Awaken to Pleasure Page 2

  But none had hurt so much as the disgust he had seen on young Moira Connor’s face the night he’d saved her and let her parents die.

  As he followed behind Moira, he tried not to torture himself with the sway of her hips.

  The best way to keep her safe was to keep their relationship light and sexual, just as he always did. It was his skill—a woman once seduced into his bed would do anything to keep him.

  So Moira wouldn’t make a fuss when he stayed close. Close enough to make sure that Shiloh would never find out about her.

  And yet, as the winds that blew across the plains carried the whispers of magic to his ears, he sensed he was already too late.

  Chapter Two

  Moira’s skin was flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Try as she might, she knew that she couldn’t blame the now-setting sun, at least not entirely. No, she’d be lying to herself if she refused to admit that it was the memory of the stranger’s avid mouth on hers, of his hard body pressing her against the ground.

  She couldn’t get it out of her head. And, she admitted as she pushed through the force field that kept the witches out of the gilded cage that was Mavi, it was driving her crazy.

  She shook her head impatiently as she strode over the muted cobblestones, past the clear pool with its trickling falls. Still, the deep blue of Boone’s eyes haunted her, as if it had been burned into her brain, and the memory spread the burn down, down between her thighs.

  It made her uncomfortable, because those eyes reminded her so very much of that horrific night in her past.

  But this man was her own age. He wasn’t the one who shared the blame in her parents’ deaths. And yet she still had no business lusting over him. No business thinking of pleasures at all.

  She didn’t deserve them.

  The streets of the haven were quiet—it was late afternoon, and so most of the residents were just waking up from their late afternoon rests. Her ankle throbbed as she hauled the sack of rice to the door of one of the older women in the haven. Hanna would see that the rice was distributed fairly… and she also wouldn’t question where it came from.

  Moira felt the need to take care of others. But she didn’t want to be singled out for doing it.

  With a muttered oath, she crossed the last patch of stone to the wooden door of her small thatched hut and stepped gratefully inside, hoping that familiar surroundings and a chance to put down the heavy rice sack and elevate her sore ankle would dissipate the dregs of her odd mood.

  Instead, the memory of Boone’s intense azure eyes only reminded her of the other place she had seen that color today. Frowning a bit, she pulled the tarnished bottle out from the depths of her cloak and ran her thumb experimentally over the winking sapphire.

  A knock sounded at the same instant that her fingers connected with the royal-hued gem. Curious, she crossed to the entryway and opened the door, the bottle still cradled in the palm of her hand.

  On her doorstep stood Boone. He was sweaty, dusty and bare to the waist, and Moira felt her heart skip a beat as she eyed the rugged appeal of the man.

  As her hormones went crazy, rioting around her in veins, she tried to remember that the intense sexual tug that she felt for him was likely just the result of going so long without the physical act. But as her eyes dipped to trace the planes of his flat belly, which was lightly dusted with golden hair, her mouth went dry and she had to physically take a step back to restrain herself.

  More than that, the sight of him brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt since…before. Before her life and her world had been changed forever.

  Boone eyed the silver in her hand and gave a snort of disgust, which brought Moira to her senses; she realized that she had been staring, mouth agape, like a baboon. “You couldn’t have rubbed the sapphire just a little bit earlier?” he grumbled, and her spine stiffened at his offensive tone.

  “I don’t think it’s appropriate to follow me to my home and then to insult me,” she informed him, icicles dripping off of her every word. “And I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, at any rate.” Planting her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes in a glare that would have had most men running for cover. Boone, however, merely snorted again, cast her a seductive smile that seemed more than a little bit practiced and pushed past her, making his way toward the wooden bathing tub that sat in the corner of the room.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She scurried after him as he bent over the water, splashing it over his sweaty face. Dripping, he turned to face her, his expression caught halfway between a sneer and sheer puzzlement.

  “I do not understand you,” he told her, reaching for the rough linen cloth that hung on the wall above the tub. Scrubbing it over his face, he cocked his head. “You summon me, and yet you do not want me. And you are angry. No woman has ever done this before. If you do not wish for sexual pleasures, then what is it that you wish for?”

  At his words, Moira would have sworn that she could feel the nerve endings in her brain sizzle. As the confusion played over her face, Boone sighed.

  “Because you have the lamp, you are to be granted one wish. And you must make your wish within one day. If you do not, you will lose your privileges, and I will cease to exist.”

  He reached out to twine a strand of Moira’s soft curls between his fingers as he spoke. Her breath caught at the touch; she struggled to listen. And a struggle it was, for his words made no sense to her at all.

  “There is a connection between us, is there not? More so than what I have felt with any other woman.”

  Moira was startled by Boone’s directness. She was rarely caught off guard…and she didn’t know quite what to do about it. So she found herself stammering out an answer. “It might be that that’s true. But it doesn’t matter.”

  Her well-trained eyes caught a hint of guilt flashing over the man’s face, but when he held out a hand, sparked a small blue flame in it, she forgot all about it.

  “Witch fire.” The screams of her parents echoed in Moira’s head as she rapidly backed away from the tub where he was perched, her ankle shooting little darts of pain through her body as she searched frantically for a weapon. “You’re a witch. One of them.”

  Her heart pounded a rapid tattoo in her chest, her fight-or-flight instinct screaming at her to get away from him, to get him and his dirty magic the hell out of the haven. The instinct didn’t blend with what she felt from him emotionally, but adrenaline wasn’t rational.

  But how the hell had he—and his magic—gotten through the force field?

  “Get out of my house.” Reaching out blindly, Moira’s fingers made connection with the knife she’d used to cut bread that morning. Pointing the blade toward Boone, she gestured to the door. “We don’t have magic in the haven.”

  To her consternation, Boone looked crestfallen.

  “The flame was a poor choice.” He closed his fist and extinguished the flame. Watching her, he appeared to ponder what to say next.

  “I am not a witch.” He hesitated, and then continued. “And I understand your fear of magic. But do you not see? You have it, too,” he said. “Here, in your village.”

  He stepped closer; Moira retreated, though she hated the weakness it showed.

  But the even bigger weakness was her fear of magic, and of all that it represented.

  “We don’t.” She fought to keep her voice steady, though her skin crawled at the very idea. “That was the deal. The humans would stay in these domes that we built and let the witches have the rest, but only if all magic was kept out. That’s what the force fields are for—to keep magic out. So how the hell did you get in?”

  “What is science but a kind of magic?” Though his eyes were still on the knife she held, Boone took a step toward Moira, then another. It terrified her, but at the same time the woman she had once been—the wild urchin on the street who’d had to fight to stay alive—recognized and appreciated his strength.

  “No. Science
is nothing like magic. And don’t come any closer.”

  “Science. Dark magic. Belief in forces beyond those of this earth.” Closing in on her, Boone closed his fingers over the blade of Moira’s knife. She watched, stupefied, as the blood ran down his palm.

  And then as it disappeared.

  “Magic is the transformation of energy in one form or another. Just like your science chooses one form, so too do the witches choose to steal theirs from the earth. And mine comes from another source altogether. It does not mean that I am bad.”

  Moira couldn’t take her eyes away from the smooth skin of his palm, skin that should have been split in two. “But if you could get in, why can’t they?”

  “My energy…my magic…is attuned to you right now. So once you passed through, so could I.”

  Reaching out, Moira ran her fingers over Boone’s healing wound, then snatched them back when she felt that little spark between them that she’d first recognized outside of Gale’s hut. Her brain kept screaming at her to slide the knife into his chest—if she could—because magic had never brought anything good to her life.

  But her gut—something that she had relied on when she’d had the dangerous job of searching for treasure out in the plains—told her that this man wouldn’t harm her.

  Though she’d be an idiot to just take that feeling at face value.

  “Why are you here?” she asked again. “I’ve made it clear I want you to go.”

  “You have my lamp in your possession. Where it goes, I go. Once you have made your wish, passed the lamp on, only then will I leave. I will move on to my next Master or Mistress.”

  Moira cast a glare at the offensive thing.

  “So you’re, what, a genie?” Moira stared, incredulous, at the half-naked hunk as what she considered complete nonsense spouted from his lips. She took a step backward, deciding to humor the potential lunatic who was back to lounging against her tub.

  Years ago she’d thought the primitive furnishings and simple ways of life inside the dome had been a strange contrast to the life she’d had before. In that lifetime, she’d been living in a big city, with easy access to electricity, running water, even luxuries like chocolate.

  How did that compare to now having a half-naked man in her home, telling her that he’d come out of a little bottle?

  Maybe she’d been killed by the witches after all, and was stuck in some kind of in between.

  “I’m a djinn, yes.” His lips curved up in a smirk. “That is why I live in the bottle.”

  “A djinn. Right.” She smiled nervously, wondering if perhaps she just had a crazy person in her house rather than someone with magic. But that didn’t explain his hand. Or the fire, though it had been blue and not purple or green. “A djinn who can only grant sexual wishes. Who lives in a bottle that I stumbled over on the plains. Lucky me.”

  “My magic is not limited to sexual pleasures.” Boone looked highly affronted, and his clipped tone revealed the fact that he was insulted. And Moira was pissed at herself for the heat building in her belly when he spoke of sex. “I can grant any wish that your mortal mind can dream up. What I was trying to express to you earlier is that I have yet to come across as woman in possession of my lamp who does not wish for the carnal pleasures that they do not receive from their mates.”

  “I don’t like magic.” Moira tugged in frustration at the hair that was still caught between his fingers even as something hot trickled down her spine at the way his mouth had formed the word carnal.

  Damn it, it had been so long since she’d experienced the touch of another. Even here in Mavi, she held herself back from the hugs, the kisses.

  She didn’t deserve the comfort.

  “I am bound by the lamp, and you are the current keeper of it. I cannot use magic to harm you.” Moira thought she saw a hint of frustration in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. “I may not be mortal, but I think you are safe enough from me.”

  Safe enough from him…to use him for the crazy urges rioting through her system? Haven, what was wrong with her? She avoided magic at all costs. She had to, to stay sane.

  But this man was making her want something she’d denied herself for years.

  “Explain the wishes.”

  He rolled his eyes, but did as she asked. “Wish. You only get one. Whatever your heart desires.” He looked into her eyes as he spoke, and she felt her pulse stutter. “The only wishes I do not advise involve death. Magic demands a price, and the death of another will rip life from she who commands it as well.”

  That was honestly right there. And at the root of it, her gut instinct said that she could trust him. Crazy as that was.

  Her gut had allowed her to survive before the havens had been established. Even when she hadn’t wanted to.

  Hadn’t she punished herself enough? Couldn’t she take even a moment of pleasure?

  In that moment she fully believed that he had magic, because even while her rational brain argued that this was insane, that this was against everything she believed in—giving herself comfort and consorting with magic—still she wanted.

  And when she looked at him, into those blue eyes, she knew that he wanted her, too. The need, the comfort that came with it, made her soul ache. It heated the room, warmed her skin.

  She knew he might have cast a spell over her to make her feel this way. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. So this was possibly the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But—maybe this was his magic—the more time she spent inhaling his scent, the less she thought he could have anything to do with the witches.

  Of which clearly he couldn’t be one, because he had gotten through the walls.

  Right. Not a witch. Just a strange, sexy man with a handful of entertaining tricks. He was here, she was here, and they both wanted.

  Damn it, she was tired. Tired of punishing herself, though the guilt would never leave. Tired of being strong for everyone else.

  She was going to take this moment. And she would worry about the consequences later.

  Boone had stepped closer and the scent that drifted off his skin—of musky male sweat and something exotic and spicy—tickled her nostrils and fogged her mind. All her self-control was vanishing. She knew that she should be kicking Boone and his fantastic story out of her house instead of pressing her body closer to his. But something about him, about the situation, had aroused her beyond belief, and she could think of nothing beyond satisfying the ache that raged between her thighs.

  “I don’t believe you’re a genie.” She wanted to make it clear that she wasn’t gullible, nor an easy mark, as she arched her back and let Boone’s lips caress her throat. “But the story was entertaining enough.” She moaned out loud when an unexpected nip at her shoulder was soothed with the wet warmth of a tongue.

  “A djinn,” he corrected. His fingers worked their way through the layers of cloth that comprised her cloak even as his mouth whispered light kisses over her own, kisses that had her reeling. She felt the vibration of his chuckle against her lips, felt his own curve into a smile. “And that’s what they all say.”

  Her cloak dropped to the floor with a soft swish; she was naked beneath. Her dark nipples contracted to tiny pegs under the scrutiny of Boone’s gaze, and she shivered as his eyes drank in the slope of her shoulders, the swell of her belly, the curve of her hips. His fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his own trousers, which quickly joined her cloak on the floor, and the sight of his thick member, standing so proudly from the darkly curled thatch, made her swallow through a dry throat.

  Then he was there, his long-fingered hands tracing her waist and flirting with the swell of her ass. Desperate to experience the hardness that she could feel pressing into the soft flesh of her belly, she rocked her hips against his in a primitive invitation.

  One last shred of sanity worked its way through the lust, and though it cost her, she pushed away.

  “This isn’t my wish, right?” Her breath came out on a pant. “I mean, I ha
ven’t wished for anything yet.”

  If he was counting this as fulfilling her wish—if he was what he said he was, and she was starting to wonder why he would have any reason to lie—then she had to stop. She couldn’t waste a wish on sex, not when this year’s crops had been poor and she could use it to stop people’s hunger.

  “No. This is not your wish.” Boone drew back, smiled wickedly down into her face. “This is because we want to. This is finding a bit of light in the darkness.

  Moira wondered at that for a moment—against all odds, she was starting to believe what he said. But did that mean he was imprisoned in the lamp when no one had called him, the same as she was imprisoned in the dome?

  That seemed like dark magic to her.

  And then he bent, lifted her in his arms and placed her inside the wooden tub, halting all coherent thought.

  Moira sputtered; this was not what she had been expecting at all. Her outrage dissipated, however, with the realization that the usually tepid water of the bath was warm; no, no, it was hot. Her muscles became languid pools of bliss even as she frowned, her brain rapidly trying to work out a rational solution.

  She hissed when Boone’s fingers flirted with the surface of the water and reached up to skim lightly over a nipple. “Believe me yet?” he asked, his fingers closing in a pinch that should have hurt and instead had a slickness pooling between her thighs, a slickness that had nothing to do with the water that swirled around her.

  “No.” The word escaped her lips on a gasp as his fingers trailed lower and began to toy with the curls fuzzing her outer lips. “There must be…a rational…explanation…aah…” She cried out when a finger found the sweet bud of her clit, circled it firmly once, and moved on.

  “Hmm.” Boone leaned forward, the wooden slats of the tub blocking the view of his faintly veined cock. Lifting the dense mass of her hair up in a fist, he nuzzled at the back of her neck, trailing hot, wet kisses up and down the slender arch. Lazily he trailed a finger through the steaming water; tiny bubbles effervesced in the wake. “What about now?”