She waited until she sensed he was looking at her, and tipped her head back.
Stepping behind her, he covered the blindfold with his hands. “No peeking.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” She had, however, been thinking about getting him closer. With his chest brushing up against her back and his arms framing the sides of her head, she couldn’t think of anything much closer, except maybe—
“Don’t,” he growled against her ear.
“What?” She gave her hips another wiggle, biting her lip at the feel of him getting hard for her.
He nipped her neck. “I’m trying to show you something.”
“This century or next?” she teased.
“Wench.”
She grinned again. She hadn’t minded crossing the veil into Avalon or the long trek through the woods with only Lucan’s hand to guide her. “Do not make me tickle you again, Lucan.”
He shuddered. “I’ve heard a lot of threats over the centuries, but that is by far the most terrifying.”
She spun in his arms, gripping his shirt as she rose up to find his mouth. She might have to wait for him to reveal his surprise, but she didn’t want to go another moment without remembering the taste of him.
His hand fisted at the back of her hair, tipping her head back to allow him better access to her mouth. Smooth and hot, he deepened the kiss, dragging it out until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.
Every doubt, every fear, every single hurt, had been worth it to finally be with him. And she wasn’t letting him go. Not now or ever again. That fierce certainty made her heart thump hard as she leaned into him, meeting the bold sweep of his tongue and almost forgetting what he’d wanted to show her.
Her back came up against a tree, and something dug into her. “Ouch.”
He kissed her again, slower, then turned her around, tugging the blindfold from her eyes.
She blinked, grateful that the canopy of trees overhead kept the sunlight from blinding her. It took a moment to notice the curving stairs that wrapped around the massive tree trunk. Each step looked built into the tree, rising to the balcony above.
Walking backwards to get a better look, she shook her head. “You built this?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the elaborate tree house that looked more like a modest cottage, complete with a thatched roof, upper loft with a ladder propped against an outside window and a swing that creaked in the early evening breeze.
“Whenever Rhiannon forgot about me for a while.”
“And you built it here?” She’d recognized the tree she’d been sitting in that night, waiting for him to find her when she’d run from him.
“You remember.” His eyes glossed over, and he glanced down at the ground.
Throat tight, she didn’t wait for permission before bounding up the stairs, stopping outside the door, her hand on the handle. His fingers closed over hers and their eyes locked as they opened the door together.
She frowned. “It’s empty.”
He pressed his face into her hair. “For now.”
“You should know my talent for decorating is non-existent.”
“We have lots of time to work on your skills.”
She moved into his arms. “Is that so?”
“Luckily you already have the most important ones nailed down.” He gripped her hips, tugging her flush against him.
“I’m glad you approve.” She bit his bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth for a teasing kiss that barely touched the need unraveling inside her.
He lifted her up, setting her on the open window ledge and stepping between her legs. “I try to make sure I know what I’m getting into.”
She tipped her face up, lulled by the caress of his thumb across her cheek. “Reading my eyes again, knight?”
He nodded, smoothing her hair back from her face.
Her gaze fell to his mouth, and the swirling heat sinking into his stomach. She leaned forward, her mouth drifting across his—seducing him, loving him. “And what are they telling you now?”
His heartbreaking smile would have taken her out at the knees if she’d been standing. He drew his thumb across her lip. “That we’ll find a way.
About the Author
A born and raised Maritimer, Sydney Somers fell in love with writing when she finished her first story, Jenny and the Glowing Green Mittens. After attempting her first book in high school, she set writing aside to focus on school. While getting her degrees in psychology and education, Sydney tried her hand at journalism between part time jobs before finally returning to her love of writing.
Twenty-five novels and novellas later, Sydney is thrilled to spend her days slaying demons, running with shape-shifter packs and making the people in her head fall wildly in love. When she’s not writing or curled up with a good book, Sydney can be found chasing after her herd of kids, talking her way into a gourmet meal, exterminating rogue dust bunnies or joking about the pending zombie apocalypse. She loves hearing from readers and invites them to email her (sydney@sydneysomers.com) or drop by her website (www.sydneysomers.com) any time.
Emma is used to getting dragged into her twin sister’s magical messes, but this time her predicament is more than a minor annoyance. She’s chained to a cat shifter that her sister encased in a curse of stone. Worse, the unfortunate gargoyle’s waking up. And her sister’s not there to take the heat.
After a century suspended in stone, Cian would do anything to get his hands on the sorceress who put him there. Strangely, his dreams of revenge turn into an animal hunger to put his hands all over her—in every delightfully wicked way imaginable.
Never as talented as her sister, Emma doesn’t trust her own magic. But for now she must let Cian believe she’s the culprit in order to strike a bargain: to permanently lift the curse in exchange for his tracking skills to find her missing sister. The longer she is near him, though, the closer she comes to surrendering much more than her body to the brutal warrior.
As their attraction catches fire, Emma dreads what could happen when he learns the truth. If he will sacrifice her to break the spell…or fight for a love that goes beyond animal instinct.
“You would risk your family to keep me?”
For all the practice she had at masking her fear—thanks to Elena—the gargoyle’s steel-edged conviction made it hard not to take him seriously. As worried as she’d been over her fate, some small part of her had dared to hope he might willingly release her.
The look on his face, the unwavering blue depths locked on her, told her he meant every word. He really had no intention of releasing her.
“My family can handle themselves.”
She swallowed past the momentary panic clawing at her throat. “So revenge is all that matters to you?” She certainly hadn’t gotten that vibe when she’d touched his belongings and experienced those memories.
“Not all that matters, no.” He dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him.
“Whoa there, Chippendale. Let’s keep this PG rated.”
Unfazed, he moved his hand to the fly of his jeans, drawing her attention down his toned abs—and how had
