Stars of Fortune

  “Then you’ll capture it when you’re not. Meanwhile . . .”

  He turned into her room with her, booted the doors closed, then whipped her around to press her back against them.

  “I think this is where we left off.”

  He took her mouth, and took her under.

  “Now?”

  “Oh, absolutely now.” He took his lips on a lazy journey along the column of her throat. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Everything inside her sparked. “No. No, now would be fine. Now would be good.” His hands skimmed up to brush over her breasts. “Now would be wonderful.”

  Wanting, willing, she wrapped around him, thrilled by the rush of her own pulse, the flood of her own needs. Needs she’d locked away for so long spun free—and there was such joy in them.

  She laughed, only a hint of nerves, when he turned her again, walked her backward toward the bed with his mouth still hungry on hers.

  Then she was tumbling back, and he with her. And oh, what a sensation, the weight and shape of his body pressed to hers, to feel her own yielding to it. His hands, so strong and sure, molding her like clay until her blood ran hot under her skin.

  She wanted to touch him, feared she’d fumble something as she fought to pull off his shirt. She wanted her hands on flesh, on muscle.

  “I need to tell you—”

  His teeth scraped lightly down her throat; her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

  “In case I do something wrong . . .”

  “Nothing could be wrong.”

  He flipped open the buttons of her shirt, his lips following his fingers.

  “It’s just— I might. Oh, God, this feels amazing. I’ve never done this before so I might make a mistake.”

  She realized she’d just made one when everything stilled. She closed her eyes, asked herself why, why, couldn’t she have just let it go, just said nothing until it was done.

  “Not done what before, exactly?”

  She opened her eyes, found his, so dark, so intense, on hers. “Sex. I shouldn’t have said anything. Why does it have to matter?”

  He shifted, sitting up, drawing her with him. And she felt all the joy and delight leak away into mortification.

  “Of course you should have told me, and of course it matters.”

  “You either want me or you don’t.” She dug for anger, for anything that would cover the humiliation of tears that wanted to spill.

  “That’s not the issue. It matters,” he repeated, taking her arms when she tried to turn away. “In approach, in tone. The first shouldn’t be rushed and greedy, and I was feeling both.”

  “Since I was feeling the same, why can’t we just—”

  “Because you don’t know. But you will.” He lifted her hand, turned it over to lay a kiss lightly in her palm. “If you’re sure. It’s a gift that can’t be taken back.”

  “I’m sure. I want to feel what you make me feel. I want to be with you. Now.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “I couldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “We want moonlight and stars.” As he spoke the room went dusky blue. Lights—candles? stars?—glimmered through it. “The song of the sea, the scent of flowers.”

  She heard the waves, like a whisper as he laid her back on what had become a bower.

  “You’re so much more than you’ve shown us.”

  Illusions, he thought, but the moment called for them. And for romance, and tenderness. He found he had them for her, and could call on them as easily as he could whistle up the wind.

  He cupped her face with one hand, took her lips slow, slow, deep, deeper, until he felt her melt into his bed of feathers and flowers.

  He could seduce, degree by degree, give them both the sumptuous. She smelled of the sea, tasted of honey. And under his hands her skin was soft as satin.

  On impulse he ran his hands through her hair, scattered tiny rosebuds through it. Looked down to enjoy the way it spread and tumbled over his bower.

  “You look like a faerie queen. If I had your gift, I would paint you just like this. Or . . .” He waved a finger through the air, and she was naked but for a scatter of flower petals.

  “Oh!” Instinctively, she lifted a hand to cover her breasts, but he caught it, brought it to his lips as he skimmed his gaze over her.

  “Yes, just like this. I’m commissioning you to do this self-portrait. Name your price,” he murmured and took her mouth again.

  How could she have known she could float and fly, could soar and dive all at the same time? That she could burn and shudder. And want, want, want.

  His mouth took hers with soul-deep kisses and whispered words she didn’t understand. And his hands glided over her, awakening fresh thrills.

  His thumbs brushed her nipples, then his tongue, stirring something deep in her belly. Then his mouth closed over her, and that stirring, that pulling flashed into a fast, shocking leap of pleasure.

  She cried out from it, arched up as it struck like an arrow.

  “You’re quick,” he murmured.

  “What? What?”

  “Just the start. Just a sample.” He pressed his lips to her thundering heart. “This time you’ll take, and taking, you give.”

  He gripped her hands with his, as her touch, her explorations tempted him to rush. So he used only his mouth on her, roaming down her torso, pleasing himself when her belly quivered under his tongue.

  She moaned for him, moved for him, and the mix of her need and surrender sparked like a wire in his blood. Another time he would give in to that, another time he would let that hunger loose. But now he would seduce her, now he would torment them both.

  He brushed his lips over her thigh, and then his tongue along the vulnerable line beside her center. And his teeth, lightly, lightly, until her breath became long, sighing moans, until her body undulated.

  He found her warm and wet, so ready to fly up again.

  It was like being showered with warm liquid gold, showered with melted jewels. Every inch of her sparkled, shone, glimmered, gleamed. The world was warm and soft, and smothered in flowers, drenched in moonlight.

  And the world was only him.

  As his mouth came back to hers again, as her hands were free to touch and stroke, she thought nothing could ever be more beautiful.

  “Will you look at me now? Look at me, Sasha.”

  She opened eyes dark and heavy with the glorious weight of pleasure. “Bran.”

  “This is ours, only.”

  He banished even the thought of pain as he slipped into her. And she learned there was more beauty. She opened for it, welcomed it. Keeping her eyes on his, she moved with him, let that beauty, the glory of it saturate her.

  It took her higher to where the air thinned, the world spun. As even the air shattered around her, she laid her hand on his cheek. “Yes,” she said. “Yes,” she sighed, and let herself slide down.

  She imagined her body pulsing off light. Pale pink and gold light. Warm and soft and lovely. He lay full on her so she imagined the light pulsed right through him as well, and filled the room with color.

  She wondered, if this is how sex made you feel, how people managed to do anything else.

  “Well, we can be a bit preoccupied with it.”

  “What? Did I say that out loud?”

  “You did.” He raised his head, gave her face a study out of dark, sleepy eyes. “And it’s a fine compliment to me.”

  “You gave me a bed of flowers and moonlight. I’m full of compliments.”

  He shifted, rolled so he could draw her up against his side. “I want that painting.”

  She laughed, happy to rest her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know how I looked.”

  “I’ll see that you do. Is it bad timing to ask why you haven’t been with someone before this?”

  “No. I felt I had to be honest about things before I slept with someone. And whenever things got to that point, the man was either put off or too interested
in that part of me. It wasn’t about me anymore, about wanting me anymore. You already knew. And you have something . . . it balances things. That sounds calculated.”

  “No, it sounds human.”

  Now she shifted, propped up so she could see his face. “This?” She gestured to the flowers, the moonlight. “What you have, are? It’s fascinating. It’s compelling. But it’s not why I’m here with you now.”

  “This?” He laid a hand on her temple. “What you have and are is fascinating and compelling. But it’s not why I want you here.”

  Content, she settled down again. “We have so many things to deal with, to figure out. Gods and stars and caves and vanishing islands. Right now none of it seems real. But it is.”

  “And we’ll do what needs doing. We’ll find the star that’s here for us. You’ve seen it.”

  “Not everything comes through exactly as I see it.”

  “We’ll trust this does, and more, keep looking until we find it.”

  “You’ve had more time than I have to believe. I’m still working on it. I guess we should go down, start planning tomorrow’s search.”

  “Be good soldiers,” he agreed and stroked a hand down her arm.

  “Can I ask you a question first?”

  “I think you could ask most anything under the circumstances.”

  “Is it always like that? Sex? Well, it’s not—not from what I’ve read, or heard. But do you think it was amazing because it was the first time, or it might be amazing for us?”

  “I couldn’t say, but I can be sure of one thing. We’re going to find out.”

  When he rolled over onto her, she laughed. “I guess they can get started downstairs without us.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The second time proved amazing—and as for the third, sex in the shower was an experience she definitely wanted to repeat. Often.

  Sasha wondered if going without sex for her entire adult life had given her a voracious appetite for it. Regardless, she considered herself well and truly sated, and made her way down to the kitchen to attend to another appetite.

  She was starving.

  She grabbed an apple out of the bowl, poured a glass of wine before perusing the contents of the fridge.

  Someone, she noted, had done some shopping. And since she’d contributed nothing there, unless anyone objected, she knew what to do with the lamb chops.

  Humming, she put together an easy marinade, hunted out a bowl deep enough to hold the dozen chops, poured it on, set it aside.

  And turning, let out a squeak when she saw Riley leaning against the doorjamb.

  “God! You scared me. I didn’t hear you.”

  “You were too busy singing to bluebirds and butterflies and making rainbows.”

  “I’m marinating lamb chops.”

  “Uh-huh.” Riley eyed the wine bottle, got herself a glass. “Well, I have to cross off any idea of using you if we need to sacrifice a virgin.”

  “What? Oh. Ha.”

  “No need to ask if you’re okay, as you’ve got those rainbows coming out of your ears.”

  “It was amazing. I keep using that word. There has to be a better word.”

  “It works.” Riley toasted her. “Congratulations.”

  “Does everybody know what we— That we . . .”

  “Anybody who’s not brain-dead. Where’s your studly sorcerer?”

  Sasha winced, glanced at both doorways. “He had some things to do, and I was starving.”

  “Good sex burns a lot of calories.”

  Sasha held up three fingers.

  “Three times? Now you’re making me jealous.”

  “Is that usual? It’s probably a stupid question, but I don’t have anyone to ask.”

  “Let me just say congratulations again.” Riley boosted herself up to sit on the table. “Three’s a lot for your first rodeo, but you look pretty fresh yet. And let me also repeat: stud.”

  “He made it magic. Literally. I probably shouldn’t talk about it. Tell you.”

  “Oh, au contraire. You really should, and step-by-step is best. How long does that sit?” Riley gestured toward the bowl with her glass.

  “An hour would be good.”

  “Great. Let’s take a walk, and you can give me the play-by-play.” Riley pushed off the table. “Look, Annika may be more of a girl, but I’m girl enough to know when it comes to sex—especially the intro to—you’re allowed to share. Plus, I haven’t had any myself in a while, so I need my perks where I can get them.”

  “Where is everybody else?”

  Riley topped off both glasses. “Sawyer—and we can thank him for the provisions—went down to the beach for a swim. He looked a little shell-shocked, as Annika dragged him around the village for earrings. She’s either upstairs admiring them or she went down for a swim, too. The Seventh Samurai—”

  “Who?”

  As they walked outside, Riley mimed pulling a sword out of a sheath, wielding it.

  “Oh, Doyle.”

  “Yeah, since everybody else was, we’ll say occupied, he and I sat down with the maps. And butted heads over where to look tomorrow. He’s got a really hard head.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My pick. And his,” Riley added. “We decided on both before blood was spilled. So we’re heading out at seven thirty. Now, you can describe magical sex, in finite detail, while you practice your combinations.”

  “My combinations?” Puzzled, Sasha punched her fist. “But I’ve been drinking.”

  “Sash.” With a headshake, Riley set her glass on the stone wall. “The best fights happen when you’ve been drinking.” Riley danced on her toes, bounced her shoulders. “Show me some stuff.”

  “Well, all right. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to punch and talk about having sex at the same time.”

  “Multitask.”

  As he worked, Bran caught the movement outside. He paused to step closer to his open doors, and saw Sasha practicing her boxing with Riley.

  Not in the cover of the olive grove this time, he noted. But in the open. So much about her had opened.

  It seemed miraculous that less than a week had passed since he’d stepped out onto that hotel terrace and seen her. Fated, he didn’t question that. Fated for the six of them, all so different, all from other places, to come together here. To join together here for the search that had been part of his family’s legacy, part of their duty, for countless generations.

  But had he been fated to have such strong feelings for the reluctant seer from America? The attraction, the desire? Basic, normal, simple. But the rest . . . He needed time to explore and evaluate the rest. And time was so crowded.

  He’d taken more than he should to be with her that day. Was taking more now just to watch her. But it was a bright thing, wasn’t it, to see her laugh when Riley snapped her head back, flung out her arms and dropped to the ground as if suffering a knockout punch.

  That was friendship, he thought. An oddly tight one for so short a time. The tough little scientist and the insular artist.

  As he considered it, Annika came up the cliff steps, a flowered sarong blowing around the very tiny bikini she wore.

  Another oddity, he thought as Annika went toward the other women while Sasha executed what he thought was meant to be a side kick and Riley shook her head—her amused pity all but visible.

  The three of them stood in the softening sunlight, all beauties in their own unique way. Annika flung her arms around Sasha in one of her joyful hugs, then did a trio of cartwheels that sent her sarong flying—and the dog chasing it.

  Not to be undone, he supposed, Riley did a handspring. Annika a backflip.

  Then the two women began to coach Sasha—who clearly needed it. He watched a moment more, struck by the way the setting sun gleamed over them, the way their laughter carried to him on the evening breeze.

  Then he went back in to finish the work. The laughter was a tonic, he thought, but the lessons were honing weapons.
r />   And he would do the same.

  * * *

  Sasha found Sawyer sniffing at her marinating chops when she came back in. He glanced up at her.

  “Got plans for them?”

  “Oh, did you?”

  He shrugged. “I was just going to toss them on the grill. This looks fancier.”

  “It’s really not. I thought Greece, lamb, and looked up some recipes last night. It’s pretty basic and quick. Some browning in olive oil and garlic. A little seasoning, some lemon juice.”

  “Have at it.”

  “I haven’t thought about sides, and it’s later than I meant it to be.”

  “I’ll handle that part.” He got out a beer. “Teamwork.” He popped the beer, took a hit. “You look . . . healthy.”

  “Healthy?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Healthy. I’m going to go grab some herbs.”

  “I could use some thyme for the lamb.”

  “You got it.” He tapped her cheek as he walked by. “Healthy.”

  Great, she thought, and moved to the sink to wash up. There was nothing wrong with a grown woman looking healthy. She just wasn’t sure how she felt about advertising it, as she apparently was.

  She got out an enormous skillet, the oil, picked up a bulb of garlic. Annika breezed in to get dishes. She heard Riley’s voice from outside, and Doyle’s as she bundled her hair up and out of the way to cook.

  As she prepped the garlic, Sawyer came back with the herbs. He put a pot of water on the stove before dumping some new red potatoes in the sink.

  “Boil ’em till they’re tender,” he said, scrubbing, “then sort of sauté them or whatever in butter and herbs, heavy on the rosemary. Looks fancy, like your chops, but isn’t.”

  “Teamwork.”

  “Completely.”

  She grinned at him, then saw Bran come in. And felt very, very healthy.

  “This looks domestic and under control. Need a hand with anything?”