Spells A Bayou Magic Novel - Kristen Proby Page 0,31
the length of the pristine vehicle. “That fucker.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lucien says. “It’ll wash off.”
“After you collect samples and run tests, of course.”
“That goes without saying, darlin’.”
“Should we call Cash?”
“I’ll do that on the drive home.”
Lucien waves Cash goodbye and then leads me into the house. Cash wanted to come see the blood and take some photos, so it’s been a long evening of sexual tension and frustration regarding a certain serial killer that won’t go the hell away.
“He’s just taunting us,” I say as I slip out of my boots. “Because he’s a sick son of a bitch who likes to play games.”
“And as of right this instant, we’re not giving him any more space in our evening,” Lucien declares. As soon as we arrived, we cast a spell on the house, an extra layer of protection, just in case. “The rest of this night is just for you and me. There’s no room for anyone else here.”
“I like the sound of that.” As he takes my hand, the lights in his old house in the Garden District house dim. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“No, I can’t control electricity. Only fire, the way you control the wind and air.”
“I’m an air sign, you know,” I say.
“Oh, I’m aware. Our connection affects the energy around us. Electricity is energy. We might blow a fuse or two tonight.”
“Fun.” The laugh dies in my throat when we walk up the stairs and into his bedroom. With the snap of his fingers, at least fifty candles come to life around the room, one at a time, in a domino effect. “Wow. And, clearly, you’re a fire sign. And a Sagittarius, through and through.”
“How did you know I’m a Sagittarius?”
“I—” I stop and shrug. “I don’t know how, or how I know that you’ll be thirty-seven on November 27th, I just do.”
“You remember more than you realize.”
He reaches behind me and flips off the light switch, bathing us in candlelight.
“A few hundred years ago, it would have been within my rights to kill any man who looked at your skin right here,” he says as he drags his fingertip down the center of my chest and into my cleavage. “And a few men at the restaurant tonight might have met that fate for as much as their eyes kept wandering over to you.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about other men.” I begin to unbutton his shirt, grateful that he already shed his jacket an hour ago. My fingers aren’t fumbling now, and there’s no more nervousness in my body as I undress this incredible man. Our movements are slow but sure as we take our time uncovering each other as if unwrapping a precious gift.
In the flickering candlelight, Lucien guides me back onto the bed, and spends the next long moments worshipping every inch of my flesh from my lips to my toes. His touch is light and seductive, his words pure magic, and when neither of us can stand the foreplay any longer, and we finally come together, it’s an explosion of emotion I’ve never experienced before.
The flames around us grow in intensity as Lucien takes us higher and higher, and when I reach for my climax and gasp in rapturous pleasure, the flames extinguish from the wind I’ve conjured.
Lucien growls and snaps his fingers, igniting the candles once more, and watches my face as he climbs closer to his own release.
Flashes of memory run through my mind. Different moments in different lifetimes, each one of us together, just like this, with the candles and the intense love we share. Both of us murmuring in languages I don’t recognize, but then some I do.
He calls me a stór mo chroí.
And I call him a mhuirnín.
The flames seem to explode around us when he falls over the edge.
The candles calm to a normal, low glow, but I know I’m forever changed. I’m Lucien’s, and he’s mine.
“We could have set the house on fire,” I murmur, still catching my breath.
“I don’t think I would have cared,” he says and kisses the ball of my shoulder. “I love you, a stór mo chroí.”
I drag my fingers down his handsome cheek. “And I love you, a mhuirnín.”
His eyes find mine in surprise.
“I’m remembering more,” I say and brush my fingers through his hair. “Just a little bit.”
And not all of it terrifies me.
Chapter Eleven
Lucien
I’ve always loved to watch her sleep, and it seems now is no different than before. Having Millicent in my bed is