She held out her hand.
“Please.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He walked toward her, sliding his big hand from her shoulder down her arm to close around her hand, lacing their fingers.
“I have something to show you.”
The bathroom was exactly how she remembered, but this time there were candles on every surface. He led her through the door and flicked a tiny flame to each wick as she watched. The breath caught in her throat. He stood behind her. She could feel his heat as he gently held her shoulders, no more, just held her, as if he was afraid she would disintegrate if he held too tightly. And maybe he was, afraid as she had been afraid, of losing something so elusive. His eyes were fiercely tense when she turned to face him.
“I’m sorry. I need to tell you, I shouldn’t have walked away from you.”
“I understood. The immortal world can be hard to understand.”
She shook her head. “Not then. Not because of Seattle. That was wrong, too. I’m talking about when I was Gemma and I walked away.”
His eyes had darkened and one corner of his mouth moved up, but not in humor. “I thought you were you, now,” he said. “Don’t apologize for the past.”
There were tears in her eyes. “I must. Because if I had been me then, I wouldn’t have walked away. Not from your rage. From what I saw in your eyes. I would have held you. Loved you. I wouldn’t have given up on us.” His entire body tensed, and she was suddenly afraid. “Will you touch me?”
He stood back, leaned against the wall and she felt his power warm and soft against her skin.
“No,” she said, slowly pulling the sweater and the lacy camisole beneath it over her head, dropping the clothes beside her feet and kicking them to a corner. She was naked from the waist up, her hair—a shaft of sunlight in winter—sliding like a silken curtain across her breasts. “Will you touch me with your hands? Really touch me?”
He hesitated. She slid her fingers down, released the zipper from her jeans, pushed them along with her panties over her hips to the floor, kicked them aside, too. It was just the two of them and this moment, where they either reached for each other or they didn’t. She waited.
He removed his shirt and she saw the pagan tattoo move beneath his skin, felt the answering tingle at her wrist. He was so frighteningly beautiful, totally male. The muscles of his chest, the tight stomach, narrow hips—she watched his hands slide to the jeans, unfasten the button. With quick movements he was naked, his erection hard. The remembered strength made her shift restlessly.
“Cara,” he said as he reached her. He traced his fingers lightly across her cheek and down her throat, then brushed aside her hair to cup her breast. “Why do you ask me to touch you?”
“I have to know, Christan.”
“What do you have to know?”
“If it was real.”
“It’s real,” he whispered.
“Are you sure?”
“You are my heart, cara.” He reached behind her to turn on the shower. Multiple shower heads filled the glass enclosure and he backed her beneath the flow, soft as rain. Water, so warm against her head and shoulders as he stood in front of her. He reached for the bottle of lemon scented shampoo. His hands undid her, the feel of his fingers caressing every part of her scalp, her temples, her nape, tilting her head back to expose her throat as he rinsed her hair. She caught her breath, mesmerized by this immortal who touched her with such sensitivity that liquid fire ran through her veins. There would never be another male for her, and she wanted to do the same for him. She took the bottle, dragged her nails from the crown of his head to his nape until, with a shudder he took her lips and they kissed while soap slid slick across their bodies and swirled at their feet.
“I love you,” she said against his throat.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad, because sometimes I’m not good at it.”
“What are you not good at, cara?”
“Loving you,” she whispered as she caressed the ridges of muscle across his chest, the body built by centuries of combat in an immortal war she barely understood. She craved touching him, feeding the hunger that inflamed her to the point where she would dare to do things she would do with no other: say things, ask for his touch with words as well as her hands. Water flowed between them as she touched him, teased his stomach, luxuriating in the intimacy of arousing him as he did her.
“No one could love me better,” he said, as his hands moved over every curve of her shoulders, but it was more of a seduction, leisurely as he worked his way to her breasts. When they were swollen and aching he found her waist, slid those talented fingers to places lower while she pressed her mouth against the amber tattoos and lightly bit the flesh. There was no soap now, only warm water and the feel of him, the taste and heat.
She needed this pleasure, the comfort only Christan could provide after so many months trying to exist without him. He was so much a part of her she didn’t doubt that bond in blood had turned them into one. How permanent it was she had no idea, but while this lasted, while the alchemy held fast, she would hold him safe in her heart.
“Did you have other lovers while I was between lifetimes?” she asked as she nipped across his chest.
“None that I recall,” he said, pushing aside her wet hair and kissing the sensitive skin along the curve of her throat.
“You had some?”
“Did you not kiss boys while I wasn’t looking?”
“That’s different,” she argued, using her teeth against his shoulder. There had only been one or two boys she’d been serious about, one who actually became a lover but for such a short time he hardly counted. “I didn’t know you existed then, but you didn’t have the excuse.”
“You were gone a very long time between lifetimes, cara,” he teased.
She used the tip of her tongue to trace one of the tattoos she knew was particularly sensitive. “I suppose you have a point. I can’t really expect you to remain celibate for so long, but now things are different.”
“How different?” he asked, bending to touch her nipple with his teeth. “Because you are you now?”
“Yes, and I don’t share.”
He tugged gently. “Neither do I.”
“So for as long as this lasts—”
“It will last.”
“We stay monogamous, no other lovers.”
“We made a bond with blood—I would need to kill your lovers now.” A shudder as he lifted her thigh and wrapped it around his waist. “The Calata worries enough about the messes I leave behind. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble, would you?”
“Oh, I think you get into trouble without me,” she whispered, arching back, her hands clinging for balance as he bent her against his arm. His fingers stroked until she softened, felt her inner muscles opening and a soft sound rose in her throat.
“Do you feel this, cara?” he said as his fingers slid inside and he thrust hot and quick, his thumb pressing where she would burn to her core.
“Yes, Enforcer,” she said when she could breathe again, her legs trembling.
“Only my hand,” he growled. “Only my mouth and my cock. No one else.”
She was boneless when he turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel, before carrying her into the bedroom. The room glowed from the flames in the fireplace. He set her on her feet and a soft sound caught in her throat as tiny flickers of light began to fill the air, floating up to the ceiling, magical fireflies that danced and illuminated the dark like sparklers.
“For you,” he said as he pressed his lips against her shoulder.