“I’m not falling in love with you.” His wretched, hot fingers stroked her higher and higher, as that part of him that filled her stroked her fire. Hotter and higher, hotter and higher she climbed, consequences be damned.
“Never,” she repeated. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as his movement inside her became a torturous push and retreat. So pleasurable that it was nearly painful, her body promising to ignite and break into a million pieces.
“Come for me,” he coaxed gently.
That was all it took to throw her over that impossible precipice. Pleasure swamped her as she clung to him. His fingers deftly and aptly toyed with her, wringing every last bit of pleasure from her body. And it was only when the pleasure met the point of pain that he began to tremble.
His hand slid down to her bottom, tipping her toward him, and he grew fuller inside her, bigger than she could have imagined. But somehow it felt right. She wasn’t sure why or how, but she held him close as he shuddered, his pulsing inside her slow and sweetly painful, sending her to a place she’d never been as he met her at the top of that mountain of pleasure and hurled them both over it at the same time.
***
Robin is going to kill me, Finn thought to himself. He’s going to chop my head off. Or my manhood, whichever he can get to first. Perhaps he’ll do both. Finn rolled to his back, and Claire tumbled into his side. His arm went around her as she rested her head on his chest. Her breathing was as choppy as his was, but her body was lax and sated. She felt soft and comfortable in his arms. Like she belonged there.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I still don’t love you.”
He tugged her closer to him, and she threw a leg over his, settling comfortably into his side. He kissed her forehead, suddenly so exhausted there was no way he could keep his eyes open. “I don’t love you either.”
It wasn’t until hours later that Finn reached across the bed to feel for Claire. Emptiness met his grasping hands. “Damn it,” he cursed as he jumped to his feet. He dashed across the room to where he’d left the clothes he’d discarded so carelessly the night before. His clothes were gone. The vial of magic dust was gone. And so was Claire. He ran a hand through his hair. She was gone. Claire was gone. The evidence of her lost innocence the night before stained the bedclothes. What they had done wasn’t gone. But she was nowhere to be found.
Six
Claire brushed her hair back from her face and regarded herself closely in the looking glass. What the devil had she done? She searched her own face, looking for some sign that there was something wrong with her. Would anyone be able to tell? Would people know just by looking at her that she was no longer an innocent? She’d never be able to show her wings again, as they would be forever stained by her misdeeds. Even worse, would the fae know she’d had relations with one of them?
She scrubbed her face with the palm of her hand. Why on earth had she done that? Too much drink, too much opportunity, too few wits. She knew better. Look at what had happened with her mother. She’d been cast from the land of the fae, her wings stripped, never to return. Her fae children had been taken from her, and it was her own fault that she’d not been able to mother them. Her own stupid, stupid decisions were her downfall.
Claire gazed around the chambers where she was hiding and hoped that Finn slept soundly, at least long enough for her to gather her thoughts.
A rap at the window jerked her from her reverie. She looked out into the night and saw Ronald there at the second-story window. She crossed the room and thrust the window open. He jerked back but held on tightly. At less than three feet in height, the garden gnome had a tendency to bounce when dropped from great heights, so he had no fear of falling whatsoever.
Claire looked down at her chemise and pulled the string tightly. She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and glared at Ronald. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He smiled sympathetically at her. “A better question would be what you’ve been doing here.”
Heat crept up Claire’s face. “You won’t tell, will you?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Gather your thoughts and your things. The dawn wind awaits. As does your brother.” He pointed down into the yard where Marcus stood. Her brother cupped his hand around his mouth and called softly to her. “You’re needed at home, Claire.”
“Give me a moment to dress,” she said, holding up a single finger.
“Where’s Lord Phineas?” Marcus called back.
“I imagine he’s in his own bedchamber sleeping.” She didn’t look Marcus in the face. And the
garden gnome made a noise in his throat. “Shut it,” she snapped. Ronald simply shook his head at her.
“What’s done in the dark always comes to the light,” he said softly. His look was so sympathetic that it twisted Claire’s gut.
“Why is the wind swirling tonight?” Claire asked, as she stepped behind a screen and began to don her clothes.
“Special circumstances,” Ronald said.
The wind carried the fae back and forth from the land of the fae one night a month, on the night of the moonful. Tonight wasn’t even near the full moon, so circumstances must be special indeed. “What has happened?”
“Dress, and Marcus will inform you.” The gnome never held anything back. Claire’s heart began to drum within her breast. She dressed as quickly as she could and then stepped softly toward the door. She opened it slowly, wincing slightly when the door squeaked. She tiptoed down the stairs, only stopping to put her slippers on at the door.
The wind was already swirling when she opened the front door and stepped out into the snow. Marcus held out a hand to her.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked. It was rare for the Trusted Few to allow the wind to swirl on a night like this.