Moonshadow Part 17

"Maybe they are," he said. "But I'm finding I would rather live in too much hope than exist the way I've been living these past few decades. So can we rent the house from you?"

"You can use the house," she said firmly. "I'm not at all sure about the rent though."

"Lousy at negotiating," he told her.

She made a face but didn't bother to fire back with anything. Instead, she looked around with an eager smile. "I can't wait to do more exploring."

"Let's leave it for now," he said. "I need to get in touch with my men, and we need to collect a whole new set of supplies, including the different colors of paint. When we're prepared, you and I can go through the house together. We'll map it as we go and mark the s.h.i.+fts. Okay?"

"You sound so boringly sensible!" She rolled her eyes. "I bet you were in middle management at some point in your life."

"Also," he added in a relentlessly even tone of voice, "if two children disappeared and came back starved after two weeks, we shouldn't go anywhere in here without backpacks filled with supplies. Right?"

Heaving a sigh, she conceded. "Right."

"Good." Keeping one arm firmly around her shoulders, he steered her in the direction of the great hall and the open door. "And Sophie?"

"Yeeeees?" she replied, drawing the word out in a tone of long suffering.

"Keep quiet about this, okay? Don't tell people in town that you got into the house. Those Hounds attacked for a reason last night, and we might see more in the guise of men, asking questions. What people don't know, they can't tell others."

Her playful att.i.tude fell away, leaving behind a sober, alert look. She said, "Of course."

They stepped out of the house, and she pulled the door shut behind them, then pulled the key out of her pocket and considered it. As she hesitated, Nikolas said, "Let me check something."

Obligingly she stepped to one side and watched as he tried to open the door. He put his whole weight into the effort, but the door didn't budge. When he turned to face her, eyebrows up, she smirked and pocketed the key. "You're not in alignment. n.o.body is getting into my house without my say-so."

He grinned. "Apparently not."

Chapter Eleven.

As they walked back to the cottage, the excitement slipped away, and suddenly Sophie was so wiped out she could barely keep her eyes open. Yawning, she said, "You mentioned something about groceries."

Nikolas gave her a thoughtful, a.s.sessing look. "I'll go into town to pick things up. Why don't you rest? You've had an eventful couple of days."

"I sure have." When they stepped into the cottage, she rummaged around in the kitchen. Suddenly her stomach felt so hollow she would settle for anything to eat. Disappointed, she said, "I thought I saw two pieces of fruit earlier."

"You did," he replied, glancing around as well. "An apple and an orange."

She threw up her hands. "Well, they're gone now." The monkey was nowhere to be seen, so she raised her voice. "You could have left me the orange!"

"I'll head into town to pick up the groceries," he told her. "Shouldn't be longer than an hour."

She paused to stare at him. That sounded odd too, almost domestic. His offer to get groceries was like having a dragon offer to make her tea, incongruous and unsettling. "How did we become so... so... team-like?"

His dark eyes snapped with something that looked suspiciously like laughter. "You're such a pain in the neck, I haven't a clue."

Her mouth dropped open in outrage. "I'm the pain in the neck? Who shoots first and asks questions later? I bet you're the lousiest date on the planet. Who would want to go out with that kind of nonsense?"

"What?" His expression went blank.

"You..." Her voice trailed away as realization dawned.

He hadn't been on a date, not for decades at least, and maybe not ever, since dating was a fairly recent concept in historical terms. He had been embroiled in this conflict for so long he was barely house-trained any longer and stripped of most niceties.

The fact that he had offered to get groceries actually was kind of a big deal. The fact that he had relaxed enough to joke with her, smile, and even laugh on occasion, was nothing short of miraculous. If anybody was ripe for a protracted case of PTSD, it had to be Nikolas.

Her face softened. Reaching out, she hooked her fingers through his and gave them a quick squeeze. "Never mind. Thanks for getting the food."

"You're welcome," he said, frowning. "Lock the door when I leave."

Biting back a sigh, she told him, "I might choose to lock the door when you leave because it's a good idea, not because you ordered me to."

His eyes narrowed. "One of these days you're going to say, 'Sure, Nik. That's a good idea, I think I'm going to do that.'"

Nik. She liked that.

"Don't hold your breath." She laughed.

"Give me your car key," he said.

That wiped the smile off her face. "Why?"

"n.o.body would look twice at my car in the city, but here in the countryside it's pretty noticeable. I need to store it or get rid of it, but for now, I'd like to use your car."

He had a point. She dug out the car keys and handed them to him. Silent as a shadow, he slipped out the door, and a moment later, the Mini purred down the drive.

Left alone, she slowly walked through the shadowed cottage and threw herself in a sprawl on the couch. My cottage, she thought. This is all mine now. My couch, my chair, my-my- The monkey appeared. It had the same little stick arms and legs, but its belly was rounded. It climbed into her lap.

With a gentle hand, she petted his back. Realization dawned.

"This is my circus," she said. "You are my monkey. At least for now, huh? You know, the Porsche isn't the only thing that sticks out like a sore thumb in the English countryside. Hint, hint."

He regarded her with his sad eyes and wizened, old-man face. When she stopped stroking him, he picked up her hand and put it on his head. Smiling, she started to pet him again.

"One of these days, I'm hoping you're going to feel comfortable enough to shapes.h.i.+ft into your natural form," she told him as she settled back into a reclining position. "And maybe, someday not too far off, you'll feel safe enough to start talking again. What do you think of that?"

As she stretched out into a horizontal position, he curled up against her side and put his head on her shoulder, and it may or may not have been in answer to her question. She wrapped an arm around him.

Despite her best efforts to rest yet stay awake, she crashed headlong into sleep until the crunch of tires on gravel roused her. Knuckling her eyes, she sat up. d.a.m.n it! She had an eight-hour time difference to overcome from Los Angeles, but at this rate, she was never going to get her days and nights sorted out.

The light had changed, and the shadows in the cottage had lengthened. The monkey loped toward the kitchen and the door. When Nikolas carried in bags of food, she forced herself upright to join him.

He carried in a large amount of what looked like everything they could possibly need, from dish soap to laundry detergent, fruits, vegetables, cans of beans, packages of meat and fish, bread, eggs, cheeses, b.u.t.ter, yogurt and milk, some prepared meals, and even a few bottles of wine, a six-pack of lager, and a bottle of brandy.

Hungrily she tore open a package filled with two Scotch eggs and bit into one, which was when she discovered that a Scotch egg was sausage wrapped around a hard-boiled egg. Oh yum. She said around her mouthful, "Thank you."

One corner of Nikolas's mouth lifted. "You're welcome. I contacted my men. Gawain is going to arrive first, tomorrow morning. Then they'll all show up, one by one, staggered over the next few days. That way they won't draw attention to themselves, and when each one shows up, you can paint the null spell on them." He paused. "We might not even need the null spell when we're in the house. The land magic could mask our energies."

"It might. It certainly seems to drown out everything else. You might only need to use the null spell when more than one of you leaves the house." Finis.h.i.+ng the egg, she rummaged through the groceries. "Oh man, you didn't buy coffee? Who doesn't buy coffee?"

"I bought more tea," he pointed out as he slipped packages into the fridge.

"Tea isn't the same. At all." She rubbed her face. "Ugh. This is why you ask somebody what they want when you're buying groceries. Didn't anybody train you right?"

"My training didn't involve running household errands," he said dryly. As she watched, he paused to shrug. Once he had removed the sword harness from between his shoulders, the cloaking spell eased and it came into view. He set it in one corner.

"No, I suppose it didn't," she muttered, staring at the sword in its sheath. "I'll go into town tomorrow to buy some. I promised to stop by the pub to see Maggie and Arran anyway." She glanced at him. "What was it like in town?"

"Subdued. People have started putting black ribbons in their windows. The butcher said it was to remember those who were killed."

Her appet.i.te disappeared, and she offered the second Scotch egg to the monkey, who s.n.a.t.c.hed at it. Nikolas watched her movements, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he took a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and opened it. Pouring wine into a tumbler, he handed it to her.

Instantly she forgave him the lack of coffee as she took a large swallow of the rich, ruby red liquid and sighed.

He poured more wine into another tumbler, set it on the counter, and lit the bulky, alien-looking stove. "I bought a steak and kidney pie for supper. It's already cooked, but it will taste better warmed up. Do you want a salad to go with it?"

She drank more wine as she watched him. He did everything with the same lethal, seamless grace as he fought, and it was mesmerizing. If she wasn't careful, she could fall into a trance and merely watch him, like looking at the graceful flow of a river, for hours on end.

They were drinking wine-well, at the moment, at least she was anyway. Sharing the simple ch.o.r.e of putting groceries away. Talking together about making supper as if they were friends. What on earth was going on here?

Realizing she had paused for too long, she said, "Sure, I'll make it."

Setting aside her gla.s.s, she gathered up lettuce and fresh vegetables to wash at the kitchen sink. Glancing out the window at the deepening evening, she looked at the darkened manor house.

Her house. The thrill at saying those words wasn't going to get old.

That reminded her. Abandoning her task, she strode quickly into the sitting room where she had left her phone and opened her email account. Scrolling through the messages, she saw an email from Rodrigo but left it unopened to read later.

She found a new message from Kathryn, with a PDF attachment, and clicked on it. It was the letter Kathryn had promised to send to Paul. Warmth spread through her, along with giddy delight.

"What is it?" Nikolas said from the doorway.

She turned, smiling. "Kathryn emailed the letter to the solicitor in Shrewsbury. It's official. This land, and everything on it, is mine."

Strolling over to her side, he angled his head to study the small screen. "Congratulations. When you go into town tomorrow, you can open a checking account, and I'll transfer your first month's rent into it." Then as she opened her mouth to argue, he told her, "Hush. The building itself might be uncomfortable and lacking in amenities, but it more than makes up for it in other ways. It's a fair exchange."

She scowled. "Here's another thing you don't seem to grasp. Seeing as I'm not five years old any longer, I'm not about to hush just because you tell me to."

His expression heated, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. Sliding an arm around her, he pulled her against his torso. "Do I need to resort to the one technique I have for shutting you up?"

The intensity of his expression warmed her to her toes. Tilting her head, she focused her eyes on one of his s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons. His black s.h.i.+rt was open at the throat, exposing the long graceful line of his tanned neck.

She fiddled with the b.u.t.ton. "I didn't want to embarra.s.s you, but to be honest, your technique could use some practice."

Standing flush against him, she could feel his torso shake in a silent laugh. "You're a truly dreadful woman."

She widened her eyes. "Naturally, you would think so." Waving the fingers of one hand at her own head, she told him, "It's because I have all these modern, newfangled ideas, you know. Things like, I know how to speak my own mind. I'm a perfectly capable, autonomous person in my own right. I deserve to get all the pleasure I can from someone else's technique, and I have the right to crit-Mmph."

He lowered his head, and her last words got mashed against his lips as he took her mouth. His hot, hardened lips moved across hers, while he slid a hand around the nape of her neck, tilting her head back.

The first time he had kissed her had been an odd, shocking pleasure. The next few times, she had grown a little more accustomed to the idea. This time her body knew what was coming and welcomed it eagerly.

The shocking pleasure hadn't lessened. If anything, it had increased as she left the doubts and disbelief behind and concentrated solely on the sensual experience of his mouth moving over hers with such wicked expertise it sent pulses of pleasure spreading throughout her body.

He knew what he was doing when he kissed someone. He knew it and clearly relished the act, as he put the full force of his considerable concentration into it. Skillfully he teased her lips apart so that he could penetrate deeper. By then, her muscles were melting and her mind had switched off.

She wound one arm around his neck and kissed him back. There was something she was supposed to remember. One thing. One job. But oh wait, that job didn't matter anymore if she was going to proposition him for (tremendous, mind-blowing, screaming, utterly fantastic, wildly pleasurable) s.e.x.

Just the thought of it had her melting down further. Oh my G.o.d, if they did end up deciding to have s.e.x, he would take his clothes off.

She had already gotten a hint of what that would be like when she had seen him without his s.h.i.+rt. The thought of him totally nude broke the logical part of her brain. Hunger gained control of the wheel and began to drive her actions.

Sliding her fingers through his hair, she lost herself in the sensual pleasure of his mouth. He gripped her hips, pulled her tight against him and held her stationary, pelvis to pelvis. She felt his c.o.c.k harden, and a sheen of sweat broke over her skin. His entire body was hard as a rock, the muscles rigid underneath her stroking fingers, while his breathing roughened.

He broke off the kiss, ran his open mouth down the side of her neck, and muttered against her skin, "What the f.u.c.k are we doing?"

Afterward, he ran his teeth along the sensitive cord at the side of her neck and bit her lightly. Her knees threatened to buckle. She gasped. "Still can't speak for you, but I'm not over jet lag yet. Plus I'm drunk."

That brought his head up. He stared down at her, eyes narrowed. He looked like he had been thoroughly kissed. His elegant lips were darkened with color, his hair falling onto his brow.

She had made him look like that. The knowledge sent another thrill through her body. She was hungry for him, literally, physically hungry.

"You took one swallow of your wine," he accused.

She hadn't realized he'd been watching her so closely. That was s.e.xy too. She lied, "I'm sensitive to alcohol."

"You're so full of s.h.i.+t." He slid one large hand underneath her s.h.i.+rt, and the sensation of his callused fingers stroking over her sensitive skin sent a flash fire of sensation rippling over her. He cupped her breast.

She let him. Slipping her own hand inside his s.h.i.+rt, she ran her palm over the bulge and hollow of his muscular chest. "And your reasons are still inexplicable."

"I've got nothing else to do," he growled.

She burst out laughing. "You're bored? That's your excuse right now?"

"Why?" Lowering his head, he nipped at her lower lip. Huskily he whispered, "Do you have anything better to do?"

Her critical thinking skills had already been in trouble. Now her mind flatlined as he molded and stroked her breast with such clever, clever fingers, teasing the tip of her nipple through the thin material of her bra.

She wanted to push herself into his hand, rub herself all over him like a cat. She felt addicted, drugged. It was like he exuded some kind of pheromone that promised pure pleasure.