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He pulled her back against him, then grabbed the soap and began washing her breasts and belly. When she could stand the tortuous pleasure no more, she grabbed the soap and cloth from him and turned around.
"Your turn,” she said, and made a swiveling motion with her fingers. “Back first." The black markings on his back were thick and ugly, and more intricate than what she'd been told to expect. And the wound on his shoulder was red and angry looking. She took care of that first, easing away the scab, washing away the infection. Though he didn't say anything, he flinched a number of times, indicating the wound was sorer than he'd admitted. Once both ends of the wound were clean, she began working on his back, carefully scrubbing at the drawings.
He didn't give her long enough, though. Maybe it was the spell protecting itself and forcing him to move out of her reach, or maybe it was just desire. Either way, he turned around and took the soap from her, putting it on the edge of the bath. Then he grabbed her legs and slid her forward until she was sitting between his thighs.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. “This is nice,” she said with a grin.
"Not as nice as this,” he murmured, placing his hands against her butt and pushing her forward just a little more.
The heat of him slipped deep inside, and from that moment on, there was no more talk. He loved her long, stroking deep as he caressed and nipped and kissed. The pressure began to build low in her stomach, fanning through the rest of her in waves as warm as the bath water, until it become a molten force that flowed across her skin. It was a heat far warmer than the turbulent water, a heat that made her tremble, twitch and groan.
His breathing became harsh, his tempo more urgent. His fierceness pushed into her, into that place where only sensation existed, and then he pushed her beyond it. He came with her, his lips capturing hers, kissing her urgently as his warmth spilled into her and his body went rigid against hers.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he sighed and kissed her neck. “Ah, Nikki,” he murmured.
“Eternity may come and go, but I will never be able get enough of you. She froze, holding on tight to the elation that wanted to race through her soul. “What did you just say?" Even as she asked the question, energy stirred, tingling across her skin where they still touched. The spell enforcing itself once more. Obviously, Dunleavy had set the spell to react to certain words, and maybe even certain thoughts.
He pulled back, blinking slightly. “As much as I am enjoying myself, I am here to catch a killer. I really should be going."
Damn, damn, damn . “Not until I put some salve on that wound."
"I'm a vampire. It'll heal.” He climbed out of the bath and grabbed a towel.
"That wound was caused by silver. The salve will help with the infection the silver caused."
"And how would you know the wound was caused by silver?" She followed him out of the water and began drying herself. “I'm a witch. We know these things." He cupped a hand to her cheek, his fingers warm against her skin. “You're a witch all right. I'm just not sure you're the kind that performs real magic."
She turned her face, pressing a kiss into his palm. “No?"
"No,” he agreed softly. “Though I'm tempted to think there's something close to magic happening between us."
"That's not magic. That's something far stronger."
He raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?"
"Love."
"Love?” A smile touched his lips. “Woman, I barely even know you."
"You've known me far longer than you think. And why can't you remember my name?" He frowned, and dropped his hand. “I told you, it doesn't sound right."
"It sounds a hell of a lot better than being called woman all the time."
"This conversation is getting ridiculous. And I have a killer to hunt down before the sun gets too high.”
He began to dress.
She snatched up her shirt. “We have a killer to hunt, you mean."
"You cannot—"
"I will not be left behind.” She thrust her hands on her hips and glared at him. And damn if it didn't feel like old times. “No matter what you do or say, I'm going, so quit arguing and just accept the fact." Something flashed in his eyes. Anger perhaps. Or maybe even recognition. They'd certainly had this argument more than once in the past.
"I will not be responsible for your safety."
"I'm not asking you to be responsible for me."
He met her glare with one of his own, but after a few minutes he shook his head and stepped back. “On your own head be it, then."
