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  “Ah. Okay, let me try that again.” He drew the magic back out of the ward, then spun it out again. The air filled with the smell of ozone and something that reminded her of sandalwood on a cool night wind. The muscles of his angular face tightened in concentration as his eyes narrowed.

  Again, she saw that flash of gold across his irises, a marked contrast to his normal amber.

  When he dropped his hand and turned to her, a pleased boy’s smile spread over his mouth. “How about that?”

  Goddess, he looked so tall and broad and powerful. So profoundly male. Arousal surged through her in a ravenous wave, more intense than anything she’d ever felt before.

  This isn’t right, an uneasy mental voice whispered. She never went up in flames this fast. And certainly not to a man who’d just invaded her mind with a spell.

  He went very still then, as if something in her eyes had given her away. His pupils flared gold and his carnal lips parted . . .

  Before Olivia even knew what she was doing, she’d plastered herself full-length against him. He stiffened in astonishment, might even have pulled away . . . Except she covered his mouth with hers, kissed him with heat and greed, enjoying the blend of spices and ozone . . .

  And felt something darker, something wilder she didn’t recognize at all.

  Something she craved. Forgetfulness. A moment’s peace and pleasure. An escape from the guilt and loneliness . . . With a moan of delight, she opened even wider.

  * * *

  Rhys tensed, shock rolling through him. What the hell was she doing?

  A moment later, he didn’t care. His consciousness was full of Olivia, the soft weight and pressure of her breasts against his chest, her cool hands cupping his face as her mouth moved urgently over his. Her taste filled his senses with a delicious little crackle and tingle flavored with Riesling and the fresh, sharp taste of ozone.

  Rhys loved women. There were times when the only distraction he could find from the pressure to succeed was in the body of women. He was nobody’s idea of inexperienced.

  And yet no one’s mouth had ever tasted like Olivia’s. As if she fit him somehow, matched him perfectly on some level. Even physically; he had to stoop to kiss most women in an uncomfortable contortion of his far taller body. Yet Olivia could reach his mouth in flats.

  And he could reach hers.

  His hands came up, closing around her shoulders, pulling her tight, the better to feel the firm, lithe strength of her body. It seemed the only soft parts of her were those tempting breasts.

  He didn’t feel he had to hold back with her, didn’t have to worry that with his greater strength he’d hurt her. He remembered the way she’d leaped and spun with that sword in her hand.

  Olivia wouldn’t break.

  That had been his fear with every women he’d dated since he was seventeen. He’d never injured anyone badly, but he’d inflicted bruises more than once before learning the art of sensual delicacy.

  Olivia was no stranger to that particular art, either. Her long fingers traced the contours of his jaw, the tendons working along the line of his throat. Then they slid down to explore his chest, the width of his shoulders, the thick contours of muscle and bone.

  She rolled her hips against him, her belly pressing deliciously against his erection. Rhys found the curve of her ass, cupped her hips, caressed and stroked. She drew back from his mouth, just far enough to gasp. “I need you.”

  The only response he could manage was a groan.

  Chapter Four

  In the back of his mind, his inner suspicious son of a bitch asked, Where did this come from? Is she playing some game?

  He told it to shut up.

  Olivia drew back a fraction and stared into his eyes, her gaze desperate and searching.

  A little wild.

  Something about her expression sent another little jolt of unease through him.

  Until she fisted both hands in the material of his shirt and dragged him along as she backed toward the couch. Leaning in again, she drank at his mouth. He slid his tongue between her parted teeth, swirled and licked. Sliding his fingers into her hair, Rhys tightened them into a fist. The platinum strands felt incredibly fine against his skin.

  She spun him around with a strength that made him blink, then pushed him down on the couch to land in a sprawl. Olivia pounced, landed astride his hips, her amethyst gaze hungry over a hot, sensual smile. “Do you want me?”

  “God, yes,” he gasped, as the blood in his veins went molten from the warm pressure of her groin over his. Arousal surged in him, filling his cock, lengthening it, even as his balls grew hot and swollen.

  “Good.” She growled it as she fell into another kiss, even more ravenous, her tongue thrusting. With a rumble of hunger, he took over, suckling that greedy little tongue, then nibbling her lower lip as his hands sought out her ass, her breasts, relishing her soft heat.

  “Rhyssss. . . .” Panting, Olivia pulled back, bracing one knee on the couch beside his hip as she braced her other foot on the floor and ground her crotch against his erection. Her eyes glittered, wide and wild.

  “God, you’re making me crazy.” Rhys dragged her head down so he could kiss her again, tongue swirling in her mouth, drinking in the sweet intoxication.

  From the corner of one eye, he spotted the flare and flash of magic, sparks dancing in the air. Her magic, and his, twining together, hers gold, his own cool blue-white. Sparks of emerald rotated lazily around them.

  Olivia reached for the edges of her shirt and jerked. Buttons flew, hitting the hardwood floor with tiny plastic clicks.

  Rhys glimpsed a pretty lace bra . . . and it was gone, along with the rest of her clothes.

  Leaving her completely, spectacularly naked. His eyes widened as he took in the high curves of her breasts, tipped with hard rose nipples. She was as lithe and athletic as he’d thought, between the narrow waist and deliciously lean and muscled arms and legs, but her hips had a sweetly feminine curve, and her ass was just soft enough as she rode his groin. An intriguing little triangle of soft silver hair peeked at him between those long thighs, and he could smell her lush arousal. Sweetly captive beneath her weight, his cock bucked in lust against his zipper.

  “I need you naked.” She slid a hand the length of his chest, and his own clothing disappeared.

  “Wench!” Laughing, he jackknifed to sit up, reaching for her breasts. They didn’t quite fill his hands, but they felt deliciously sensual between silken skin and tight nipples. Caressing one tip, he relished the way it hardened even more at his touch. He engulfed the little peak in his mouth, suckling hard, raking his teeth over the point.

  “Harder,” she gasped and fisted her hands in his hair, almost tight enough to hurt.

  Enjoying the arousing sting of her grip, Rhys bit down with care. He was far too turned on, and he didn’t want to hurt her.

  She released his hair to dig long nails into his shoulder with a sweet, arousing bite. “More!” Gasping, growling, she rose from his lap and reached down for his cock.

  Rhys released her breast to grab her wrist. “No, not yet. I have more I want to do to you.”

  Wrapping both arms around her, he rose from the couch, ignoring her squeak of surprise. Flipping her onto her back on the couch, he sank to his knees between her thighs. When he parted her pussy’s plump folds, they were red, shining with arousal.

  She’d be wetter yet by the time he got through with her.

  Rhys covered her juicy sex with his mouth and stabbed his tongue deep. Her strangled gasp made his cock rear over his belly in lust.

  * * *

  Olivia whimpered as Rhys ate her like a peach, licking and sucking, nibbling the delicate flesh until white-hot stabs of pleasure jabbed through her body. She’d known a lot of men with a talent for cunnilingus, but Rhys was in a class by himself.

  As he ate her, those
big hands stroked over her body, urging the pleasure higher, hotter. Moaning, she watched the magic whirl around them, blue-white, gold, and emerald, spinning together in a storm of light. Her need grew into a clawing demand he fed with every tongue flick and skillful stroke. Until she felt half-mad, half-blind, deaf and lost.

  Reaching up the length of her body, he found a nipple and began to tug and pinch it, adding another delicious layer of delight.

  But what she really wanted was his cock. The long, thick jut of it, so impossibly hard. . . . She ached to feel it sliding into her, forcing its way into the tight, juicy grip of her cunt. “Fuck me!” she begged, though his mouth was the sweetest thing she’d ever felt.

  He growled back and ignored the demand, swirling that wickedly skilled tongue. Her orgasm gathered with every flickering stroke, building like storm clouds rolling over the horizon.

  She wanted more of his mouth, but her hunger for his cock was a hot growl in the base of her brain. “Please! Please, please, please, please, please . . .” Olivia chanted, grinding her hips up against his ravenous mouth. “Fuck me!”

  “No.” His mouth sealed tight around her clit. Sucked. And sucked and sucked.

  Her climax exploded in a white-hot fountain that shot up her spine, jerking her into a bow. Olivia screeched, both hands grabbing the thick muscle of his shoulders and curling into claws, digging in. She knew she must be hurting him, but she couldn’t seem to control her fingers. She was too hungry, too lost, too desperate.

  Rhys reared over her, eyes shining bright gold as he took that massive cock in his hand.

  “Yes!” She flung her legs wide. Shamelessly opening herself up for him.

  He slammed all the way to the balls in one driving thrust that should have hurt. But didn’t.

  And oh Goddess, that big shaft filled her up to her back teeth.

  His body came down over hers, and he began to grind, digging hard, plowing in and out as she rolled up at him, needing more, wanting more. Half-mad with sheer desperation.

  She had to have this. Had to, had to, had to . . .

  The climax came rolling out of her core in a blazing firestorm that blinded her until all she could see was flying sparks of silver, gold, and green.

  Rhys’s triumphal roar half-deafened her, and she matched it with a scream, the sound spiraling so high, her throat burned.

  When he finally collapsed over her, she clung to him with arms and legs while the world seemed to revolve around them in dizzy circles. He felt incredibly right lying against her, his body dewed in sweat.

  The fury of her climax left Olivia feeling as limp and weak as a sock. All she could do was lie there listening to their breath rasp in chorus.

  At last she managed to pant, “Well, there are quickies, and then there are quickies.”

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze, looking a little abashed. “Sorry about that.”

  Olivia grinned up at him. “That was not a complaint.”

  Then she spotted a trickle of red out of the corner of one eye and realized he was bleeding. She lost the smile. “Oh, God, I clawed you. I’m sorry!”

  Rhys glanced at the scratches and grinned just as wickedly as she just had. “I’m not.”

  * * *

  They fell silent after that, enjoying the loose, delicious pleasure of the aftermath of good sex.

  Finally, Rhys stirred. “I must be crushing you.”

  Before she could tell him he wasn’t, he rose from the couch and scooped her up. Dropping full-length onto the cushions, he swung his legs up and stretched out, arranging her over his body as if she were a particularly long scarf.

  Rhys reached out a muscled arm, grabbed one of the colorful pillows that had fallen to the floor, and stuffed it under his head.

  Olivia smiled slowly, admiring the play of strong muscle as he moved. “You must spend a hell of a lot of time in the gym.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Oh, I lift, but not as much as you might think. I started beefing up like this when I was seventeen.”

  Her brows lifted. “Then where does it all come from? Not that I’m complaining, mind you . . .”

  Rhys gave her a lazy look. “Well, I don’t do steroids if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

  “God, no.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to wonder. Even heard it from my baseball coach in high school.” He shrugged. “But they drug-tested me and I passed.”

  “It must have hurt to be suspected.” She gave him a considering look. Though he was certainly well-muscled, he didn’t have the swollen build of someone who took steroids. He looked more like some of the Sidhe swordsmen she’d known. Powerful, yes, but not so brawny as to be slowed down by extra bulk. “Whatever you’re doing is definitely working. I approve.”

  Rhys gave her a wicked little grin. “I can certainly say the same.” His breathing was already back to normal, though Olivia’s was still a little rough.

  Idly, she began to draw a circle around one taut male nipple with a finger, then spiraled in to flick and pinch.

  “Mind if I return the favor?” He cupped her breast and scrubbed his thumb back and forth, sending delicious little pings of pleasure through her body. His eyes heated, going that unearthly yellow again. With his free hand, Rhys reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. He blinked in surprise at the elegant sweep of it. “Your ears are pointed.”

  She grinned at him. “Fairy.”

  “I could’ve sworn you had round ears earlier.”

  “I was wearing a glamour to look more human.”

  “You hiding a pair of wings, too?”

  “No, that’s the demi-Sidhe.” Seeing his puzzlement, she explained, “They’re sort of like Tinkerbell.”

  “Mmmm,” he purred. “I do believe in fairies.” Rhys smiled, smoldering at her in that way he had, and Olivia found herself tumbling into the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were no longer that shocking yellow, but a shade of amber a bit lighter than brown, shot through with streaks of burnt umber and raw sienna.

  “Your eyes turn yellow when you use your powers.”

  He lifted a brow. “They do?”

  “Especially when you’re angry. I’m surprised nobody’s noticed it.”

  “They probably never saw it. Mom and Dad always insisted that I avoid working magic when anyone was looking.”

  “Even when you were a kid?”

  “Especially when I was a kid, though I’ll admit to casting the occasional spell here and there. Anyway, nobody ever mentioned the eye thing.”

  “Could be something you just started doing recently.”

  “It’s possible. There’s been a lot of weird shit happening to me lately. I think . . .” He broke off.

  “What?”

  He hesitated a long moment before admitting, “I have a feeling I may be getting more powerful. It’s taking less and less effort to work spells.”

  “Judging by what I’ve felt standing in the same general vicinity, I can believe that.”

  Olivia found herself gazing into his eyes, half hypnotized. He really was a ridiculously beautiful man. . . .

  He stared back, a half smile playing around his lips. His gaze was so intense, it seemed he could see all the way to her soul.

  She wondered what he thought of the view.

  For God sake, I haven’t known the man three hours, and I’ve already been to bed with him.

  Granted, it wasn’t the first time she’d had a one-night stand on short acquaintance, but Olivia had never particularly cared what those men thought of her. She’d just been looking for something to dull the pain.

  Using them, when it came right down to it.

  But she hadn’t done anything like that in years. Sometime in the nineties? Something like that. Is it possible to be a born-again virgin?

  And yet here she was, n
aked in Rhys’s arms.

  What the man did to her . . . from the minute Olivia had walked in the door, she’d kept getting ambushed by the sight of his big hands or the strong line of his shoulders. Or the look in his eyes.

  Had she ever reacted to a man with such intensity? Even her husband?

  Olivia stiffened, shoving the thought away as disloyal.

  Though it had been two hundred years since Coln’s murder, she could remember their life together with crystal clarity. It was one of the curses of being Sidhe. Her people weren’t afflicted with the mayfly memory of humans, for whom weeks or months was enough to blunt recall and soothe the pain of loss.

  Olivia found herself drifting into memories of the twenty years she’d had with Coln Beynon. Her name had been Orla then; Olivia was only the most recent of her many pseudonyms. She’d been eighty when they met, a young adult by Sidhe standards, chatelain of one of her father’s castles.

  Coln had been his father’s youngest son, a knight-errant in search of adventure and fortune. He’d taken service with Olivia’s father, Lugh, who’d been battling with a neighboring lord at the time.

  Lugh had won that fight, but in the meantime, she and Coln had fallen in love. Their son, Ivor, was born five years later, a laughing little boy with his father’s leaf-green eyes and her iridescent white curls.

  They’d all been gloriously happy until Ansgar summoned Olivia to court. It seemed he’d grown bored with the selection of available ladies, and some wretch had told him of her beauty.

  Olivia had refused to go without Coln and Ivor, a decision she cursed herself for to this day. Had she left them at home, they’d likely still be alive. So would her parents and sister, whom Ansgar had ordered killed when she’d fled the castle.

  But she had never had the Sight. Hadn’t realized the danger they faced.

  Not until it was too late . . .

  Rhys stretched under her, his powerful torso arching, jolting her out of her grim memories. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower.” He gave her a wicked little grin. “Want to share?”