She pressed her hand against his length, stroking as she fumbled for the zipper. She needed to feel him in her. His jeans opened and she pushed her hand into his briefs, her fingers grazing the smooth head of his shaft. Her breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower and slid over slick skin. Her back arched into his touch. He’d learned her body so fast, his finger using just the right amount of pressure, the right motion. She closed her eyes; she was so close. His lips trailed along her collarbone and lower, his tongue tracing the edge of her bra. Then he stopped.
She opened her eyes and he lifted his head and looked at her with his eyebrows raised as his finger touched the iron nail in her bra.
She swallowed. “In case a Grey comes back.”
He drew away, the heat gone. “I’m not good company at the moment.”
How could he say that? Now? Her blood was running hot. She needed him. Her fingers curled at her side, but she bit back the frustration. What did she say? What could she say? He didn’t want her… and yet thirty seconds ago he’d been as keen as she was.
She took a moment to fix her clothes and gather up as much calm and dignity as she could. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it.” But she paused in the doorway, waiting for the rest of his clothes.
He stripped off his jeans without a trace of embarrassment and handed them to her. She glanced away not wanting to see him aroused when he’d just turned her away.
Something wasn’t right. He seemed different, but she couldn’t say how. Exhaustion, that’s all. Of course he wasn’t going to be into sex even if his body was saying something different. “Did you want something to eat or did you want to go straight to sleep?”
“Sleep would be good.” He looked at the wet clothes in her arms, then back at her face. “I’m not being a very good guest.”
“Don’t worry about it. We can talk later.” She even tried to sound like she meant it.
He looked at the running water and hesitated before stepping under and closing the door. The glass warped his outline, but she saw him just standing there, head bowed, letting the water drum on his shoulders.
She bit her lip and turned away, shutting the bathroom door behind her to keep the heat in. Was she in over her head? She had more than enough problems of her own, including the relocated ghost. Yet that fairy had been in Callaway House for as long as she could remember without causing problems. She wanted to show Caspian the mirror in her handbag, but now wasn’t the time. Maybe in the morning.
She put his clothes in the dryer on low, as jeans had a horrible tendency to shrink. He wouldn’t care at the moment he would in the morning.
The sound of water running through the pipes rattled above her reminding her how old the house was. It had never been a silent house. It had always creaked and groaned and sighed and rattled with life; now it was too silent. The ghost hadn’t come back yet. She almost wished it would. The pipes shuddered as the taps were turned off.
In her mind she saw him drying off and the heat in her blood rose. She was tempted to go up, but hesitated. She didn’t want to intrude and she didn’t want to be turned down twice. She knew when she was shattered all she wanted to do was lie down and be left alone. So she left him alone, hoping that when he woke up he was more like himself.
For the next couple of hours she made a list of all the diaries including the dates they spanned and then photographed them the way Caspian had done. This way there was record of them, just in case someone thought to destroy them and act like they never existed. There’d been no mention of the memorial in today’s paper, but she was expecting something and she was expecting the reporter to mention the diaries. She’d have to ask Caspian who he’d spoken to about them. But that would have to wait until morning, along with the rest of her questions.
As she thumbed the old pages she wished there was a way she could make a copy of them, but she didn’t have the time to photograph every page. There was just too much. Carefully she packed them back into the trunk and locked it. For the moment she’d done all she could.
With a sigh she walked around and turned off the lights, double-checking that the doors were locked as she went. She hadn’t planned to stay here tonight, but she wasn’t leaving him alone, and she didn’t want to wake him to take him home. It was better they were both here. While she wanted to slide into bed next to Caspian, it would be smarter to sleep in the bed she’d used growing up. But she didn’t think she could sleep in the same house in a separate room.
She used the little lie of checking on him. The bedroom door was open as if he was leaving an invitation… or he’d been so out of it he hadn’t thought to close it. Light from the corridor cut across the bed. He was on his back, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The mirror pendant was still around his neck, but she couldn’t see his face as it was in the shadow cast by the door.
“Join me.” His voice was soft like he was half-asleep.
She should leave him to rest, but she wanted him and her feet moved as if she couldn’t resist the request. Desire still ran through her body, aching and unsatisfied. She pulled her hair free of the grips so it tumbled down her back, still a little damp from washing it that morning. Then she took off her clothes, carefully placing the iron nail on the bedside table, and then slid into bed next to him, glad to feel his skin against her again and know he was safe. Even as she lay there she tried to clamp down on her rising desire. But her body was aware of every move and every breath he took. She was on edge from before. He turned toward her and drew her close, her back against his chest, the hair on his thighs tickling the back of her legs. She let out a shaky breath. Her thoughts were on everything but sleep.
Behind her his skin was cool against hers, even though he’d been in bed. His arm was looped over her waist, his fingers trailing along her stomach. When he placed his lips on the back of her neck she shivered. Then his hand slid higher and traced the curve of the underside of her breast. The simple touch made her stomach tighten. His thumb brushed the swell but never came close to her nipple, which was already peaked and aching to be touched. Yet his touch couldn’t be called seductive; it was more intimate than going straight for the erogenous zones where nerve endings made it easy to arouse someone.
He kissed another vertebra in her neck, pausing long enough to taste her skin with a flick of his tongue. Against her butt, part of him warmed up and hardened against her skin. She swallowed and tried not to wiggle her hips closer in invitation. He pressed his palm flat to her belly, the tips of his fingers barely brushing her curls. She wanted his hand to move lower. It did, but he smoothed down her hip to her thigh, his hand never slipping between her legs. Lydia pressed her teeth together to stifle the frustration at having him touch her everywhere but where she needed to feel his hands.
Behind her he moved, placing a kiss on the side of her neck, his teeth raking gently over her skin. His breath raised gooseflesh as he worked his way to her shoulder blade. She moved, separating her legs a little. But still he made no effort to realign his shaft between her thighs, and his fingers stayed away from the wetness slicking her sex. She’d been waiting hours for this and now he was drawing it out.
He cupped her breast, teasing as if he enjoyed driving her to distraction and knew she was enjoying it. Her belly was a tight knot of nerves waiting to unravel. One touch. She bit her lip, not wanting to make a sound in case it broke the moment somehow.