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Through the window, they could see Cain. He tried to turn away from Annabel, and his howl of pain and outrage shattered the night sky above Carbrey, turning the skies to stormy rain.
Too late, his final hex.
Annabel had latched her fingers over his shoulders, clawlike. Daggers of fire shot into him. He struggled against her, and her fingers sank deeper, until the fire consumed them both and the room filled with smoke.
Zoë shuddered, grateful when Gray’s arms enclosed her and she turned her face to his chest.
The sound of sirens in the distance was echoed by the rumble of thunder overhead.
It began to rain.
It was over.
28
GRAYSON WALKED BAREFOOT AROUND THE kitchen of the Georgian house that he had grown up in, and he finally felt content. It had been a long time coming. Retrieving the best sparkling vintage he owned from his wall-mounted wine rack, he kissed the bottle. It was a heady number with an aromatic bouquet, perfect for the evening. From the cupboard, he lifted out two glasses then paused, and smiled to himself.
Zoë was here in his home in Edinburgh, and he liked the way that felt. He liked it a lot.
That’s what the house had needed: a woman’s laughter, a woman’s sensuality—the secret female knowledge of things that men didn’t understand without them. Not just any woman, either, oh, no. The woman he loved.
Three months it had been and they hadn’t missed one weekend. Either she would fly from London to Edinburgh, or he would travel down by train or motorcycle. It was only the days in between that were the problem. He picked up the bottle and the glasses and wandered back upstairs to the first floor where he’d left her in the library. His loyal stray cat followed him closely as he went. The cat had adapted well after his move to Edinburgh, and Grayson brought him fresh fish from Carbrey or Abernathy whenever he called by.
They’d be up there tomorrow for the demolition of Cornerstone. The fire had wiped out Her Haven and although Cornerstone was barely touched, it was no longer safe. It would be good to see the evidence gone. They’d heard from Tom—the landlord up at the Silver Birch—that the local council planned to build a proper lookout point on the spot where the two houses had been, so that tourists could enjoy the view of the cliffs beyond, as well as the puffin island, for as long as that patch of the coastline lasted. There would be a coin-operated telescope for when the puffins were nesting, as well. He liked that idea, and so did Zoë.
Cat leapt up onto a sill he favored, on the landing window. He’d taken to keeping guard at the windows and hunting in the garden, even though there was no real need, here at home. Because he liked the spot so much, Zoë had put a cushion there for him. He climbed onto it now, and purred. Gray rubbed him behind one ear, before he headed on.
When he walked into the library, Zoë was sitting on the top step of the sliding ladders, examining a book that she’d pulled from a shelf high up on the wall. She was balancing on one hip, her image radiant against the stack of books.
The close-fitting velvet dress she wore showed her figure to perfection. It ended midthigh, and that had been driving him crazy all evening because it made him want to put his hands over it, and under it. With her feet placed neatly on the steps below the one she was sitting on, high heels gleaming, he could only admire the view. Sheer stockings encased her legs, making him want to run his hands up to the top and pluck at the lacy stocking tops before having her wrap her legs around him, still wearing them.
He set the bottle and glasses on the old oak table in the center of the room, before joining her by the shelves.
“It says here,” she said, gesturing with the book she was holding, “that sexmagic is one of the most powerful natural sources of energy a practitioner can harness, and that when a strong practitioner comes into contact with a receptive other, anything is possible.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “It also says, and I quote, ‘patience with a female practitioner may prove valuable.’”
“You’re in the section of books from the 1950s. Do I need to point that out?”
She winked at him, but carried on reading. “It states that, ‘the female sexual appetite is such that the more sex a woman has, the more she wants.’ Imagine that!” She rolled her eyes. “‘“The positive energy potential is exponential.’”
“You know, I think that Annabel McGraw has had a bad influence on you, you’re getting very mischievous.”
“You think?” Closing the book, she shifted on her perch, giving him a flash of lacy black lingerie as she shifted her position.
Grayson sighed. “I’m sure of it.”
He rested a kiss against the top of her foot, where it arched from her shoe. Tension beaded up his spine. Moving a little higher, he brushed his forehead up the front of her shin and breathed deep the womanly scent that surrounded her.
He was already getting hard. It had become clear to him that he would never get enough of this woman.
She rose to her feet and made her way down the steps and into his waiting arms. “I’ll tell you this much, there’s one thing that Annabel introduced me to that I am particularly appreciating,” she said, draping her arms around his neck.
“Just one?”
“Maybe two.” She raised her knee against the side of his hip, and he clasped her leg against him with one hand wrapped around her thigh.
Arching one eyebrow provocatively, she continued. “She helped me find my sexual confidence, and she gave me the perfect victim to practice on.”
“The victim, am I?” Now his cock was throbbing demandingly, eager to be inside her.
