Dagon worked at the buttons on Sarina’s blouse. Trying to hold her and undress her at the same time was proving difficult. While her legs had grown weak her upper body had remained rigid and he worried about causing her discomfort.
He looked about to see if there was anyplace he could place her that would make disrobing easier for him and less stressful for her, but nothing proved adequate. There was a small vanity bench with a soft cushion top against the wall near the door, but that would not prove entirely useful. If he were able to use his powers, this task would already be accomplished, but no matter how many times he attempted, his skill failed him. He knew his talent would work on anything not connected with Sarina, but she herself remained impervious to a witch’s magic.
He finished unbuttoning her blouse and managed with tender care to slip the gooey garment off her. His eyes could not help but stray to her black lace bra and her hard nipples that protruded against the sheer material. She moaned when he slipped the gooey garment off her shoulders, and he winced when he caught sight of her bruised and scratched skin.
“Did you struggle to free yourself?” he asked, more concerned with her immediate condition than his lust-filled thoughts. He tossed the blouse on top of the discarded blanket and surveyed her bruises.
Sarina rested her head on his chest. “At first I did, but I think my futile attempts only worsened my situation.”
Dagon ran gentle fingers over the scratches. “The water may sting these abrasions.”
Sarina attempted to ignore the flutter in her stomach. His touch was incredibly tender and caring, not to mention it tingled her skin. “I’ll manage.”
“I’ll take care of them after your bath,” he informed her and moved his hands to the button on her skirt. He wanted to afford her as much privacy as possible, if privacy was possible in this awkward situation. He thought to rid her of her outside garments first and then remove her bra and panties last, leaving her feeling the least vulnerable as possible.
He eased her skirt down along with her black silk slip and swore silently. The woman obviously had a penchant for black lace undergarments, and he had to admit her choice was exceptional.
The skirt dropped down around her ankles when he worked it past her thighs, and his glance dropped right along with it. She wore the slimmest, sheerest, scantiest pair of black lace panties he had ever laid eyes on, and he had viewed his share.
He hoped her head continued to remain resting on his shoulder because if she ever glanced in his eyes she would see how his passion for her raged much too close to the edge.
He slipped his fingers beneath the panty hose waistband and began easing the garment down over her hips. She was slight of build, her waist narrow and just a hint of a curve to her slim hips, and her stomach, though relatively flat, possessed the most charming little mound where his hand now rested.
He ran his hand back and forth across her stomach, working the stockings farther and farther down and feeling every inch of her incredibly cool soft skin. When he worked the stockings down near her knees, he slipped his sneakers off, kicking them away, and lifted his bare foot to yank the stockings down to her ankles.
“Almost done,” he said when he felt her shiver. She did not respond and her head did not move off his chest. She most certainly must feel uncomfortable with him undressing her and especially with being so dependent on him at the moment. And yet he liked the feeling her temporary helplessness gave him, and that thought disturbed him. He always liked strong, independent women, and yet here he was enjoying looking after a totally inept, dependent witch.
He shook his head at his crazy thoughts and gently lifted her into his arms and carried her to the tub. He sat her on the edge of the black tub and balanced her with one arm around her waist as he knelt on one knee to remove the panty hose bunched at her ankles. He then stood her up once again, quickly unhooked her bra, tossed it to join the pile of discarded garments and then with the same haste removed her panties.
He could not allow himself to think at this moment or look at her with the eyes of a man who found her incredibly desirable. He had to remain a gentleman—he simply had to.
One gentle scoop had her back in his arms, and with care he eased her down into the steaming water. Her groan and cry startled him, and he realized the steaming water had penetrated her scratches.
“I’m sorry,” he told her softly, “but it is better you remain in the heat of the water. It will help ease the stiffness from your joints.”
She agreed with a nod and closed her eyes, relinquishing her complete care and safety to him. And he had every intention of seeing that she was looked after and carefully tucked into a soft welcoming bed for the night.
He released his hold on her and took a brief second to remove his sweatshirt, the arms having gotten a thorough soaking clear up to his elbows. She looked serene lying there with the steaming water lapping over her. Her taut nipples bobbed to the surface every now and then as her body floated contentedly in the water.
She did not possess a perfect body, but then perfection could never be truly seen, only felt, and what he felt when he looked at her was perfection at its most extraordinary.
He forced his attentions to return to the matter at hand and kneeled in front of the tub near her head. Not wishing to frighten her he warned her of his presence. “I’m going to see to getting you cleaned up.”
She still didn’t open her eyes. “Can’t it wait for a moment? The hot water feels so good.”
His stamina as a gentleman was being tested, and he was afraid failure was much too likely, especially if his hands remained idle. “At least let me see to your hair and face.”
“I do suppose I look frightful.”
Dagon smiled and cast an appreciative eye over her naked body. “Frightful doesn’t quite fit you.”
Her eyes drifted slowly open, and she attempted to move her arms and groaned in the process.
“Don’t,” he ordered curtly, not wanting to see her suffer needlessly. “Let the hot water soothe your joints before you attempt to move them.”
The water licked at her soot-covered face, and her eyes appeared two bright moons in the darkness. He noticed her lashes were thick and long and her eyes steady on him. She studied him from face to chest and back again, and he did not mistake her look of admiration touched perhaps with a twinge of desire.
She made no move to speak and he did not trust his own voice, so he reached for the washcloth that lay on top of the stack of white towels next to the tub. He soaked the cloth, and with a firm hand to the back of her head he brought the cloth to her face.
He was gentle and methodical in his care, wiping away the soot until her face was near clean. Then he lathered the cloth with the rose-scented soap and softly ordered her to close her eyes.
Sarina thought herself in a dream. His tame strokes betrayed his gentleness, his understanding, his character. He could take full advantage of her in her present condition, and yet he treated her with respect and saw to her care as only a gentleman would. Then why was she so damn disappointed?
Even in her weariness she ached for a more intimate touch and was fully aware that his aches matched hers. Why was she so attracted to this man? Physically he was appealing, that could not be denied, but physical appearance meant little to her. Her friends varied in shape and size, and she had never chosen any for their outward appearance. It was the inner self that always attracted her. That was where one found the qualities and character of an individual, his true nature.
Dagon caused any woman to glance more than once at him. She had found she often took several admiring peeks at him whenever he passed by her. But it was his strength of character and conviction that she most admired. No matter how inept a witch she was, he would not toss her out. He continued to be patient and put up with her bumbling skills. He was a special man, and if she were not careful she could easily lose her heart to him.
He rained water over her face, chasing away the lather, and then he wiped it clean before saying, “Keep your eyes closed and I will see to washing your hair.”
She feared this forced intimacy might prove too difficult for them both and she wondered which of them would be the first to surrender to mounting passion.
His hands worked magic after lathering her hair. His fingers massaged and scrubbed with a force that was simply heavenly. And when he stopped, she sighed in disappointment.
“You liked that?” he asked, his whisper sounding strained.
“Very much,” she admitted, her eyes remaining closed as he rinsed her hair clean.
“The water will cool fast enough, we best get you finished.”
He sounded rushed, almost anxious, and Sarina slowly opened her eyes.
He stared down at her with heated eyes. He was doing his best to control the passion that raged wild within him, and it was that contained passion that struck Sarina full force and jolted her alert hormones.
She moved her arm in an effort to show her capability of seeing to her own care. Unfortunately her arms were still protesting and she winced.
“I told you not to move,” he snapped, forcing her arm still with his hand. “Give the hot water time to work. There is no hurry.”
“There isn’t?” she asked cautiously.
He took a deep calming breath. “I am not a schoolboy incapable of controlling himself.”
How did she admit that she was more worried about her control than his? She ached for him and in the most intimate places. Places that had been dormant for much too long and now sparked with excitement.
She sighed much too invitingly and he laughed softly.
“You’d better behave.”
She was feeling better and couldn’t help but tease. “Must I?”
He teased back. “If I must, you must.”
Her response surprised not only him but herself. “Then maybe we both should surrender.”
He reached for the washcloth and lathered it. “Be careful of what you say, or the consequences may be more than you can handle.”
Wise and truthful words, and ones she wished she had heeded months ago, for then she would not be here with him, a thought that suddenly brought a pain to her heart.
He lifted her with one arm while his hand proceeded to scrub her clean. She kept her eyes closed, fearing if she glanced one more time into those sensually blue depths, she would be lost.
He in turn worked with the speed and verve of a madman. He had to finish, had to end this madness now, or he would go entirely insane. He avoided all intimate areas except for her breasts, they were unavoidable. The gooey solvent had penetrated her blouse and bra and now stuck to her soft mounds and hard nipples. He forced himself not to linger and forced himself to disregard just how much he liked the feel of those taut nipples brushing over his palm. He would not surrender to his lust-filled desires. He would remain a gentleman, damn if he wouldn’t.
Dagon praised himself when finally he lifted her from the tub and went to wrap her in a soft terry towel.
Exhausted from her ordeal and totally mindless by this point, she barely could stand and instinctively leaned against him.
A big mistake for them both. Her warm flushed breasts connected with his cool hard chest and it was like two live wires touching. His arms wrapped around her, her arms went around him, and their mouths claimed each other.
The room was charged with lusty ardor; the mirrors steamed, mist hovered overhead, and two lovers were locked tenaciously in each other’s arms. Their kisses demanded and each one gave willingly and wantonly.
His hands moved to cup her backside and urge her up against him. She advanced on him most generously and cherished the feel of him pressing hot and hard against her.
They were hungry, starved for each other, and they feasted like two lovers long denied.
Without taking his mouth from hers he scooped her up into his arms and marched into his bedroom, dropping down on the bed with her. He stretched out over her, and they continued their frenzied feeding.
Dagon thought he would burst with the want of her. He had never felt this strong a passion for any woman. It was as though his desire raged out of control, out of his reach, out of his powers.
And she responded just as mindlessly, feeding his crazy actions.
He ached to explore her, roam her body with his hands until he was familiar with every inch of her flesh, and then he would taste her, taste until he was drunk with the flavor of her. Then they would mate like only witches could.
His senses came hurdling back and he drew his mouth off hers though returned several times before grudgingly relinquishing her swollen lips. “If it is intimacy we are to share, then it will be a magical moment for us both.”
He then moved off her, stood, pulled the comforter that had been drawn back over her, and left the room.
Tears sprang instantly to her eyes, and she shook her head in disbelief. She had traveled so far, searched in vain, and he was here in Scotland all this time. She found her discovery almost impossible to believe, but he had spoken the words she waited to hear.
Magical moments.
She had sought solace and a modicum of peace when she came to Rasmus Castle. She had wanted to gather her thoughts and make decisions, difficult ones if necessary, but she had never thought to find her answer here. She had never even given Dagon Rasmus thought. Why should she?
She was far beyond his years and wisdom.
And yet now she realized he was the one who would help release her from the spell and make her whole again.
Margaret’s entrance intruded on her troubling thoughts.
“You, my dear lady, have been ordered to remain abed for the remainder of the night,” Margaret said, placing the serving tray, filled with more food than Sarina possibly could eat, on a table near the window.
“Wouldn’t it be best then if I returned to my room?” She thought to slip from beneath the cover, when she realized she was naked. Her face turned quite red.
Margaret ignored her blushing and pulled back the comforter to slip the white flannel nightgown she had draped over her arm over Sarina’s head. After maneuvering sore arms into the sleeves, Sarina was once again settled beneath the covers.
Margaret finally answered her. “You are to stay in this bed tonight.”
She shook her head and grabbed the cover to pull back.
Margaret was faster and stayed her hand. “You are to sleep here alone. Dagon thinks only of your comfort. You will have a more comfortable sleep in this large bed than in your cramped single bed. And besides, he will not have it any other way.”
In no time Margaret had her braced against a mountain of pillows with a lap tray placed over her legs. She was then served a generous meal of fruit, juice, soup, biscuits, tea, and a baked apple of which she ate heartily to her surprise.
Margaret left her snuggled beneath the warm comforter, a fire burning low and exhaustion slipping over her. She was so tired her mind could barely form a coherent thought, but she managed. She managed to recall Dagon’s words.
Magical moments.
She held the words close to her heart as she drifted off to sleep, knowing Dagon would save her. He would always save her.
o0o
Dagon listened to several minutes of scolding from Sydney before he spoke. “I apologize again for calling you at this late hour, but it was necessary.”
“Is something wrong?” Sydney asked, alarmed.
“Very wrong and I need your help.”
“Anything, my dear boy,” Sydney offered graciously. “You know you can always count on me.”
He felt like sighing in relief but contained his reaction. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Dagon, you can ask anything of me. If it is in my power to grant it, I will.”
He was probably taking advantage of their long friendship, but then at the moment he needed a good friend. “Sydney, I really need to meet the Ancient One.”
She didn’t seem at all surprised by his repeated request, she simply asked, “Why?”
He answered honestly. “I wish to mate.”
“You do not even know her.”
“I know of her,” he said. “She is all that I am looking for in a mate. She is powerful—”
Sydney didn’t let him finish. “Far more powerful than you. Could you cope with a wife whose powers surpass yours?”
Dagon dropped down in his desk chair, tired of pacing the floor and just damn tired. Again he answered honestly. “I would like to think I could, though I am not certain.”
“Good, at least you are being honest.”
“Does that help my cause?” he asked with a weary laugh.
“Possibly,” Sydney said, “though I find that when witches attempt to dictate their lives, problems arise.”
“Like Ali?” he asked, recalling the turmoil she had put herself through after insisting she would mate with a mortal.
“You are waiting for me to say yes so that you can counter with the obvious, that the situation worked out well,” Sydney said with patience. “But if you recall she suffered dearly and thought all lost because of her stubbornness.”
“Agreed, but I know better,” he insisted.
Sydney laughed. “We all think we know better.”
Dagon argued, “I know that I know better.”
“Listen to me, Dagon,” Sydney said with the voice of a concerned teacher directing a headstrong pupil. “Some things in life are better left to magic.”
He remained obstinate. “I intend to direct my own fate.”
“That isn’t always possible, my dear boy.”
“Will you help me secure an introduction to the Ancient One?”
“Will you accept the outcome?”
He laughed. “I already know the outcome.”
“Be careful, Dagon,” Sydney warned. “You do not know what you deal with.”
“I can handle myself,” he assured her. “You will speak with her?”
“I will make contact with her; the decision is hers.”
“Again I apologize for waking you,” he said sincerely, “and, Sydney?”
“Yes, Dagon.”
“Thank you for being there for me even when I am being an arrogant pain in the ass.”
“You do know,” she said with a light laugh and a quick good-bye.
Dagon sat staring at the phone. He didn’t know what possessed him to call Sydney and her phone was already ringing when he realized the lateness of the hour in the States.
He felt as if his life had suddenly reared out of control and that was not an acceptable emotion. He always prided himself in his ability to handle any situation no matter the degree of difficulty. That was why he couldn’t understand the irrationality of his emotions concerning Sarina. That he desired her was obvious, but damned if she wasn’t everything he wasn’t looking for in a mate.
Mate?
When did he suddenly regard her as a possible mate? An affair perhaps or a night or two of shared passion, but a mate?
He shook his head not understanding his own thoughts. He had known numerous women in his three hundred years and had adored many of them, perhaps loved a few, but never had he felt this overwhelming need to protect, care, and make love to a woman. She seemed a part of him, an intricate part that he could not do without. She was like the beat of his heart, the rush of his blood, the breath he took to breathe.
He stood and paced in front of the window, raking his fingers through his hair. “Damn.”
What was the matter with him? He should just make love with her and satisfy his and her lusty desires. And yet something warned him against it, something nagged at him to learn more about her and particularly to learn why her wrongs could not be made right.
Who was Sarina?
A good question and he intended to find the answer.