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Kellen threw her a “what the hell are you doing?” look, but she ignored him and kept her eyes on the prize.
On Kellen’s cue, she lunged forward, arms pumping like mad pistons. She twisted and turned, avoiding everyone in front of her as she ran down the field. If she could just make this play, the game would be over, and she’d concentrate on what she really wanted. Azaiel.
She was nearly to the edge when Kellen yelled, and she turned, her eyes focused in the air, watching the football arc across the field like a rocket about to explode. She kept running and at the very last moment jumped for it—and though she would deny it to her grave—used a little bit of magickal mojo to bring the ball home to mama.
She had it, too, there within her grasp. Until a huge wall of muscle grabbed her from behind and took her down. Hard.
Arms made of steel crushed her to a chest that felt like heaven. Rowan went with him, and when they settled in the cool grass, Azaiel was on top of her, his voice harsh in her ear.
“What the fuck game are you playing, little girl?”
He was hard. She felt his erection against her belly, and gasped at the bleakness in his eyes, at the anger. At the hunger as his gaze settled onto her lips.
Her mouth was dry, and she had to take a moment before she could speak. Her heart was beating so heavily inside her chest that it roared in her ears, and she concentrated—a lot—and eventually it subsided.
The muscles in his shoulders strained as he held his upper body away from hers, yet his lower half was still pressed so tight to her that she felt him throb. Felt him burn against her.
“Let’s be clear about something, Azaiel.” She breathed the words like a harlot of old—Monroe would have been proud. “I’m not a little girl.”
He didn’t say a word, but something shifted in his eyes, and slivers of gold twisted in their black depths. His eyes were so beautiful, his mouth insanely hot. She wanted to feel the rough stubble on his chin against her bare skin. And all that thick, shaggy, dirty blond hair was begging for her fingers.
She felt reckless and didn’t care about consequences. She shifted her hips and was rewarded with a strangled hiss as she rubbed against his hardness. Once. And then again.
“I want you,” she whispered hoarsely, aware that the other players were on their way over. “Inside me.”
Her breasts were engorged, her nipples hard, and the ache between her legs was unbearable. She was wet, so wet and horny that if he put his hands on her—there where she throbbed—she’d come. Right here. In front of everyone.
She leaned up and felt him tense. Saw the veins bulge in the side of his neck as she whispered into his ear. “Right now.”
Rowan pushed him off and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the football from the ground and tossed it back to her brother, before turning away and wiping bits of grass and twigs from her clothes. Azaiel stood, his back to everyone—for obvious reasons. She was pretty sure he didn’t want the entire group knowing he had a raging hard-on.
But she knew.
She walked toward him and paused an inch or so away. “That ache isn’t going to go away, Azaiel.” Her fingers traced the wings across his shoulders—a brief, gentle sweep. “The only thing that will ease your pain is sex. We’d be fools to not at least try it once . . . or twice.”
Rowan walked past him and headed into the forest that surrounded The Black Cauldron. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought—except Vicki. She hoped her cousin was shooting daggers at her back.
The cool shadows from the trees did nothing to douse the fire inside, and she didn’t know she was holding her breath until she heard a twig snap behind her. For the first time a tingle of apprehension shot down her spine.
And yet, as she weaved her way through the tall trees, she let it go. There was nothing wrong with what she wanted. She’d lived her entire life for everyone else. Even fleeing to California hadn’t cut the ties to her family. To her legacy. With Samhain coming at her fast and hard there was nothing left to lose.
Except maybe her heart.
Chapter 29
Azaiel lost sight of Rowan amongst the oaks and maples, but her scent lingered in the air. A tantalizing smell that fed the fire in his belly with a savagery that should have surprised him but didn’t.
He’d been raging inside for days, and though he’d avoided her as much as he could—even patrolling with Nico and Hannah the last few nights—he knew all along they’d end up here. At this moment. He had to be strong enough to fight the need . . . the hunger he felt for her.
His abdomen clenched as a fresh wave of desire rolled through him, and his hands fisted as he thought of the football game. Of how she’d bent over, purposely turning her ass in his direction so that her soft curves were on display for everyone to see. Then she’d caress the damn ball with those long, delicate fingers. And stretch, just so, her breasts molded to her T-shirt in a wanton display.
Priest had grinned like a son of a bitch for most of the game, and Azaiel decided then and there that the Knight Templar needed an attitude adjustment as well.
“Jezebel,” he whispered hoarsely. He’d teach her a lesson. There was no way he would make love to her. No way in hell. He knew it would be exquisite. Earth-shattering. Mind-bending.
So why would he open himself up to that? Tomorrow night he would either have to kill her or let her go. He had no future with a woman as powerful as Rowan. It would never be allowed. Not for the Fallen.
With renewed focus Azaiel crashed through the bush, his anger growing with each step he took. Where the hell was she going?
