Tangled Threads Page 14

  “Donovan had you, and he was a fool to leave town, to leave you,” Owen said. “Now, he’s trying to replace you with Callie. That’s his business. But I don’t want you to make the same mistake with him twice, especially when I know that he’d only hurt you again. I love you too much for that, Gin. I do now, and I always will.”

  The raw sincerity burning in his violet eyes made my heart quiver in a way that nothing else ever had—especially not Donovan. I leaned forward and cupped my hands around Owen’s rough, rugged face.

  “I love you, Owen. I want to be with you—not Donovan. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Donovan is my past. I can’t change that or the old memories that he stirs up in me, but you’re my present—my today, my tomorrow, my future. You always will be.”

  Owen stared at me, his eyes searching mine as if he could somehow see past the cold, indifferent mask that I usually presented to the world and peer into my very soul. I let him look a second longer, then leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. I’d meant the kiss to be brief and gentle, but it turned into far more than that. Donovan’s reappearance had shaken us both up a little more than either one of us would have liked to admit.

  Owen’s solid arms snaked around me, pulling me down onto the blanket next to him. He plundered my mouth like a pirate searching for buried treasure, his tongue teasing, retreating, and diving against mine again and again. Hot, demanding need pulsed through my body with every sure, quick stroke, and I ran my hands over the strong, chiseled planes of his face, skimming my fingers over the scar under his chin, his slightly crooked nose, and the faint lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes. All the little imperfections that somehow made him so irresistible to me.

  Finally, we broke apart, both of us panting and aching for more—so much more.

  “You’re mine,” Owen said in a fierce whisper, the heat in his eyes as bright as the scorching sun. “Not his. Mine. Only mine. Always mine.”

  “I’m yours,” I agreed, then pushed him over onto his back. “But don’t you forget that you’re mine too. Only mine. Always mine.”

  Owen growled and pulled my head down for another hard, almost brutal kiss. He wound his fingers through my hair, holding me just where he wanted to. I let him take control, let him lose himself in the emotions that were urging him on, urging both of us on.

  Owen stripped off my clothes even as I wrestled with his, making sure to grab a condom out of his wallet so we would have even more protection besides the little white pills that I took. Soon, there was nothing between us. The warmth of the sun beat down, searing us through the shade of the umbrella, but it was nothing compared to the fire that burned between us.

  Owen trailed kisses down my neck, stopping here and there to bite me gently, then a little harder, then a little harder still. I dug my hands into his shoulders, kneading his muscles, urging him on. His head dipped lower, and his tongue swirled lazily around my nipple before he nipped it with his teeth. Pleasure spiked through me at the sensation.

  “Do you like that?” he rasped.

  “I love everything that you do to me,” I whispered back. “I love the way you make me feel.”

  Owen smiled. “Good answer. Because things are about to get a whole lot better.”

  He slipped a finger inside me, then another, pumping them back and forth, in and out, in and out, in a steady, furious rhythm. He leaned forward, his tongue flicking against first one nipple, then another, his faint, bristly stubble scraping against my skin, making me that much more sensitive to his touch.

  “Hey now,” I said, panting, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t think that you’re going to have all the fun today.”

  A wicked smile curved Owen’s lips, and he moved down my body and bent his head. His tongue flicked against my outer folds and then slid in deeper, then deeper, then deeper still, as if he could lick his way to the very center of me.

  I arched and arched my back as if that would relieve the delicious pressure building and building inside me. But every time I was ready to go over the edge, Owen would bring me back down just a little, just enough to ratchet up my need that much more. His rich, wonderful smell filled my nose, the one that always made me think of metal, until I was dizzy with it—and dizzy with the sensation of being loved by him.

  Just when I thought I was going to scream from the pleasure of it all, Owen raised his head and kissed his way back up my body. I reached up for his head, but he pinned my arms to the blanket and stared down at me.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said in a hoarse voice. “So strong and beautiful.”

  “So are you.”

  Then he leaned forward and captured my mouth with his again.

  I squirmed against him and opened my legs, wet and aching for him. Owen braced his weight on his elbows and rested his hard cock against me. He surged his hips forward the tiniest bit, rubbing against me, but not sliding inside. Not yet. Teasing me instead. I groaned. Above me, Owen did the same, but he didn’t stop his game.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I slid my hands out of his hold and rolled him over onto his back, my hand moving down to capture his stiff erection.

  I did the same thing to him that he’d done to me. Licking, stroking, and caressing his thick length until his hands clenched the blanket. But Owen didn’t let me play for long. He reached for the condom and put it on, then pulled me up so that I was sitting on his lap. Every part of my body was aching for him, and my legs locked around his waist.

  “Mine,” Owen whispered a final time before sliding deep inside me.

  I moaned at the length of him finally filling me after so much teasing. Back and forth we moved together, thrusting against each other, our lips and hands building the pressure, the desire, the need, that much more.

  I’d been right back at the restaurant—it was deliciously good and oh, so satisfying.

  All around us in the cove, the water sprayed and frothed and foamed, but we were already lost in another sort of undertow, swept away until there was nothing left but the climax that drowned us both.

  13

  “Wow,” I whispered when we were through. “I’ll have to make you jealous more often.”

  Owen grinned. “It does have its perks.”

  I settled my head on his chest, and we lay on the blankets in silence, listening to the rush of the water in and out of the cove and watching the black shadows of the seagulls and terns streak across the sand like skittering spiders.

  Owen and I lazed around for the better part of an hour before reluctantly pulling on our clothes and walking back to the beach house. I would have loved to spend the rest of the day with him, but Callie was still in trouble, and I had an appointment with Dekes that just wouldn’t wait.

  Using his seemingly endless network of business connections, clients, spies, and snitches, Finn had managed to score himself, Bria, and Owen invites to Dekes’s press conference just like he said he would. The four of us regrouped in the living room that afternoon to go over some final details.

  I looked at the laminated press card, the photo ID, and the other phony credentials that Finn had created for me. “So my name is Carmen Cole, and I write for some newspaper up in New York. Don’t you think that’s a little out there? A reporter coming all this way just to talk to Dekes about his casino?”

  Finn shrugged. “Not really. According to the guest list, there are reporters from a variety of publications and states coming in for the party. I figured that was the easiest thing to do, since I have a subscription to the financial section of that newspaper and can give you some details about what it covers and how. Simpler is better, remember? That’s what Dad always used to say.”

  That had been one of many pearls of wisdom Fletcher had given us over the years and one that I’d taken to heart today. The plan was straightforward. Using the fake credentials that Finn had created for me, I was going to pretend I was writing a business story on Dekes’s new casino and its potential economic impact on Blue Mars
h. When the time was right, I’d approach Dekes and ask him for a private interview. Powerful or not, I imagined that he’d be happy to suck up to a lowly reporter if he thought it would get him some good press.

  Once I was alone with Dekes, I’d make my move and strongly suggest that he leave Callie alone. Depending on what the vampire did then, I’d either walk out of his office and rejoin the press conference or sneak out the back covered with blood.

  I was good with either option.

  “Now, on to more important matters,” Finn said, striking a dramatic pose. “How do I look?”

  Finn loved dressing up, and he had more high-end suits hanging in his closet than most people had white cotton socks stuffed into their chests of drawers. But he’d gone all out this afternoon. Finn sported a fitted white linen suit that showed off the muscular lines of his body. His shirt was black, and so were his shoes, which were so slick and glossy that I could see my reflection in them. A white Panama hat with a slim black ribbon around the brim perched on top of his carefully styled, walnut-colored locks. Finn had spent more time on his hair than Bria and I had—combined.

  “A Panama hat? Really?” Owen asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Finn grinned. “When in Rome.”

  In contrast to Finn, Owen wore a simple navy suit with a sky blue shirt and tie and a pair of black wingtips. He looked every inch the strong, shrewd, powerful businessman that he was. To me, there was nothing sexier than a man in a well-tailored suit, and I found myself wanting to slip off Owen’s jacket and slide my fingers down his chest before undressing the rest of him. Mmm.

  “Well, I don’t know about you three, but I feel ridiculous in this dress,” Bria muttered.

  A long, slinky gown clung to my sister’s body, showing off her killer curves. Black and white orchids covered the dress, creating an interesting geometric pattern, and small black sequins gleamed on the garment’s spaghetti straps, bringing out the exquisite paleness of Bria’s skin. Her blond hair just brushed her shoulders, the ends curling around the primrose rune that rested in the hollow of her throat. Smoky black shadow and liner rimmed her blue eyes, adding to her beauty, while strappy black stiletto heels gave her an extra three inches of height.

  “I can’t believe that I let you talk me into wearing this,” she said, glaring at Finn. “Much less buy it in the first place.”

  Heat sparked in his bright green eyes. “Don’t worry, cupcake. You won’t be wearing it long, if I have my way.”

  Bria’s eyes narrowed, but her red lips curved up into a knowing, satisfied smile.

  “It’s just too bad that Gin doesn’t look as smashing as you do,” Finn lamented. “Really, Gin, could you have put on something any more boring?”

  Since I was going in as a journalist, I’d opted for a more serious, professional look—a body-hugging black camisole over matching black pants. My dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I’d gone dark and smoky on the makeup, just like Bria. Unlike her open-toed stilettos, I had on a pair of ankle-high boots, with two of my silverstone knives already tucked inside them. Some pens, a notepad, and a small digital voice recorder were nestled inside the purse I was carrying, adding to the journalist facade.

  For the final touch, I’d slipped on a fitted black jacket. But it wasn’t just any jacket—this one was lined with silverstone. The magical metal commanded a high price due to its ability to absorb and store all forms of magic. No matter what power they possessed—Air, Fire, Ice, or Stone—many elementals had rings, necklaces, watches, and other pieces of jewelry made out of the metal. The bits and pieces of silverstone looked innocent enough glinting on fingers, necks, and wrists, but really, they gave folks a bonus boost of magic in case they needed it—like for a duel.

  That’s how elementals fought, by dueling each other, by testing their magic against another person’s. Only the strong survived an elemental duel, and the result for the loser was never a good one. Suffocated by a lack of Air, fried to a crisp by Fire, an Ice knife slammed into your throat, your heart turned to Stone in your own chest. Not exactly peaceful or painless ways to die, given how cruelly creative elementals could be with their powers.

  I had my own piece of silverstone jewelry, thanks to Bria—the spider rune ring that I wore on my right index finger. The metal hummed with my stored Ice magic and felt like a cold thread wrapped around my skin. The ring and the extra bit of power it contained was what had helped me kill Mab.

  In addition to absorbing and storing magic, silverstone also had the added benefit of being tougher than Kevlar. Whenever I was out working as the Spider, I usually wore a vest made out of the metal, since silverstone was great for stopping bullets, knives, and other weapons. But since I couldn’t go into Dekes’s press conference looking like an assassin, I’d opted for the suit jacket instead. It wasn’t as thick and heavy as one of my normal vests would have been, but there was enough silverstone sewn into the lining to give me a fighting chance against any bullets or blasts of magic that might come my way. Plus, the jacket let me stuff two more knives up my sleeves, while another one rested against the small of my back as usual.

  That last knife felt as cold as the spider rune ring on my finger, since the blade contained my Ice magic—something else that had come out of my final fight with Mab. My body had burst into icy silver flames when I’d been dueling the Fire elemental, and the silverstone knife, along with the others I’d been carrying, had absorbed quite a bit of my magic. I’d never before used the power in this particular knife, the one that I’d killed Mab with, but it comforted me to know that it was there, just in case I needed it.

  As for the icy flames, it was a trick that I hadn’t done since then, although I’d tried a time or two to get my fists to ignite just to see if I could. So far, I hadn’t had any luck. Then again, I hadn’t been as desperate as I had been fighting Mab. I imagined that had quite a bit to do with my cold spontaneous combustion that night.

  “Are you sure that you want to do this, Gin? Take on Dekes?” Bria asked, staring at me. “I know that you came to Blue Marsh to get away from all the thugs in Ashland who are after you right now. And Callie’s my friend, not yours. I should be the one to help her, not you.”

  “I know,” I said. “But you’re my sister.”

  Bria stood there, like she was expecting me to say something else. But in my mind, I’d given her reason enough for putting myself in danger again. Yeah, maybe I was a coldhearted assassin, but I’d do anything for the people that I loved. Cheat, lie, steal, even kill for them. I’d done it before when I was battling Mab, and I would gladly do it again. I might be in a different city, but the rules of the game were still the same—and it was a game that I was determined to win.

  “If we’re all ready,” I said, “let’s go pay Randall Dekes a visit that he won’t soon forget.”

  An hour later, a taxi dropped me off at the entrance to Dekes’s island estate. It was just before five now, and the press conference was ramping up, judging by the people I saw streaming into the house.

  “Right here is fine,” I told the driver, slipping him a nice tip and climbing out of the backseat.

  The taxi drove off, but I stayed where I was, looking at everything from the spikes on the open iron gate to the thick stone wall topped with razor wire to the armed giants that I could see walking along the manicured grounds in a specific, timed pattern. Dekes might be throwing open his doors for his press conference, but he was still being careful about things.

  Just not careful enough, since the Spider was here.

  I walked up the smooth cobblestone driveway, moving faster than the line of limos and news vans that crept up toward the front door. I’d been in and around many mansions, but Dekes’s sprawling villa was impressive, even by Ashland standards. With its white stone, wrought-iron railings, and red slate roof, the multistory building looked like a slightly smaller but more elegant version of the Blue Sands hotel. According to the information that Finn had dug up, Dekes had built his home back
in 1889, ten years before he’d started construction on the hotel.

  I reached the top of the driveway and paused a moment, reaching out with my magic and listening to the stone of the mansion above me. Low, pain-filled mutters drifted down to me, along with a faint ripping sensation that made it seem like something was biting into the stone again and again and slowly tearing it apart from the inside out. It was a dark, ugly sound, one filled with sly menace and deadly intent. Despite its pristine appearance, Randall Dekes had done some violent things in his mansion over the years—some very violent, very bloody things. No surprise there.

  The stones’ mutters grew louder as I flashed my press credentials at the giants working the front door and stepped inside the mansion, but I pushed the sound to the back of my mind. The stones’ warning wasn’t unexpected or unwelcome, but I’d see for myself exactly what kind of man Dekes was soon enough.

  The inside of the mansion was just as perfect, polished, and lavish as the outside. Crystal chandeliers, antique furniture, expensive paintings, exquisite statues, delicate carvings. Dekes had the very best of everything, just like I’d thought he would, and he seemed to embrace the location of his island home. Many of the furnishings were suggestive of the beach or sea, from the paintings of famous shipwrecks to the gold doubloons that glimmered in glass cases on the walls.

  I followed the flow of traffic deeper into the mansion, stepped through a wide archway, and found myself back outside. The south lawn was dominated by an enormous pool that had the same distinctive palm tree shape as the one at the Blue Sands hotel. According to Finn, Dekes used the palm tree as his own personal rune, since so many of his business interests were located on the coast. A variety of colorful orchids and roses floated in the pool, their sweet scents mixing with the spicy colognes and cloying perfumes of the businessmen and businesswomen in attendance, along with the sweat of the news crews hauling around their cameras and other equipment.

  I could also see the Blue Sands hotel from here, glimmering like an oversize opal in the distance. The back nine of the hotel’s golf course ran right up to the edge of Dekes’s property, which was cordoned off by a low stone wall. With a pair of binoculars, you’d be able to clearly see the hotel pool and the beach with its sunbathing beauties beyond. I imagined Dekes was the kind of man who enjoyed looking out over his little empire.