Wicked Fantasy (27 page)

Amused, Gerry watched him try to ignore the red velvet and black silk as he walked into the bathroom. While she waited for him to come out, she studied the paintings Sparkle had hung on the walls. Interesting. Explicit. And she was sure Sparkle had pulled a few of them from Wicked Fantasy's walls.

He emerged a few seconds later with a glass. “I have to water Houston.”

Houston was a mess. He was little more than a few dried twigs. “Too bad we were in the other room when we released all our sexual energy. Guess I need to cheer him up again.” Did she look concerned enough?

Conall instantly went on high alert. He remembered how she'd cheered the plant up last time. After her little sexy chat, both he and Houston had grown new wood.

“I get what you're planning. You figure you'll talk sexy, and I'll break the promise we made to Edge.”

“
We
made? I don't remember agreeing to anything.” Her smile was as insincere as she could make it. “And who said anything about talking sexy? Hmm, I seem to remember Sparkle saying something about a tree trunk just before she left.” Gerry widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Well, look over here in the corner.” Flipping on the switch for the corner lights, she spread her arms wide. “Ta-dah! A tree trunk. No, it's the whole tree.”

“Sparkle does it in style. A gold palm tree. Great.” Hell.

“Oooh, I love palm trees.” She wrapped her arms around the tree. “They're thin, trim, and perfect to dance with.”

Conall had a feeling he knew what was coming. “Cover your eyes, Houston.” And him? He'd watch. This would be a test of his no-sex promise to Edge. Bring on the pain.

Gerry stretched, raking her fingernails as high as she could reach on the trunk. “Meow.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled a sneaky feline smile.

Her breasts lifted, full and tempting under the snug top she wore beneath her open shirt.

Distractions. He needed
lots
of distractions. “The last Kavanagh I served was too cheap to hire a cook, so he made me fix his meals. His favorite was liver and onions.” Conall riveted his attention on Houston. “God, I hated cooking.”

“Did someone mess with the air in here? I'm feeling soooo hot.” She let the shirt slip from her shoulders and from there to the floor.

Her sleeveless top clung to every fascinating curve of her breasts and stomach. He could see this from the corners of his eyes even as he concentrated on Houston.

“A few centuries back I had to protect a Kavanagh who was so paranoid he made me taste all his food before he'd eat it. The dumbass forgot I was immortal. So the poisoned pudding tasted fine to me. Killed him.”

“Tree trunks are so yummy to cuddle up next to.” She pursed her sensual lips in mock thought. “But it really has to be skin against bark to get all the sexy sensations. Of course, I'd rather do this with a hot guy.” She glanced around, letting her gaze skim across him. “Nope, no hot guys around. Well, palm tree and I will carry on.”

“Had one Kavanagh who owned a bar. He made me the bouncer. Friday night was my favorite. Lots of drunken brawls. I could work off some of my aggression.” He wiped his suddenly damp palms on his jeans.

Dragging out the torture, she slowly pulled her top over her head and dropped it on top of her shirt. “There, that's better.” She turned to wiggle her cute little bottom against the trunk. Her breasts bobbed in time to the wiggling, threatening to pop right out of the tiny piece of material masquerading as a bra. How could something so little hold so much?

His breathing was starting to sound raspy, and he forgot about Houston. “The first Kavanagh I served after slicing and dicing Sean made me build his house. I knew squat about building houses. It fell on top of him. Morrigan couldn't blame me. I'd warned him.”

“If there were a hot guy in the house—which there isn't—I'd have to get rid of everything keeping me from full bare-body contact.” She slid her tongue over her top lip and then her bottom one as she considered her options.

The sweet sheen of those lips took him right out of his game plan. He couldn't think of one more thing to tell her about all those damn Kavanaghs he'd served.

She shrugged. “Oh, what the hey. I'll pretend.” She turned her back to him. “Would you unhook my bra?”

A direct challenge. He could play it safe and tell her to do it herself. But admit it, this was the first thing a Kavanagh had ever asked of him that he really wanted to do. Besides, he was strong enough to handle anything she threw at him. He swept his gaze across her smooth, creamy back. He drew in a deep breath of courage. Anything except maybe her lacey white bra.

Before he could think it to death, he moved behind her and reached for the bra. His knuckles skimmed her back as he took care of the hooks. Her tremor reached all the way to his cock and wrapped relentless fingers around it. Not good. He stepped away.

She turned to face him, and the heated flush of her cheeks proved she was way into her own fantasy. He felt better immediately. Suffering alone was no fun.

Gerry looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end she just dropped the bra to the floor.

There were times when words weren't necessary. This was one of them. Her breasts thrust high and full, the pink nipples hardening to delicious little nubs beneath his gaze. All he wanted to do was kneel in front of her while she leaned forward so those ripe nipples would fall into his mouth.

She turned away and obviously found her voice hiding in the blasted tree trunk. “We can't leave a job half done, can we?” With her back to him, she kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her jeans. As they pooled around her feet, she stepped out of them.

Whoever said that white was a virginal color had never seen Gerry in her white panties. The silky material cupped her perfect round behind. Hooking her thumbs under the top of the panties, she wiggled out of them and kicked them aside. Then like a car salesman lovingly running his hand across the hood of the little sports beauty with the big engine he was trying to sell, she reached behind her and slid her fingers over both gorgeous cheeks.

Edge? Promise? There was something he was supposed to remember about a promise to Edge. Whatever it was, it was gone.

Gerry wrapped one arm and one long, long leg around the tree and twirled around it to face Conall. “It's amazing how many things a palm tree is good . . .” Her voice trailed away as her gaze glided the length of his body.

His body told no lies. He reached to unfasten his jeans before the pressure cut off the blood supply to his . . . brain.

She remained still for way too long. And then she sighed. Laying her forehead against the tree trunk, she closed her eyes. “If I keep going, we'll end up making love, won't we?” She didn't wait for him to respond. “If Morrigan pops in while we're making love, you're royally screwed. And this would be the logical place for her to check.” Straightening, she walked over to retrieve the robe that lay across her bed.

He decided against interrupting her while she was on a roll. Besides, he was too busy trying to explain the situation to a body part that did
not
understand why the action was on hold.

“I can be a selfish witch. All I was thinking about was how ticked I was because you didn't include me in the decision making. I didn't think through the consequences.” She smiled. “And I
really
didn't want to stop making love with you. That first time was a great coming-attractions demonstration.”

“I see.”

“And since I'm feeling all humble and chastened—which might never happen again—I may as well tell you how sorry I am that my ancestors were such jerks.”

He glanced away so she wouldn't see the emotion he knew filled his eyes. All those long centuries, no one had given a flip how he felt.

“I should've told you my plans. My only excuse is that you're the first Kavanagh who didn't expect me to do it all. I'm not used to anyone wanting to help.” Conall figured she'd recognize the apology. He wasn't good at them because he'd made it a point of pride never to say he was sorry to the hated men who'd controlled his life.

She nodded and started to slip into the robe.

“Morrigan will only get pissed if we're actually making love.” Boy, he must have a thing for suffering. “If I'm just watching you, she won't do much except threaten.”

Gerry's lips lifted in a wicked smile. “
Can
you just watch?”

Conall shook his head. “Woman, you have no idea what strength O'Rourke men have.” Lowering himself to the couch, he spread his legs to allow for expansion. “Let's see what you can do with that tree.”

“I learned how to pole dance before I became vampire. I hope I remember everything.” Her smile widened. “Or maybe you should hope I don't.”

Dropping her robe, she pressed her back against the tree, her hair a long shimmering fall of black silk. She arched her back, her breasts gleaming in the dim wall-sconce light. Spreading her legs, she leaned forward to slide her fingers up her inner thigh. Her hair fell around her face, hiding her expression.

She was
woman
—mysterious, sensual.

Conall sneaked a glance at the still partly filled glass of water he'd used for Houston. He might have to toss the rest of it over Houston and himself to keep them from going up in flames.

Gerry's laughter was a light ripple of amusement. Wrapping her lithe and lush body around the tree, she ran her hands over the rough surface.

Conall felt each stroke of her fingers as a sizzling slide of pure erotic sensation—across his chest, circling his stomach, and teasing the length of his overexcited cock.

The space between them vibrated with so much sexual tension he expected to hear a sonic boom when it snapped.

Her naked body glistened damply as she slid down the trunk to crouch at its base. Then she opened her thighs—tempting, inviting.

And all the gods help him, he rose to go to her. Standing above her, he spread his legs so she could have a clear view of what she did to him.

She gazed up at him from eyes hot with passion. Reaching out, she finished unfastening his jeans. He helped her by shoving them, along with his briefs, down his hips until his cock sprang free.

Clenching his fists at his sides, he forced himself to remain still, to not reach for her, when all he wanted to do was touch and taste every inch of her warm, smooth skin.

She, on the other hand, felt no compunction about reaching for him. The light scrape of her fingernail over the head of his cock dragged a groan from him. He was so big, so hard, that it didn't feel like he'd fit in his skin much longer. Something had to give.

Leaning forward she replaced her fingernail with her lips, her tongue, her teeth. Nipping gently, she worked up and down the length of him before closing her lips over the head.

The slide of her fangs along the most sensitive body part he owned added something new to the sensations he was feeling. Fear. Yes, he trusted her, but there was the primitive part of his brain that refused to feel safe. The fear was like adding hot pepper to the sexual recipe. It intensified everything and came close to pushing him to orgasm.

He'd reached his personal limit. He had to touch her.

Sensing his shift from passive to active, she released him and leaned back to look up at him. The cool air sliding across his cock, still warm and wet from her mouth, startled him.

What startled him even more was the sound of feline screeches and yowls drawing closer and closer to the closed door.

Damn.

Gerry stared at him from wide eyes. “Someone's killing a cat.”

“No. Asima's singing.” Conall straightened and then raked his fingers through his hair.

A minute ago, Morrigan and his promise to Edge hadn't even been a blip on his memory's radar. All he'd wanted was to make love with Gerry. Only Asima's cat voice raised in song could've stopped dead what probably would've been the greatest orgasm he or Gerry would ever have.

He growled low in his throat as he turned toward the door. “Dead kitty.”

Conall was aware of Gerry scrambling into her robe as the door swung open and Asima padded into the dungeon.

“Everything turned out well. Everyone had a lovely time. There were a few who said they would've enjoyed ripping a certain shape-shifter into tiny pieces, but all in all, the night was a success.”
She leaped onto the coffee table to stare at them.
“My, we look a little disheveled. Did I interrupt anything?”

Gerry lifted her lips to show her fangs.

“Hmm. I'll take that as a yes.”
She glanced around the room.
“If Sparkle's horrendous attempt at interior design raised your lust level, please don't tell me. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'll be guarding the door while you guys sleep.”
She jumped from the table and padded back toward the door.
“I'll be unflagging in my vigilance. Of course, I might allow myself a few short cat naps. Very short. Nothing will get by me.”
Then she left. The door swung shut behind her.

He dropped onto the couch, and Gerry joined him.

“That could've been Morrigan.” He clasped her hand.

“We should thank Asima for stopping us.” She squeezed his hand.

“I still hate her.”

“Yeah.”

Gerry wakened the next evening to a sense of unfinished business. With eyes closed, she allowed herself to adjust to life's small noises—the soft hum of the air conditioner and the sound of the TV turned down low.

What was that smell? It made her want to . . . Then she remembered. She'd slept on Sparkle's bed of sensual scents. Too bad when Gerry hit her nightly off button it was instant nothing. A few erotic dreams would've made sure she didn't wake up cranky.