Powerful Magic (34 page)

          
Suddenly, having Kenric help her get home no longer seemed as urgent nor as imperative as it did before.
 

          
A sharp rapping on her door startled her out of her reverie.

          
"Megan."
 
Kenric's deep voice sounded angry.

          
Hurriedly, she smoothed down her hair and opened the door, glad she'd taken the time to step into one of the less ornate dresses.

          
He stood clad in what she'd come to think of as his mercenary warrior clothes.
 
Form fitting, soft leather pants outlined his muscular legs.
 
His white tunic with the billowing sleeves made him, with his rugged, dark features, look like a pirate of sorts.
 
And then there were his smokey eyes.
 
Bedroom eyes, she'd heard eyes like his called once before.
 

          
Kenric of Blackstone was the sexiest man she'd ever seen.
 
 
While she drank in the sight of him, Kenric seemed to be doing the same.
 
Of their own accord her nipples pebbled, remembering the kiss they'd shared and her own erotic dreams.

          
Though she had never been bold, she found herself wondering what he would do if she were to pull him inside her room and throw herself at him.

          
"It is time to leave."
 
Kenric sounded oddly strained.
 
           
Puzzled, Megan stared up at him.
 
"Leave?
 
What about the spell?"

          
His jaw tightened.
 
"The spell is nonsense.
 
Do you not wish to hasten back to your Roger?"

          
She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but couldn't seem to force the words out.
 
The best she could do was sort of stammer her former fiance's name.
 
"Rrr.. Roger?"
 
She needed to tell him the truth, but couldn’t force the words past her throat.

          
With narrowed eyes, his gaze swept her room.
 
"Gather your things.
 
We ride out within the hour."

          
"Ride out?
 
But where is Lancelot?
 
I haven't seen him?"

          
"The
war horse
waits for me outside the castle.
 
He is trained to come to me at my command."
 
Pushing past her, he entered her room.
 
"It shouldn't take long to--"

          
Megan was swept by a wave of desire so strong she swayed. All her life she had wondered what it would feel like to be a femme fatale, a seductive temptress who had the ability to make men desire her so much that they would risk anything, everything, for her favor.
 

          
She had never been bold enough, brave enough, beautiful enough to experience such a thing. But now, just once, she desperately longed to have such power - over one man only.

          
Kenric.

          
She took a deep breath.
 
Insecurities be damned!
 
She had traveled through time and space to be with this man.
 
What the hell?
 
She had nothing to lose.
 
Kicking the door closed behind her, she loosened the stays on her gown.

          
He spun at the sound of the door slamming shut.
 
"Megan..."
 
he warned, then seemed to lose the capacity for speech as she slid the dress slowly off one shoulder, then the other.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

          
Heart pounding, Megan pretended a nonchalance she didn't feel as she took a deep breath and dropped the dress, letting it fall into a pool of material at her feet.
 
Then she slowly removed her shift, keeping her gaze on Kenric.
 

          
Totally bare and fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, she tried to think of a Victoria's Secret catalog, unsure how to stand so that she looked more sexy, unsure of what to do, how to make herself more appealing to him.

          
If the harsh intake of his breath and the dilation of his silver eyes was any indication, she wouldn't have to do much. So she simply stood before him, naked and exposed, while he stared at her in silence.

          
Finally, he swallowed.
 
"Megan..."
 

          
At the raw need in his voice, she smiled a hesitant smile, letting her eyes travel to the conspicuous bulge in the front of his braes.
 

          
"This may be our last chance."
 
She moved closer, stopping a scant two feet away from him.
 
Her nipples were hard, her breasts ached; indeed her entire body seemed to ache for this man's touch.
 
She could feel her blood thrumming in her veins, moist heat pooling inside of her.

          
Again he swallowed.
 
He looked like a man tortured. "I don't think--"

          
She let her shoulders sag.
 
Just when she'd decided it was no use, he grabbed her, pulling her close so that her breasts crushed up against the rough material of his shirt.
 
Trembling, she clung to him.

          
His hand slid across her bare back, caressing.
 
With an expression both savage and tender, he gazed down at her.
 

          
"Megan..."
 
he growled.

          
The smoldering heat she saw in his gunmetal eyes gave her courage.
 
She began to slip her hands up his arms, reveling in the feel of the hard muscles, in the heat of his skin.

          
"Kenric."
 
When she spoke his name, it was a wordless plea.
 
"I want you to love me."

          
Startlement warred with desire; need with restraint as he expelled a harsh breath.
  
Holding himself rigid, he shook his head.
 

          
"We cannot--"

          
Then, using an instinct that came from deep within her femininity, she moved against him.
 
"Please." She whispered through parted lips.
 
"One kiss."

          
With a harsh sound he took her lips, his mouth moving over hers hungrily.
 
Joy exploded in her.
 
Joy and a desire so hot she felt as if her entire body was on fire.

          
One hand slid down the curve of her naked hip, searing a path.
 
She nearly swooned.
 
With trembling fingers, she loosened the ties of his shirt, tearing the material in her haste to have it off him.
 
She wanted skin to skin, heat to heat, chest to chest, his hardness to her softness.
 

          
Squirming, she fit herself against him, mindlessly needing, wanting.

          
He lifted his mouth from hers, his hands lingering on her shoulders.
 
Now molten silver, his gaze was full of heat.
           
"Megan..."

          
"No, no questions, no doubts."
 
She whispered, standing on tiptoe and pulling his dark head back down to hers.
 
"I want you."

          
He made a sound then, guttural and full of need.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed.
 

With a few easy motions he divested himself of his boots and braes until he stood proudly naked and erect before her.

          
She gasped, her breasts tingling.
 
She held her arms up to him, wet and ready, aching and hot.
 
He was magnificent, her warrior, and she wanted to feel him full inside of her.
 

          
The bed shifted as he lay down beside her.
 
Tentatively, she reached out and closed her hand around him, thrilling to the sheer massive strength of him.
 

          
"Hold."
 
He groaned, capturing her hand and holding her still.
 
"Before I shame myself like a boy of ten and seven."
 

          
Then she knew that the desire he felt for her equaled her own for him. Her body clenched at this knowledge, more than ready for him to take her.

          
She moaned softly, an invitation, and arched her back.

          
"Ah, woman."
 
It was a quiet curse, the sound of a man at the edge of control who knows he is lost.
 
"If we do this, it will change things between us."

          
It was both a statement and a question.

          
"Yes."
 
She told him, nearly whimpering now.
 
"Yes, of course..."

          
He reached for her then, his calloused hands searing heat down the curve of her stomach, the length of her thigh. The sound he made was a sound of surrender, even as his mouth closed over one taut nipple and she nearly sobbed with relief.

          
With his hand he sought entrance first, and willingly she parted her legs for him, whimpering against his mouth as he claimed her lips again.
 
He touched her, explored her; she was ready, long past ready, and still he stroked and probed and lingered, making her mindless in her need.

          
"Kenric!"
 
She gasped, even as she shattered against his hand.
 

          
With one swift stroke he entered her then, possessing her completely as she clenched around him.
 

          
He was huge and hard and powerful.
 
"You are mine." He told her fiercely, moving inside her.
 
She arched to meet his thrusts, thrilling to the sensation of this man - with her, in her, of her.
 

          
They moved together, she matched his tempo, until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

          
"God's blood."
 
Curse or prayer, she could not tell, only watch as he relinquished the last shred of his self-

control, no longer able to control his movements.

          
He became fury then, motion and heat and fire as he took her.
 
This time the tremor built slowly, white flame flashing, then burst like exploding stars from deep inside her.
 
She cried out her release, feeling the flood of it surround him, even as he shuddered and, with one last thrust,
 
pulsed inside of her, filling her with his essence.
 

          
"Megan."
 
He said her name like a benediction, gathering her close and stroking her hair.
 
"My Megan."