Dreams Made Flesh
Page 60

“Daemon.” His name ended in a moan as he gave her breasts a fleeting caress before opening her trousers and sliding them, and the whisper of material beneath them, down her legs. After vanishing her shoes and thin socks, he coaxed her into bed.
Walking around to the other side of the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, letting it slide to the floor. It had been awhile since he’d stripped with the intention of having a woman hot and willing to let him do whatever he wanted by the time he slid between the sheets, but the look in Jaenelle’s eyes told him plainly enough he hadn’t lost his touch.
She reached for him as soon as he got into bed, but he had other plans.
“Roll over,” he said, a hand on her shoulder guiding her to stretch out on her belly.
“What?” Confused, she obeyed.
He started with her neck and worked down. What his fingers didn’t touch, his mouth tasted. By the time he’d licked his way down her spine, she was moaning. By the time his teeth gently scraped her calves, her skin was so sensitized to his touch, he didn’t need more than warm breath to excite her.
Turning her over, he stroked her inner thighs and smiled at the painted toenails. Next round, he was going to have to admire them more closely. But judging by her glazed eyes and flushed skin, she was reaching the point where much more would become too much.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Rolling on his back, he settled her over him, sheathing his cock between her legs before coaxing her to stretch out over him. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her still.
“Daemon.”
Wildly aroused by the hint of snarl in her voice, he kept his kisses viciously soft.
“Let me do this, sweetheart,” he whispered as he licked her throat. “It would destroy me if I hurt you now, so let me do this.”
“Do what?” She sounded breathless, almost too aroused.
In answer, he used Craft to create a phantom touch, something he’d never done with her before because he’d wanted to give her his body—and because he’d never used that phantom touch except to hurt someone . . . especially when he pleasured her. Now he wanted to use everything he was and everything he knew to please Jaenelle, so his hands stroked her back and his tongue kept hers busy while phantom fingers caressed the sweetness between her legs until her body bucked within his gently restraining arms, milking him as he sent her on that last wave of pleasure.
Limp and quivering, she sprawled over him. “Mother Night,” she gasped.
Brushing his lips against her forehead, Daemon just smiled and used Craft to pull up the covers. It might be spring, but it was still cool during the day, and the nights got cold. He wanted her to stay warm—in every way.
He waited until her heartbeat and breathing quieted. Still inside her, he was already swelling to fill her again, so he slid his hands down to gently knead her ass while a featherlight phantom touch played with her.
She finally raised her head. “Would you teach me how to do that?”
“Do what?” he purred.
“You know perfectly well what.”
“Oh, you mean this?” He increased the phantom touch enough to have her gasping as pleasure pulsed through her.
“Ooooohhhh, yes, that.”
“Not yet. We’ll save that for dessert. Right now, I don’t want you thinking about anything except what I’m doing between your legs.”
He used phantom hands to restrain her movements, but he let her ride him until she took them both over the edge.
She was sound asleep moments after she stretched out beside him.
Tucking her against his chest to keep her warm, he breathed out a sigh of pleasure—and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
4
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Roxie shifted on the cab’s seat to find a comfortable position while she continued to watch the town house across the street. A few minutes after she’d arrived, another horse-drawn cab had pulled up to the town house, and a woman who looked somewhat like Jaenelle Angelline had gotten out of the cab and entered the SaDiablo residence.
But it couldn’t have been Jaenelle. For one thing, she wasn’t supposed to come to Amdarh. For another, she wasn’t supposed to be that . . . healthy. She was supposed to hear the rumors from some well-meaning acquaintance who had scurried to SaDiablo Hall to convey the news, but she wasn’t supposed to come here and confront Daemon. What if he managed to talk Jaenelle out of breaking whatever ties remained between the two of them? What if he was doing a lot more than talking to convince Jaenelle to keep him?
No. Even that beautiful body, hot and ready for sex, wouldn’t be enough reason for a woman to forgive a man for breaking faith with her in that way.
Of course, that didn’t mean a woman wouldn’t enjoy him before tossing him out of the house.
Two hours. If it was Jaenelle who had arrived at the town house, she should have left long before now—even if Daemon had tried sex as a distraction from the accusations of infidelity. After all, even a man who’d spent centuries as a pleasure slave couldn’t spin out sex for two hours.
Could he?
The cab door suddenly opened, tearing her from that intriguing thought. She gasped and pressed herself against the back of the seat before she realized it was the driver standing there and not a member of the SaDiablo family.
“Day’s ended,” the driver said roughly, giving her a less-than-friendly look. “If you want me to drop you somewhere on my way home, I’ll do that. Otherwise, you can pay me for the time my horse has been standing and step out of my cab.”
“I’m not ready to leave,” Roxie said, putting the kind of aristo haughtiness in her voice that usually made merchants and other kinds of tradesmen back down.
“I am.” The driver held out his hand and stared her down. “Of course, I could always go across the street and knock on the door of that town house you’ve been watching. Someone there might be interested in knowing that a witch has been keeping watch of who comes and goes.”
Before she could rail at him for threatening her, a horse-drawn cab pulled up in front of the town house. When it went on, Surreal SaDiablo stood on the sidewalk, looking at the cab Roxie occupied.
The whore didn’t worry her, but it was more attention than she wanted today. “Very well,” she said as she called in her leather wallet and named a place that was close to the dining house where she was meeting Lektra.
She was outraged when the driver told her his fee, but that bitch Surreal was still watching them, and it would take so little effort for the driver to cause trouble. She handed over the marks.
The driver looked at the marks, then at her before he vanished his fee and climbed up to the driver’s seat.
Roxie breathed a sigh of relief as the cab headed for the theater district. Thank the Darkness she’d used the illusion spell today and looked like a thousand other Dhemlan witches. While she wasn’t the only fair-skinned witch in Amdarh, the driver had studied the illusion’s face a little too long for comfort, so it was good he couldn’t tell anyone who had really been watching the town house.
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As she watched the cab drive away, Surreal rolled her shoulders to release the tension. She couldn’t say why seeing the driver talking to his passenger had caught her attention—or why it had made her uneasy.
Shaking her head, she climbed the steps to the front door and walked into the town house. She’d barely gotten far enough into the entranceway to close the door before Helton rushed up, blocking her.
Hell’s fire. If the servants had heard the rumors—and believed them—things were going to get nasty.
“Lady Surreal,” Helton said. “The Prince and the Lady are not at home this evening.”
“Really?” Since she could feel Daemon’s presence, why the lie? Then she noticed the gleam in Helton’s eyes. “Ah. Where did they dine while they weren’t at home?”
“The Prince has not yet requested that dinner be sent up, Lady.”
“I see.” She looked at the staircase and grinned. Oh, she hoped it meant what she thought it meant.
She called in the small trunk she’d brought from the Hall. “When Lady Angelline is available, please see that she gets that trunk. It has the new clothes she purchased today. I think she’ll need them.” Her grin widened. “Eventually.”
Helton returned the grin before regaining his professional demeanor. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Dancing down the steps, she stood on the sidewalk, not sure what to do with herself. Standing in the middle of the street dancing and whooping would be fun but would require an explanation she didn’t want to give.
So she turned around with the intention of heading back to her rented suite for an indulgent dinner—and stifled a shriek as a large shape moved toward her.
Lucivar studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “If you’re not going to pay attention to your surroundings to the point where you don’t sense someone standing this close to you, you damn well better shield to protect yourself from an attack.”
“I’m not likely to be attacked in Amdarh,” Surreal snapped. But she glanced across the street to where that cab had stood. She shook off the hint of uneasiness and focused on the Warlord Prince in front of her. “What brings you to Amdarh?”
“Figured I’d better talk to Daemon,” Lucivar replied, moving toward the town house’s steps.