Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

could have watched him for hours...

When MacRieve visibly tensed, she followed his gaze. There, toward the back wall was a sarcophagus, the first she'd seen. A headdress would have to be within!

They both raced forward, colliding right before it.

With a growl he grabbed her arms to toss her away, his gaze already back on the crypt, but then he did a double take, frowning at her. He faced her fully as his grip eased on her. 'You actually think to play with me?' His hands skimmed down her arms, then rested on her hips.

She exhaled a shaky breath. 'Why do you assume I'm working spells?' She might have the requisite adrenaline flowing, but knew she couldn't focus it. Especially not since she could feel the heat of his rough hands through the material of her shorts.

'For one hundred and eighty years I've no' touched another.' He leaned in closer to her. 'Have never even given a woman a second look. But now I canna seem to keep my hands off a slip of a witch,' he rasped at her ear. 'A witch who has me feeling like I'll die if I doona find out what it'd be like to kiss her.' He drew back, his face a mask of rage. 'O' course it's a goddamned spell.'

He wanted to kiss her now? Why now? He'd been faithful to his dead mate all this time? The idea softened something inside her—even as alarm trickled in.

What if she was working a spell? Elianna had once advised Mari to be careful what she wished for. When Mari had nodded at the old truism, Elianna had added, 'No. Really. Be careful. We don't know the extent of your powers, and many witches can effect their desires with a mere thought.'

Did Mari want to kiss Bowen MacRieve so badly that she was enthralling him?

When he lifted her onto the sarcophagus and wedged his hips between her legs, she suspected she might. She swallowed. 'I take it you plan to find out what it'd be like?'

The battle raging inside him was clear on his face. 'Stop this, Mariketa.' The way he rumbled her name with his accent made her melt. He removed his hands from her, but when he rested them beside her hips, his fingers curled until his dark claws dug into the stone. 'Can you no' ken why I'm in this contest? I seek her again and wish to be true.'

He wanted his mate back. Of course. He wanted to use Thrane's Key to go back in time and prevent her death. Surprisingly, Mari resented the woman who'd engendered such loyalty in this warrior for so many years. 'I'm not... or I don't mean to be... doing anything to you,' Mari whispered, but the way she was reacting to his scent, his mesmerizing eyes, and his hard body between her thighs belied the words.

There was an aura about him that was staggering to her, making it difficult to think. It wasn't mere male heat and sensuality. It was raw sexuality, animalistic in its intensity—and she was starving for it.

Ah, gods, she did want him to kiss her. Wanted it with everything that she was and willed him to do so. Want me as fiercely as I want you... desire me as you've never desired another.

He cupped the back of her neck, staring down at her. As she gazed up in fascination, the amber of his eyes turned to ice blue. He seemed desperate to recognize something in her, and when he clearly didn't find it, his hand on her began to shake. 'Damn you, witch, I doona want another.'

She suddenly knew two things: He was about to kiss her so fiercely she would never be the same again.

And he would hate himself for it afterward and despise her forever...

2

The witch seethed with power. Spells and magicks swirled about her. Bowe could sense them, could perceive them tangling around him, binding him to her—because she was beckoning him to kiss her...

No, he couldn't get distracted from his aim! He wouldn't. So much was at stake with this competition. His past, his future. He knew this—knew what he was fighting for—so why couldn't he drag his eyes away from the witch's face?

As she gazed up at him, her features seemed to shift. Her irises briefly flickered from an ordinary blue to a stormy, intense gray. She licked her lips, and right before him they turned from pink to the deepest, most enticing red. His shaft throbbed harder, straining against his pants.

Yes, he had to taste her. To walk away without knowing what those glistening lips promised... ? Impossible. Not after beholding the body she'd concealed beneath her cloak. She was lush, surprisingly curvy with high, plump breasts. And in that tunnel, when he'd gazed upon her crawling in front of him, the allure of her generous hips and arse had been as strong as a siren's call to him. He'd have followed her for miles, hard as rock, heart thundering in anticipation.

Then to be wedged against her in that position? Hell, he'd just stopped himself from thrusting uncontrollably against her—

'Bowen... ' she whispered, an edge of need in her voice.

The witch wanted; he was helpless not to give.

His first kiss in nearly two centuries.

Pulling her closer with his hand at her nape, he leaned down and took her mouth with his. The merest contact rocked him. From the first touch, he felt how giving her lips were, parting in welcome. She gave a cry against him, and her palms traced up his chest to rest at his neck, her fingers twining in his hair.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she met it with her own, with slow, wicked laps that made him inhale sharply to groan against her. His free hand grasped her waist to hold her as he deepened the kiss, and she moaned her approval, going soft against him.

She was the one enthralling him, so why did she seem to be going out of her head with desire? She seemed... lost for him. When would she pull back? Surely he couldn't be expected to. She would tell him to stop, and he would somehow manage to relinquish what he desired, as he had hundreds of times before.

But she didn't tell him. Between licks, she whispered, 'Yes, Bowen, yes.' Instead of checking his lust, she urged him on, as if she wanted him, a Lykae, to lose control.

He clutched her neck hard. For over a thousand years, he'd unwaveringly scorned witches. Yet now he was savoring the wanton, drugging kiss of one—a soft, ruby-lipped witch who, he feared, could make all his sexual dreams come true. Having been without sex for so long, Bowe dreamed about it constantly.

To be lost after so long... Follow her into oblivion. Follow her down.

At last Mari sensed him letting go, growing more aggressive, turning as fierce as she'd expected.

His kiss was hard and heated as he claimed her mouth. And she was more than ready to match his need. She found herself going up on her knees, brazenly pressing her body into his, feeling his unyielding erection against her belly.

She would become an immortal soon, she sensed it, and everyone had told her the flood of desires she'd experience leading up to the change would be strong. So far it had proved overwhelming. Was that what was happening here? Was she enjoying her first taste of lust between two immortals?

He was the most sinful kisser she'd ever had, and she knew she wasn't going to get another chance with him ever. So she gripped his head, kissing him as if her life depended on it.

When she'd made love in the past, Mari had felt that something vital was missing, something she'd feared she couldn't do without for much longer. Now she knew what she'd missed. Intensity. That hectic passion so strong it made good sense—made thought itself—fade to nothing but feeling. He could give that to her.

With the hand gripping her waist, he rubbed his thumb up and down her torso. When he made contact with the small ring at her navel, he drew a quick, surprised breath against her lips.

His shaking hand finally trailed lower...

Aching to touch him as well, she ran her fingers down his broad chest. Just as she reached the waist of his