She picked up her discarded bra on one fingertip and dragged it across his chest. “You like the bra?”
“White lace,” he admitted, his teeth gritted.
Alex kissed his ear, sliding her tongue around the perimeter, then whispering so that he shivered. “White lace?”
He nodded and swallowed. “White lace against tanned skin. That drives me wild.” His grin flashed. “Quinn says you can take the dragon out of the Renaissance. . . .”
Alex laughed. Donovan ran one hand admiringly over her curves, as if he was prepared to make an exception in this case.
But Alex had an idea. She rolled from the bed and went to the dresser. She didn’t keep many things here, mostly clothing that she didn’t wear often and didn’t miss from her own closet. There was a nightgown here that had been a gift from Diane—it was more of a short slip made of stretchy white lace. It was a garment that had been without purpose in her life.
Until now.
Alex pulled it out of the drawer and tugged it on. It was so short that it barely covered her pubic hair. It fit like a second skin, in white lace. The back was open down to her waist, and the spaghetti straps and elastic weren’t sufficient to give her breasts support for more than five minutes.
Alex had a feeling that she might not be wearing it longer than that. Donovan reclined on the bed, watching her with bright eyes.
She had his undivided attention.
He smiled, his teeth white in the shadows, his obvious appreciation making Alex feel very sexy. “You don’t have to dress up for me,” he said. “Naked works, too.”
“But you like the lace?”
He nodded, then swallowed and closed his eyes for a beat. His voice was tight when he spoke, as if overwhelmed. “No doubt about it.”
If anything, he was bigger than before, more tense, more fixed upon her. Alex wasn’t used to feeling sexy. She was a tomboy from the get-go, but she liked this new sense of feminine power.
She strolled back toward the bed, feeling her hips sway with a seductive rhythm. The light grew between them, turning from palest yellow to gold and finally to the orange of leaping flames.
Donovan caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips, his gallantry making her smile. His touch made her catch her breath, a wave of desire nearly taking her to her knees. Donovan’s touch was like a new sensation, the way they understood each other seemed intuitive and magical.
Destined.
Alex could have been discovering sex for the first time— but it was better than the first time, because she knew what to do.
“Maybe you knew I would turn up,” he breathed, sliding a fingertip across the lace hem. His hand grazed her pubic hair, his finger slipping over her thigh. “Maybe you saved this for me.”
Alex smiled. “Isn’t the firestorm supposed to be about destiny? Maybe I kept this for you, without even knowing it.” She bent and kissed him soundly, letting her hair trail across his face. She heard him catch his breath, saw him close his eyes in surrender, and loved how he savored the moment.
She’d give him plenty to savor.
She ran her hand across his shoulders and onto his chest, watching the sparks light all along the way. She slipped her fingertips through the russet hair on his chest, following the central V to his navel, then down farther.
Donovan caught his breath and Alex met his gaze. His eyes were more green than she remembered them being, glittering like emeralds in the darkness. He seemed to shimmer before her eyes, appeared to be bigger and brighter and more buff.
She understood that this was the power of the firestorm, that it was capable of making each of them more than they would be otherwise. It was a transformative process, but Alex wasn’t afraid of what might be ahead. Something that felt this good couldn’t be bad for her.
She trusted Donovan.
She trusted the Pyr.
She trusted her firestorm and whatever it brought to her. She bent and touched her lips to his. Alex eased down to the bed without breaking their kiss and Donovan pulled her on top of him. She liked the grip of his strong fingers around her waist, the spellbinding magic of his tongue.
This was the only way he could beguile her.
Because she surrendered willingly.
Alex caressed Donovan, wanting to know everything about him. He was powerful, his muscles developed for battle. He moved with the grace of someone comfortable with his body, aware of its strength, confident in its power. He had scars, as befit any warrior, and there was that tattoo. She recalled the sight of him in dragon form, the sheer beauty of him. He was all magnificent power.
Yet he had trusted her. He had believed her and he had displayed his truth to her. She was awed by his trust.
She pulled away to look at the tattoo, keeping her hand close to his bicep to illuminate it. It was a dragon, coiled and breathing fire, a dragon in the thick of battle.
“It’s what I am,” Donovan murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated against her breasts. He was watching her, his eyes glowing green and filled with warmth. Alex smiled, liking that he wasn’t one to play games or hide his secrets away.
“When did you get it?”
“About twenty years ago. At a complete hole of a tattoo parlor in Atlantic City.” He grinned, looking young and virile and unapologetic. “Rafferty got me drunk.”
“You probably lost a bet,” Alex guessed.
“Pretty much.”
She sealed his admission with a long, slow kiss, one that left them both steaming. “What about the earring?” she breathed, running her tongue over it and into his ear.
Donovan caught his breath. “I was a privateer for a while.”
“A pirate, you mean.”
“Privateer was the job description. Looting and pillaging were legal, if you raised the right flag.” His grin was rakish. “It was a good way to build a hoard, but a lousy way to meet women.”
“Didn’t pirates get earrings for killing someone?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said roughly, and she knew it was true. She didn’t doubt that the victim had deserved his fate, like Tyson, and the details beyond that were irrelevant.
“You’ve done lots of things,” she murmured against his skin.
“There’s always more to do.”
“Do you ever get bored?”
His eyes flashed. “Never.”
Then Alex didn’t have time for more questions. Donovan caught her nape and pulled her lips down to his. His kiss was urgent and she rolled her hips against his hardness. He gasped and she knelt atop him, taking his strength inside her in increments. She felt Donovan trembling and his desire for her made her feel powerful. He waited, letting her set the pace, and she kept it slow.
Very slow.
“Slower is better,” she reminded him, and he groaned.
He reached to caress her breasts through the lace slip. Alex arched her back and stretched her arms over her head, knowing by the way he caught his breath that he liked the view. There was a timeless moment when they stared at each other, both aroused beyond all expectation, both enjoying his heat inside her, both cast in the golden flicker of the firestorm.
Then she moved more quickly. Donovan inhaled sharply and caught her against him, his arm like a steel band around her waist. Alex claimed his mouth, kissing him with a hunger that she guessed would never be sated. She already wanted him again.
And again and again.
She rubbed herself against him and he gripped her buttocks, pulling her even closer. His thumb was suddenly between them and Alex was jolted by the surge of pleasure. She lost her rhythm and Donovan rolled them over in one smooth move, his eyes shining as he waited for her to orgasm. Alex was burning from head to toe, burning with a desire that only left her aching for more.
Alex rode the crest of the wave he launched. He grew bigger and harder, more demanding. His kiss had a furious power. She gripped his shoulders and held out for as long as she could. His finger coaxed more and more from her, until Alex
could bear it no longer.
She knew she cried out as the pleasure of the firestorm claimed her once again. Donovan’s mouth locked over hers, devouring her cry; then she felt him shake with the violence of his own release.
There was only darkness, and the rich red of shimmering coals in the bedroom. Alex lay and listened to Donovan’s breathing as he dozed, exhausted. She ran her fingers across the slickness of perspiration on his back. She could feel his heart pounding against her own, the two beating in powerful union.
She kissed his ear and a spark lit between her lips and his earlobe. She watched it with awe, certain that it was brighter again than it had been before.
How long did the firestorm last?
Was it ever extinguished? She didn’t recall seeing a spark between Quinn and Sara, but this spark was undimmed.
It seemed redoubled.
As was her yearning for Donovan.
Alex thought about the Pyr’s conviction that the firestorm always created a child. Even though she had just had two massive orgasms, she still wanted Donovan as vehemently as if she’d never been with him. Maybe more so. One taste definitely hadn’t satisfied her desire, or even quenched it temporarily.
She lay under Donovan’s weight, thought about condoms, and wondered.
Could a firestorm truly be cheated?
Did she want it to be?
She ran her fingers through the unruly waves of his hair and thought about destiny, Donovan as a father, and all the paths she’d always been sure she’d never follow. She’d never wanted marriage and children before; they seemed like distractions from her work. Alex had been content to leave the demands of biology to other people, maybe people who were more conventional or cared less about their work. Life with Donovan would be far from conventional. And he would encourage her work, even help her.
Was it possible to have it all?
She pressed a kiss to his temple, tasted the spark, and wondered whether he might want the same things.
February suddenly seemed all too soon.
The room Alex used in Peter’s retreat faced east and was in the corner on the second floor. Her favorite feature was the light there in the morning and the view over the untouched wilderness of Itasca State Park. Alex loved waking up to have the house to herself, and in this room, she felt as if she owned the world.
The room also had a perfect balance of old and new. The original house had had a peaked roof, which meant the second floor had an angled ceiling. Peter’s architect had squared off the room with glass: the fitted stone walls were exposed in Alex’s room, then met smooth glass. The bathroom and bedroom were passively solar heated, and there were solar panels on the roof as well.
The house was large and luxurious, but it was also outfitted with all the latest green features, thanks to Alex’s many arguments with her brother. The sun did much of the work of heating the house, the shutters ensuring that the house didn’t lose heat when it was empty. Peter had bought into a power cooperative, which supplied electricity from green sources, such as a local wind farm.
Alex slipped from the bed as Donovan dozed and crossed the room. When she left his side, the light of the firestorm dimmed, but she knew the room’s layout even in the dark. She hit the controls for the steel shutters. The dark metal panels slid into the roof, revealing the glass corner and a good six feet of glass ceiling.
The sunlight spilled like warm honey into the room. Alex turned to find Donovan watching her, his smile filled with sleepy satisfaction.
“Want a shower?” she said. “It’s low-flow volume with solar-heated water.”
“It would only be environmentally responsible for us to share.” Donovan eased out of bed and Alex caught her breath at the size of him.
“So, are you Pyr insatiable, too?” she teased.
He grinned. “Not usually. Maybe it’s part of the firestorm.” He came to her side and caught her close, giving her a kiss that made her simmer again. The sparks danced between them and although Alex was getting used to them, Donovan watched them with a frown.
“Have they changed?” she asked.
“I thought they’d stop.” He slid his fingertips across her shoulders and the sparks crackled over her flesh.
The heat within Alex was greater than before. She could feel herself perspiring, but she knew the room wasn’t that warm. She licked her lip and tasted salt, felt dampness under her hair. It could have been summer in the city.
But it was autumn. The heat was from Donovan.
“It’s hotter.” She let her gaze run over him, so splendidly male, and her pulse accelerated again.
Donovan shook his head. “Maybe humans are the ones who cast spells,” he muttered.
“I don’t cast spells.” Alex turned and headed for the shower, knowing that if she didn’t, they’d spend all day in bed.
With any luck, they’d have the Green Machine humming by lunchtime and then could come back to bed.
She started the water, well aware of Donovan’s admiring gaze. It was amazing how the man could make her feel so feminine. She’d never been a girlie-girl, but his reaction to white lace lingerie made her want to start a collection.
She wanted to keep Donovan’s attention, in bed and out of it.
Alex stepped into the shower and he was right behind her, the sunlight pouring through the ceiling to gild their skins. She turned and slipped her arms around her neck, raising her lips to his kiss. The water bubbled between them, heating in the press of their skin. Steam rose from the shower and fogged the windows. They necked like teenagers, but there was work to do.
Alex broke their kiss with an effort, then reached for the soap. “I’ve got to get that prototype running.”
“So, playtime is over?” Donovan teased, and Alex smiled.
“I’ll be happier when this meeting with Mr. Sinclair is over.”
“You could find another investor, if it doesn’t work out.”
Alex shook her head. “No, the fit is perfect. Mark researched his background and nearly stalked him. He’s built a partnership with other experts and is ready to move us into a big auto show, if the prototype is satisfactory. I could find another investor, but we’d lose a lot of time. This is the meeting to make.”
Donovan glanced up through the glass ceiling, his eyes narrowed.
“What do you sense?”
“Nothing.” He grimaced. “That’s what I’m wondering about.”
“How so?”
“The Slayers know where we are. Why haven’t they attacked again? There’s something we don’t know.”
“Maybe they gave it up.”
Donovan scoffed. “Slayers never give it up.”
“Maybe losing Tyson was too big a blow.”
“I doubt it.”
Alex was in too good a mood to get worked up about something that was not happening. No Slayers in the vicinity was a good thing. She was going to enjoy it. “Maybe they’re just tired or healing. Or too injured to fight.”
Donovan looked skeptical, so Alex changed the subject. Dwelling on bad things that might happen had a way of making them happen. In her experience, enough bad things happened on their own, completely unanticipated, and she didn’t need any extra ones.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said lightly. She laughed at Donovan’s sidelong glance. “Nothing epic. No more big secrets. I just want to know your favorite movie.”
“Why?” To her relief, he seemed content to match her mood.
“Because I’m curious, that’s why. You can tell a lot about someone by their favorite movie.”
“How so?”
“Well, take Mark, for example.” Alex’s voice faltered over her partner’s name, but she forced herself to think of something fun about him.
More fun than her last sight of him.
That should be easy.
“Did you take Mark?” Donovan’s question was low and silky.
Alex met the heat of his gaze. The fact that he had even wondered told
her more than Donovan probably wanted her to know.
Men weren’t possessive unless they cared.
“I did, for a while,” she admitted. “Mark and I were a couple until I realized we’d make better friends. I had a vague sense of it, but couldn’t put my finger on why. I kept breaking up with him, and he kept showing up to plead his case. Because I couldn’t make a rational argument, I kept losing the argument.”
Donovan folded his arms across his chest and looked possessive. “How did he make his case?”
“With words.” Alex held up a hand when his eyes glimmered. “Yes, I know you would have been persuasive with action instead, and maybe that was part of what was going on.” Donovan arched a brow. She really liked how he listened, giving her his full attention without interrupting. That was sexy, too. “Anyway, one night he began to explain to me that Barbarella is an art flick, perhaps the greatest art movie of all time.”
Donovan snorted, his laughter surprised out of him.
“See what I mean?” Alex said. “I knew then that the relationship was doomed and I knew why. We didn’t appreciate the same things. We didn’t look at the world in the same way.” They got out of the shower and she tossed him a towel, wrapping hers around herself before she put her hands on her hips. “So, ’fess up. What’s your fave movie? It will tell me all that I need to know.”
Donovan looked wicked and unpredictable. He did not knot the towel around his waist, which gave Alex plenty to look at. “It changes, depending on what I’ve seen.”
“Give me your top five, then.” Alex expected him to name Easy Rider or one of the Mad Max movies, but Donovan surprised her. His choices echoed a lot of her favorites.
“Okay. I, Robot.”
“Will Smith,” Alex said with a nod. “Good choice.”
“The Matrix.”
“Keanu Reeves.” Alex smiled. “Another excellent choice.”
“Blade Runner.”
“Harrison Ford.” Alex combed out her hair. “Good one.”
“Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“Johnny Depp.” Alex shivered. “Oooh, I like how you think.”