Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(63)

“In your case, that would be accurate.”

She felt Jason smile against her head. But a second later, he eased her head back to look down at her with a flicker of concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She traced the edge of his upper lip with her fingertip. “I just meant that you’re very … satisfying.” Yawning, she leaned her head back against his chest. “And you were right.”

“About what, baby?” he whispered.

“Being tied. I feel a little different, somehow. I feel…” She groped for words. “There was a moment when I was open and feeling everything and taking everything, and even though you were the one in charge, I felt like…” She hesitated, unwilling to say it.

“You owned me,” Jason said quietly. “You knew I was yours.”

Justine couldn’t reply, even though it was true. Especially because it was true. Settling deeper in his arms, she became aware of a slight soreness here and there, subtle reminders of ropes and flesh and pleasure.

After a while, she was dimly aware that Jason had left the bed and had returned with a damp washcloth, the moist heat moving over her face and limbs and between her thighs. The need for sleep was overwhelming. He pulled the covers over them both and she felt herself sinking into layers of inviting darkness.

“I’m coming back to you, Justine,” she heard him say. “You know that, don’t you?”

“You promised you wouldn’t.”

“You’ll want me to.” When she didn’t answer, he held her more closely. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.

Justine had every reason to fear for both of them. The safety she felt in his arms was only an illusion. But she would take it for now.

* * *

The shriek of the alarm clock woke Justine into a state of heart-pounding alertness. With a muffled exclamation, she crawled across the mattress and hit the snooze button. Collapsing onto her back, she groaned at the prospect of starting the day.

After a long, shivering stretch, she yawned and glanced around the room. Thin morning light had seeped through the shutters, casting the room in muted colors like a vintage postcard. Her gaze was attracted by an incongruous splash of red … three bundles of hemp rope on the nightstand.

Mortified color spread over her as images flashed through her mind. She wished she could have claimed that the previous night had happened as a result of one glass of wine too many. Because no one had that kind of sex while sober. Crazy sex. Off-the-chain sex. I-can-never-see-you-again sex.

Justine inched lower on the bed and tugged the sheet up to her nose. Had those bundles of hemp not been left out, she might have convinced herself it had been a dream. Unfortunately she could recall every detail. The way Jason had gripped the ropes to pull her body onto his, the way he had traced and kissed the marks on her skin afterward. The sight of him so deliberate and intent, a flush of passion on his face. His smoke-and-brimstone whisper … “You owned me.”

She had felt it. She’d had him going hard, all wrapped up in her, taking her mouth with hard sweet kisses and breathing her name in between, every muscle in his body straining to get closer, deeper. At the end, a sound had caught in his throat as if something had hurt him. Unable to hold him in her arms, she’d gripped him down below, a tight caressing clasp while he spilled inside her.

Remembering, Justine let out an unsteady sigh. Her chest was heated with a leftover erotic glow.

The warmth faded, however, as she reminded herself that Jason was gone. Spirits willing, he would be safe now that he was away from her. Don’t think about him. Don’t miss him or his blinding smile or those long kisses or how his skin always seemed hotter than normal, like a perpetual low-grade fever.

How did you stop yourself from loving someone? You could end a relationship, but you couldn’t end the feelings that had fueled it. Only time could do that … maybe.

Sitting up, Justine pushed back the tangled sheaf of her hair and reached over to the nightstand for her necklace, the long chain with the copper key.

It wasn’t there.

Had it fallen? Frowning, she slipped out of bed and hunted for the chain on the floor. She looked behind the nightstand. Still nothing.

She felt sick, covered in adrenaline stings, the way it felt when she was about to fall but had caught herself, nerves zinging with the anticipation of pain. Her mouth and throat went dry. She was too numb even to feel her heartbeat. Before she brought herself to look under the bed, she knew what she would find.

The Triodecad was gone.

Nineteen

The only fortunate aspect of the situation was that with the guests gone, no one was there to hear the howl of outrage coming from the back cottage. Nor did anyone witness the explosion of an alarm clock, two lightbulbs, and a toaster.

By the time Justine had regained control, the cottage was filled with a light acrid haze of smoke and she was huddled on the floor. Her eyes were hot and bone-dry with fury. She was going to kill Jason Black. Creatively. Slowly.

Clasping her head in her hands, she tried to think through the red cloud of rage.

How could Jason have stolen her spellbook? No one could take it from her … it wasn’t possible. And yet somehow he had.

“I swear I won’t come back unless you ask me to.”

The bastard had known that she would want him to come back, if only to return her spellbook. She let out a guttural cry of rage.