooned.

And the resulting water puts out the fire,
her brain snapped, in response.

“But,” he said, “If you would like to see some of what I do, I’m hosting a private showing at my house before everything gets shipped to my exhibition in Rome. That’s what the invitations were for.”

Her eyes widened. She’d heard about his “private showings”. They were rumored to be to Ladislaw what Xanadu was to Kublai Khan.

Meredith didn’t know if she could handle the pleasure-dome aspect of one of Alex’s infamous showings.
If the rumors are true, of course
, she told herself, remembering—but trying not to dwell on—some of the details she’d heard in passing.

Alex sensed Meredith’s unease, but he also sensed something else. That tiny parting of those soft lips; the darkening of her warm brown eyes as her pupils dilated.

Arousal
, he realized, feeling more like a kid at Christmas than should a man many were happy to label “Casanova”.

When Teddy Casaubon had brought home his new bride, Alex had been immediately attracted to her. She’d demonstrated both intelligence and cleverness, a combination he always adored. And there had been something about her open smile, the forwardness of her gaze, and the loose way she’d moved those long limbs that had spoken to him of a kindred spirit. It had been with a feeling akin to horror that he’d watched Teddy’s illness, combined with the insufferable man’s repressive “values” and his even more insufferable mother, gradually suck the life out of Meredith.

And Teddy made sure to keep her shackled, even in death
, Alex thought, with a surprising amount of bitterness. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Meredith had always made him strangely passionate. And illogical.

Teddy wasn’t really that bad,
he reminded himself in what had become a litany repeated far too often.
And he did love his wife. He was just a giant brain, walking around in a shell he ignored, and he couldn’t imagine any other way to live.

It had always struck Alex as poetic justice that the body Teddy had denied so assiduously had wasted away around him. But Alex also knew that in denying his own body, Teddy had denied Meredith hers. And that made Alex almost irrationally furious.

Why do I care so much?
he asked himself, feeling that familiar rage sweep through his system. If Teddy were still alive, Alex could have throttled him at that moment.

Meredith was still busy figuring out where to rest her eyes—they kept darting from Alex’s green eyes, to the floor, to Alex’s long fingers, to the floor—when Alex repeated his invitation.

“Please,” he said. “I would very much like to share my art with you. I think you’ll like it. And your opinion matters to me.”

Alex realized the truth of what he’d said only as it escaped his lips. And hearing that sincerity, that hint of something—was it pleading?—in his voice, made up Meredith’s mind for her.

“Yes,” she said. “I would be honored to attend your showing.”

The fiercely predatory, hungry look that Alex gave her before reeling in his expression both shocked and excited her. It reminded her of the look her dream lover, Dylan, had given her. She felt a shiver of some unnamable emotion arc up her spine.

What, exactly, have I just gotten myself into?
she thought.

Chapter Five

The sun had gone down hours before, and her beach was dark and chilly. Meanwhile, Meredith felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t stay away.

It was a dream,
she reminded herself, even as she remembered—so vividly!—the smell of Dylan’s sea-kissed skin, the taste of his insistent lips. Running into Alexander and seeing that strange glint in his eyes had only made her recollect her dream lover more intensely.

Meredith—too full of nervous energy to sit in front of the fire she’d built—stood watching the waves, before she shut her eyes, remembering.

His hands on my body…his fingers inside me…his flesh so pale against mine….
She opened her eyes, then shook her head.

“Not pale,” she whispered.
Alex is pale…

She wondered what had thrown her so off kilter. Normally so complete on her own, so happy as an individual, she couldn’t stop thinking of both Dylan and Alex.
 

What is wrong with me?
she pleaded to the starry night, unsure where these cravings had come from, in a body that had been dormant for so long.

Meredith had gone straight home after seeing Alex that afternoon, despite having other errands. Instead, she’d changed into her running clothes and had done an extra-long course—the sort she usually only ran when training for a 10K or a half marathon. But still it had felt like her body was on fire when she’d finished, and not with the usual mixture of endorphins engendered by running. So she’d capped off her cardio with a strenuous round of yoga, but again she’d found herself forsaken by her desired calm. Instead, every deep stretch of her long thigh muscles had reminded her of other kinds of stretching; every ache in her buttocks as she’d raised herself in Down Dog had inspired her to picture other uses for such a position.

It’s like I’m eighteen again,
she thought disgustedly, stepping closer to the waves lapping her beach.
But I’m not eighteen. I’m thirty-five. And a widow.

Tears sprang up in Meredith’s eyes as she tried to remember Teddy’s warm calm, the way he’d always known exactly what she should do next. But all she could think of was the way Alex had looked at her…the way Dylan, in her dreams, had touched her…

She took another step toward the water.

“Not without me, lass,” she heard from behind her. “It’s only with me that you can swim.”

Meredith felt her body freeze in shock, even as her blood ran straight to her head.

That voice,
she thought, afraid to turn around.
Afraid he’ll actually be there?
she wondered.
Or afraid it’s just my imagination?

Warm hands wrapped around her upper arms as warm breath found her ear.

“I was hoping you would come to me,” said the voice.

Dylan’s voice.

“I’ve been dreaming of you, all the day,” he finished.

Meredith shivered. With fear? With lust? She hadn’t the slightest.

“You’re real,” she whispered. Dylan chuckled in her ear as his lips kissed her lobe gently.

“As real as your sea,” he said, moving closer so she could feel his hard cock press against her back, through her clothes.

“But it was a dream,” was all she could say in response.

His lips paused in their slow perusal of the shell of her ear.

“I’m a dream, am I?” he asked, pressing that hard heat against her.

“I would have sworn,” she whispered, snuggling her own ass tighter against his warm bulk.

Dylan wasn’t surprised that Meredith’s ever so logical and practical brain had dismissed him as impossible. She’d been in a trancelike state when he’d walked her up to her room and helped her into bed. If he hadn’t been so careful not to use his power on her, he would have thought she was in what his people called “glamour-shock,” a vegetable-like state that befell some humans who’d been overexposed to fae magic.

In point of fact, humans such as Meredith—so faithful to the “logic” of their science and reason—rarely needed glamour in the first place. They refused to believe magic existed, even if it was standing in front of them. Or kneeling between their legs.

“Well, you’d have sworn wrong,” he said, brushing his lips down her neck with his words. When he’d finished, he sank his teeth, not entirely gently, into the soft flesh where her neck and shoulder connected.

Meredith cried out, leaning back in his arms, her spine arching reflexively. Dylan moaned as her firm ass ground into his cock while he sucked the sting gently out of her neck.

He turned her around in his arms. Dylan could still sense the confusion of her earlier emotions—a chaotic combination of desire, despair, and doubt. Her eyes, when he raised her chin to force her to meet his gaze, were so wild, so torn, he nearly regretted approaching her in the first place.

But I felt your grief,
he told her, silently.
Your calm was but a mask. And masks must be lifted,
he thought as he bent his lips to hers.

To his surprise, Meredith attacked his mouth. Her kisses were fervid, hungry—as if she’d found something she’d just realized she needed. Her eyes might speak to her mental confusion, but her body knew its decision.

Dylan returned her kisses, lacing his fingers through her up-done hair, before he sought out the clip that contained it. After a few seconds of fiddling, he figured out how to release that glorious dark mass. Meredith moaned as he ran his fingers through her long locks, the sound deepening as he clutched at handfuls of her hair, pulling gently to force her head back and bare her neck to him.

Kissing down her throat, pushing her damned turtleneck down with his chin as he did so, then kissing back up, Dylan let her feel his own lust, even as he opened himself up to hers.

Meredith clutched at Dylan’s shoulders, that intense need washing over her. She also felt the odd sensation that some of that emotion was his, making her feel completely, entirely wanted. Why did this stranger’s lust for her body mean so much to her?

Dylan paused, raising his head to gaze into Meredith’s dark eyes. She was confused again, although still full of desire.

“Why do you want me?” she whispered, her voice small.

He frowned. Sometimes he hated the human world, where women like Meredith had to ask such questions. That said, he wasn’t sure how to respond without sounding trite. There was only one way to make her understand…

“Will you let me show you?” he asked.

“How?”

“I want to make love to you.”

Meredith’s face flushed. “But we hardly know each other.”

“We know each other better than you think,” he replied, letting his thumb slide over her cheekbone.

She shivered, turning her face toward his hand as if she would kiss his palm. But she stopped herself.

“What about protection?” she asked. “I’m not on the pill.”

He smiled. “I’ve got magic for that. Can you feel I tell the truth?”

While he’d spoken, Dylan had let her “feel” his words. It wasn’t an emotional manipulation, just him letting her feel he spoke the truth.

She paused, assessing what she’d just experienced.
Always careful, lass
, he thought, although that was one of the things he liked about her.

“Yes,” she said eventually. “I believe you.” And she did. She knew it would sound silly had she tried to explain it, but she knew he wasn’t lying to her.

“So?” he asked, running his thumb down her cheek to slide it over her lips. Her only answer was to lock her eyes on his and suck his thumb gently into her mouth, flicking her tongue along it.

Dylan closed his eyes, almost purring with satisfaction, letting his lust burn even brighter.

When he opened them, she was watching him with a pleased expression, as if she were only now beginning to understand her particular power over him.

He gently took back his hand, and then, with a practiced motion, took off his sealskin cloak and spread it on the rocks of her beach in front of her fire. His skin’s magic would make it a fine, warm bed for the both of them, but he wanted the light of the fire to see her by.

Meanwhile, Meredith was soaking up the sight of his naked frame. The firelight’s flickering revealed that massive body, casting gorgeous shadows over his muscles. His skin was a shade darker than hers—sunkissed and warm—made even more burnished and exotic by the firelight. His raw masculine beauty was so great, in fact, that she never really questioned why he’d been wearing some kind of short-furred cloak…and nothing else.

When he turned back to her, she drew in a breath at the sight of his thick, heavy erection. Her cunt ached with need and her mouth actually watered—he was so lovely. Without thinking, she took a step toward him.

If it was possible, Dylan grew even harder, seeing Meredith’s eyes locked on his cock, an expression of pure desire writ across her face. He would have loved to gaze equally longingly on her body, but he was going to have to divest her of her damned uniform—including those horrid tights—first.

He let her come to him, kissing her on the forehead as he reached for the bottom of her sweater. She let him pull it over her head, and then her turtleneck followed. She undid the buttons of her own skirt, letting it fall to pool around her ankles so she stood in front of him clothed only in tights, boots, and bra.

He helped her down onto his sealskin, after which he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her long-limbed form sprawled out before him, tights and all. He couldn’t help but stroke his cock as she shifted to lie back on her elbows, her breasts jutting out as her thighs parted just slightly.