“Both, I think.”
He walked toward me, put a hand on my face. “How are you?”
“I’m managing. How about you?”
“Things feel . . .”
“Precarious,” I finished, and knew by the relief in his eyes that I’d captured it exactly. “I’ve had the same feeling. But, then, we talked about that.”
“So we did,” he said, careful not to let emotion peek through his voice.
“And I was wrong.”
His brows lifted, and a smile crossed his face. “Unfortunate that Nick Breckenridge isn’t here with his recorder.”
“I assume you mean that metaphorically.”
“I do,” he said. “What, precisely, were you wrong about?”
I put my arms around him, rested my head against his heart. “About family.” I thought of the terror and joy, equally matched, in the faces of Taylor and her mother. “There will always be fear. The possibility of loss. But that’s life. And what’s the point of living if you don’t take a chance on love?”
He went quiet. “And a child?”
“If we’re lucky enough, then yes.”
“Then yes,” Ethan said, and wasted no time. I was pressed against the door, his mouth frantic and possessive, as if each kiss might seal our connection to each other, brand his taste and scent onto me.
He pulled off the suit jacket I still wore with strong and questing hands, dropped it to the floor, and pressed his body against mine.
I only managed to slip one of his buttons before he threw away his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head, and pulled the tank over my head. And then his hands were on my breasts, and I dropped my head against the door, eyes closed as nimble and skilled fingers lit and tended the fire heating in my core.
And then I was in his arms, and he was carrying me effortlessly to the bed, placing me onto cool sheets with the care used for a priceless antique.
“I’m not delicate,” I reminded him, and crooked a finger at him. “Come here, husband of mine.”
His smile was slow, masculine, and very satisfied. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, his arousal heavy, and crawled toward me.
I reached for him, but he captured my hands, brought them together over my head.
He traveled down my body, removed the remaining scraps of clothing, and touched me until I was quivering with pleasure.
His own body quaking with restrained power, he covered my body again, shifted inside me with a thrust that was equally forceful and tender. We moved our bodies together, legs intertwined and hips rolling, pleasure building like a wave banking over us.
I tilted my neck toward him, offering him the intimacy, the connection, that only vampires could share. “Take,” I said to him, and, when his fangs pierced tender skin, and lightning bowed my body, called his name.
Forever, he said, our new mantra. Our love spell.
Forever, I agreed, and gave over to sensation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE