And she loved all of it.
It was good to love and trust someone so much you could just have sex sometimes, just mate for the sheer rutting pleasure of your bodies moving together in primitive sync.
Now in the dream, she thought back to that earlier time with a small, bittersweet smile. Now wasn’t one of those times.
She knew he was right there with her. They could talk on the phone afterward and both would remember the same things—how he suckled at her so gently, how she wound her arms around his neck and cradled his head—but there was still that dreamy, unreal edge to their lovemaking. It made her even hungrier for him in a way that had nothing to do with enchantments or beguilement, and it also made her a little sad.
She tugged at his shirt, and he obeyed her unspoken request, lifting away from her breast so that he could shrug out of it. She ran her hands over his wide, heavily muscled bronze chest as he unfastened his jeans. He rolled to his back to kick off his boots, then he shoved off the jeans, and my gods, there was so damn much of him, and he was all nude, all hers.
As he turned back to her, she put her arms around his neck to hug him tightly. She whispered, “If we climax, will it wake us up?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He flattened his big hands on her back and pressed her to him. “It could. Do you want to try?”
She twitched a shoulder. “We might as well find out. Otherwise we’ll just wonder until we try it.”
She felt him exhale in a silent laugh. “There’s a rousing endorsement for making love, if ever I heard one.”
She tapped her fingers against his bicep, the merest, gentle hint of one of her smacks. “You know what I meant,” she muttered.
“I know what you meant.”
He eased her onto her back again and came over her. The laughter died, and his expression turned serious. She parted her legs and guided his cock as he kissed her, and there was another one of her very best-loved places, as he covered and penetrated her while she raised her legs and cradled him. Their bodies were perfectly aligned in a way that said this was home.
She adored it, adored him. He leaned his weight on elbows planted on either side of her head, and he lowered his head until they were nose to nose, staring deeply into each other’s eyes as their bodies flexed together gently.
But it was all just a little too dreamy.
Her eyes filled. She said, “I still miss you.”
He stroked her temple with the back of his fingers as he kissed her. His gold gaze filled with quiet pain. “I still miss you too,” he said.
FOUR
Rain pattered outside and left silver streaks against windowpanes when Pia woke early the next morning. She lay twisted in her bedsheets, staring around her lovely bedroom. She remembered the play of his long, clever fingers down the most sensitive places on her body and the sound of his hitched breathing as she tasted his skin, and her overheated body thrummed with frustration.
While the dream with Dragos had been wonderful for comfort’s sake, neither one of them had been able to climax as they made love. Not only had the dream experience felt too unreal, but she, for one, had not been able to relax enough while knowing that anyone could walk into her bedroom and wake her at any time. Whatever the reason, meeting in dreams might not be quite the solution they had hoped for.
After another quick shower, she dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Her iPhone buzzed. She snatched it off the bedside table and checked the screen. It was another text message from Dragos.
One week.
He had been confident he could create a dream spell for them to meet in, but they had agreed she would shorten her stay in Charleston if they ran into any issues. They might have managed to make a connection, but hell.
She rubbed the back of her neck, blew out a breath and texted back.
Yes.
Now it was time to see what they could accomplish in seven days. She could repair all the broken treaties while Dragos fixed the internal problems in his demesne. Then they could get back together before the Freaky Deaky came along to screw with them.
But no pressure, right?
Her muscles tightened with nerves. As Dragos’s mate, she had traveled with him and attended various functions, such as the world-famous winter solstice Masque at Cuelebre Tower, but this trip to South Carolina was her first time actually flying solo. She had worked hard and learned a lot over the last several months, but she still felt woefully inadequate for the task she had set herself.
Hell, she was woefully inadequate. There wasn’t a single thing that qualified her to act as the Lord of the Wyr’s mate, except that she was actually his mate.
When she confessed how nervous she was about the trip, Dragos hadn’t exactly been unsympathetic. But he had certainly been less than helpful. Once he finally conceded to her arguments and she accepted the Elves’ invitation to visit, the whole subject occupied the area of settled in his mind.
“You’re going to be great,” he said. “Don’t sweat it. Just be yourself.”
“You’re no help at all,” she mumbled into her pillow.
She sounded drugged. She felt drugged. She was lying on her stomach on the bed while he massaged her neck and shoulders, his powerful hands digging into her muscles with slow, sensuous care. Whenever he touched her, he moved his hands as if he savored every sensation, every curve and hollow of her body, and that was possibly even more intoxicating than the actual massage itself.
“Of course I’m not any help,” Dragos said. “I don’t actually want you to go.” He paused, then scratched the edge of his fingernails lightly along the bare skin of her back as he asked slyly, “So does that mean you’re going to cancel the trip?”
She shivered all over and sighed. “No.”
“Then shut up and go,” he told her. His gentle tone was in direct contrast with the brusque words.
She lifted her head and stuck out her tongue at him. It was a stupid, childish thing to do, especially when she had been enjoying that back rub so very much.
He retaliated by rolling her onto her back, taking hold of her jaw gently and leaning over her with a machete smile. Just before he brought his mouth down to hers, he muttered, “I’ve got better uses for that, you know.”
Boy howdy, did he have better uses for that.
While the Offices of the Elven High Lord, Calondir, were located in downtown Charleston, his consort Beluviel had invited Pia to Lirithriel House at three o’clock for tea. The house, along with its famous gardens, was the public face of the Elves. It was located an easy half an hour’s commute from Charleston and it bordered the actual heart of the Elven demesne, Lirithriel Wood.
The rain had stopped late in the morning. They traveled through a green countryside that sparkled in the pale yellow light of a winter afternoon sun. As they drove north, the sense of land magic grew more powerful. They passed through a small town with several shops and restaurants along the stretch of road that approached Lirithriel House. Pedestrians packed the quaint, Colonial-style cobblestone side streets. The Elven-run businesses enjoyed a robust tourist trade, no matter what the season.
Eva drove Pia’s SUV again. Everyone maintained the same positions they had traveled in the day before. All the psychos wore black. Pia couldn’t decide if that actually dressed them up or made them look like drug dealers. Maybe both. It did make them look scarier, at least as far as she was concerned.
She tugged at the edge of her lavender Dior wool Grisaille Bar jacket and checked her patent leather, peep-toed pumps for scuff marks. Beluviel was famous for her beauty and style, and Pia had looked hard for the right kind of outfit to wear for their first meeting. With the help of Stanford, the personal shopper Dragos had retained for her, she had settled on a suit that conveyed a sense of Jackie Kennedy’s suits—or at least she hoped it did. The jacket, matching dress and shoes cost as much as a quality used car.