Scapulimancist (Seven Forbidden Arts Book 7) Read online

  She made her way over and motioned at the spot next to Bella. “May I?”

  “Howdy, snake woman.” Bella lifted a bottle from an ice bucket. “Champagne?”

  “Thanks.” She took the glass Bella offered.

  “How’s government business?”

  “So-so.”

  Bella smiled. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about your job. Tonight is about relaxing.”

  “Looks like a great party.”

  Bella shrugged. “It’s good to get out and let your hair down. I love the oyster festival. Never missed one in my life. Been coming since I was little.”

  “What do you do? For a profession, I mean.”

  Bella looked at her, a small smile playing on her lips. She seemed to weigh her answer. After a while, she leaned her elbows on her knees and lifted her glass to the crowd. “Have you noticed how they’re all over there, and I’m over here?”

  Sara glanced around. Bella was indeed isolated in her corner.

  “Not specifically,” Sara said, “but now that you mention it, yes.”

  Bella left her glass on the table and leaned back on her arms. “If you’re hoping to make friends in this town, you’re not going to do it by sitting over here.”

  “Why?”

  Bella regarded her solemnly for a while. After a short silence, she said, “I’m an escort.”

  “Like… Like…”

  “Like in I sleep with men for money.”

  “You don’t look like a…”

  “Prostitute?”

  “I was trying to find the right word.”

  “I prefer companion, and what do you expect an escort to look like?”

  Sara took in the soft, feminine dress, the dainty sandals, and Bella’s clean-scrubbed face.

  “Red lipstick,” Bella said, “body-fitting lycra, and killer heels?”

  “Now you make me ashamed of my terrible generalization.”

  “Don’t worry.” Bella winked. “I didn’t see you as the park ranger type, either.”

  “What did you expect?”

  Bella assessed her. “Big woman, lots of muscles, no tits, and flat shoes.”

  Sara laughed. “Glad to know what the general perception is, but that’s not true at all. The women who work for SAN are all different.”

  “So,” Bella lifted an eyebrow, “I won’t be offended if you pick a different table. The general perception, as you’ve put it, is that you’re in bad company.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Just so you know, you won’t make any friends by being seen with West, either.”

  Sara looked at her quickly. “You don’t seem to mind, since you’re his friend.”

  “I had no friends to lose, and I know he’s innocent.”

  “I don’t believe him capable of what Maggie said.”

  “After knowing him for little more than a week?”

  Sara twirled the champagne in her glass. “Did he tell you how we met?”

  “He said you were fucked on mushrooms and had to stay the night.”

  She met Bella’s eyes. “He could’ve taken advantage if he wanted, but he didn’t. He was very … civil … about it all, even if I acted…” She bit her lip.

  “Horny?” Bella said with a laugh.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “From where I’m sitting it’s helluva funny. West may have just met his match.”

  Sara took a gulp of champagne and looked toward the wooden deck where the couples were dancing. “He’s not interested in me that way.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s my body.” She waved at her breasts. “I don’t have nice curves like you.”

  “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with your body, believe me.”

  “Maybe it’s because I told him I’m a virgin.”

  “Are you?” Bella said with a note of surprise.

  Sara sighed. “It slipped out. I don’t know why I said it. If I’d kept quiet…”

  “No, he wouldn’t like being deceived.”

  Sara downed half her glass and glanced at her beautiful companion. “How is it?”

  “What?” Bella asked, her gaze fixed on the distance.

  “Sex.”

  “I love it, otherwise I wouldn’t do it several times a day.”

  “How did it happen? I mean, how did you become a … companion? You don’t have to answer if I’m crossing a line, but I’m curious. I’ve never met an escort, before.”

  Bella swung her leg and tilted her head. “I had an older boyfriend when I was in my final year of school. Much older. Older than my dad. He was wealthy and spoiled me with expensive gifts. There was a pattern to it. Every time we made love, I’d find something on the bedside table the next morning. When he left me, I was devastated. I did really love him, despite what people believed. I guess I tried to replace him, but I didn’t have genuine feelings for the man I hooked up with after him. I left him for another and another. I started looking at the gifts for what they really were—payment. The only thing that changed is that both the men and I stopped pretending. They no longer have to feign emotional interest, and instead of accepting cars and diamonds, I make my own price in my own currency.”

  “You may fall in love again, one day,” Sara said sympathetically.

  Bella straightened abruptly. “Look, there’s Maggie giving you the evil eye.”

  Sensing Bella’s need to change the subject, Sara glanced in the direction she was pointing and saw Maggie staring at them. When she waved, Maggie looked away.

  “Told you,” Bella said.

  Before Sara had time to answer, Christian waltzed up to them. He tilted his hat and left it on the table. “Ladies.” He held his arm to Sara. “May I lure you away for a dance?” He lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, “West is over there by the dance floor.”

  Without giving her a chance to reply, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her to the ground. He took her glass and left it on the table before taking her hand and dragging her away.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Bella. She’d seen the look in Bella’s eyes when Christian had arrived. It had been fleeting, but she could swear there was a flash of longing in the pretty woman’s big, blue eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s rude to leave Bella.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, go on.” Bella waved them away. “Go make West jealous.”

  “I don’t want to make anyone jealous,” Sara said, “not that Wayne will be jealous over me.”

  “Of course not,” Christian said. “Bella was joking.”

  The band was playing a popular song, and Christian pulled her into his arms for the traditional two-step. He was taller than Wayne by an inch, minus Wayne’s definition. His face was open and friendly and his grin boyish. She liked him.

  Light on his feet, he steered her effortlessly around the floor. She was a good dancer and kept up with the quick succession of two-step turns.

  “You’re a terrible dancer,” Christian teased. “Who taught you?”

  She laughed at the joke. “My dad. He made me practice with a broomstick.”

  “Better a broomstick than a horny teenager boy, I suppose. Clever man, your dad.” He brought his mouth to her ear. “Don’t look now, but he’s on your left.”

  He turned her so she had a view of the direction he’d mentioned and then her eyes collided with Wayne’s. His were so hard and cold, she had to look away.

  “He really hates me, not that I can blame him.”

  “If he hates you, he won’t interrupt our dance.”

  The song changed to a slower tune. Christian pulled her close and rested his hands on her hips. “If West rejects the land exchange, will the reclaim still go through?”

  “Yes, but he’ll get nothing but the monetary value, and it’s a conservative evaluation at that. Of course, it will be easier if I can get both parties to cooperate.”


  “West is a hard-headed mule. Expect a lot of kicking and head-butting from him.”

  A shadow fell over them. “Is that my name I heard?” a tense male voice said.

  Sara stared into a broad chest clad in a striped shirt. A smell of cedar and pine overwhelmed her senses. She let her gaze trail up slowly. Wayne’s jaw was set in a hard line.

  “I’ll take over,” he said to Christian, already pulling her from Christian’s arms.

  “Only if the lady says yes,” Christian said with a mischievous smile.

  “She said yes.”

  She wanted to argue at his dominant manner, but her heart was beating with the speed of an electric sowing machine, and she couldn’t quite find her voice. The minute Wayne’s arms went around her body, her palms turned sticky.

  “Later, children.” Christian saluted and disappeared between the dancers.

  For a moment, they stood dead still in the middle of the moving bodies, Wayne’s arms around her waist and hers hanging loosely at her sides.

  His dark, forbidding eyes scanned her face. “Is it a yes?”

  Why was it so difficult to breathe, let alone speak? She managed a stiff nod rather than the fluent ‘all right’ she’d intended.

  “Then you better put your arms around me so we can dance,” he said.

  It was crazy, but she didn’t know where to rest her hands. Just a moment ago, they’d been on Christian’s shoulders without any sense of awareness, but now she skimmed her palms over Wayne’s back, resting one awkwardly on his shoulder blade and the other on his upper arm.

  Like in bed, he took his time to rearrange her how he wanted her. He moved her uninjured hand to his lower back so it rested on his belt. The bandaged hand he lifted to his mouth, surprising her by planting a kiss on her palm. Then he folded his big hand around her fingers and gripped them lightly to his breast.

  “How’s your hand?” he said, staring down at her face.

  “Better, thank you.”

  The music was slow, so they did nothing but sway on the spot. They were both tense. His hand went around her waist, his thumb hooking into the waistband of her jeans, the weight pulling it down a fraction. Just the tip of his finger grazed her skin, the bite of his nail no more than a delicate imprint, but it sent a fire through her body that had her heart trumpeting in her ears. Blood rushed through her veins. She was sure he could see the vein thumping in her neck, because she could feel it keeping beat with her heart. There was less than an inch of space between them but the heat from his body penetrated her clothes and liquefied her core, making her lower body ache and her breasts turn heavy. The pull was too strong. She couldn’t resist leaning in a bit, a barely noticeable fraction, and inhaling his fresh, outdoor scent.

  Maybe that fraction wasn’t as unnoticeable as she’d thought, because it was then that his body relaxed. The muscles in his back where her hand rested softened. He pulled her closer with gentle pressure, a lure rather than a command. Closer, still. The full length of her body touched his. His hardness and heat were familiar and welcoming. She felt like a cat. She wanted to rub her body all over his. Without intending to, she surrendered to the feeling, letting her full weight rest against him. He inhaled sharply. The erection growing against her stomach made her giddy and so, so happy. He wasn’t unaffected. Her breathing turned erratic and when she looked up, he stared down at her with heat smoldering in those black charcoal depths. Unable to bear the intensity, she rested her cheek on his chest.

  The song changed again, a fast tune, but they were isolated in their bubble in the middle of the floor, their bodies pressed together in an inferno of heat. He didn’t change his pace. When she rubbed her cheek over the rough fabric of his shirt, he pulled her hand up and draped it around the back of his neck so her upper body was stretched out against him, her breasts flattened by the hard muscles of his chest. His heart hammered against her own, two staccato rhythms out of tune. His hand moved up under her blouse, his palm flattening on the naked skin of her lower back. The contact sent a shiver over her body that contracted her nipples. A moan escaped her lips that couldn’t be heard over the music but that he would’ve felt against his chest. Her fingers fastened on his belt and in his neck. She wanted to melt into him, become one with his body. She’d never been more turned on in her life, not even the night they’d spent in his bed. It was so forbidden, and, yet, so right.

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips over her ear. “What you do to me, Sara.”

  The words and the hot air made her shudder with raw pleasure. His verbal admittance that he wasn’t immune made her drunk with happiness. She gasped, rocking her hips to his. His hand moved lower to cup her ass, his palm scorching the flesh through her jeans. His thigh parted her legs, pushing up against her folds. Dampness moistened her underwear.

  She looked up, her breath ragged. “Wayne.”

  His eyes fixed on her lips. His chest moved rapidly, and his fingers gripped her ass hard. “Damn, Sara, I’m fucking you through our clothes on the middle of a goddamn dance floor.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, meaning it.

  His hand moved from her ass to the hem of her blouse, bundling the fabric in his fist. He shook his head, as if he was reprimanding himself, and then he untangled her body from his, and grabbed her hand.

  “Come,” he said gruffly, pulling her through the dancing couples toward the beach.

  Chapter Seven

  The need for this woman was suffocating. Wayne wanted her so much he couldn’t breathe. He led Sara along the shore in the light from the torches. Behind the shelter of a fishing boat, he pulled her down into the sand.

  He was all over her. He pushed her blouse down her arms, revealing a white cotton bra with a lace trimming and ribbon in the middle that drove him wild. Off. It had to go. Too impatient to find the clip, he flicked the cups down to free her breasts. Her nipples were darker than her tanned skin, hard like pebbles. His hand slipped down the front of her jeans as he fastened his mouth on her breast. She tasted good on his tongue, her breast just the right fit for his mouth, but it wasn’t the heady taste of her womanly skin or the sweet smell of her perfume that made him crazy, it was her reaction to his touch, the needy moans and ragged whimpers that reached his ears, droning out the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. Everything else ceased to exist. There was only her.

  He dragged his fingers through the trimmed hair of her sex and down, until he found her heat and wetness. God, she wanted him, too. He gathered her moisture and worked it back up, his finger resting on the apex of her sex. The need to take her was fierce, but not before he’d made her come.

  “Wayne.” She gasped and rotated her hips.

  He abandoned her breast to kiss her lips. He needed to taste her mouth, to feel her tongue. Too eager to even undo the button of her jeans, he slipped his finger down the soft, slick skin of her slit.

  “Take me,” she said, breaking the kiss. She cupped his hand over the fabric. “Take me here.”

  The tip of his finger played along her opening. There was nothing he wanted more than plunging inside, feeling her muscles clench around him, but caution slowed him down.

  “Have you done this before?”

  “Do it. I want it.”

  “Nothing inside here?” He pressed on her clit with his thumb. “No finger? No vibrator?”

  “No.”

  Darn it. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

  She pushed up on her elbows. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, angel, but I can’t risk tearing your membrane.”

  “Stop telling me what you can’t do. I want this.”

  “Not here. Not like this.” She deserved better.

  With a last kiss on her lips, he moved away from her, his dick hard and frustration replacing the pump of desire in his veins.

  “Wayne.”

  The frustration tormenting him reflected in her voice.

  “Take off your pants, angel. I’ll make you come with
my mouth.”

  “No.” She sat up, sand stuck to her arms and her hair, her pretty breasts exposed to him. “You take off yours.”

  His breath caught. The image of her mouth on him made his hard-on swell to the point of pain. Did she mean it? Were they imagining the same thing? There was no mistaking her intention when her eyes lowered to his groin, her long lashes shading her expression.

  He gripped her chin and locked eyes with her to make sure she understood. “I’m not going to say no or back out when you start. You sure you want this?”

  Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips in a nervous rather than seductive gesture, but she nodded.

  He removed his shirt and spread it out on the sand. The boat supported his back. He patted the spot between his legs.

  “Come closer, Sara.”

  She settled between his knees, her hands resting on his thighs. The hard peaks of her breasts and the curve of her mouth were illuminated by the yellow flame from the torch. He was glad she didn’t make an effort to cover her breasts. It made him think she was at ease, and he needed to believe that.

  Keeping her gaze, he unbuckled his belt, unfastened the button, and pulled down the zipper. Her fingers tightened on his thighs when he pushed the jeans together with the boxers over his hips, freeing his straining erection. Her eyes widened as he exposed the full length of him, his dick resting high on his abdomen. Women told him he was big, and he understood the apprehension that flickered in her eyes as she lifted them briefly to his. He cupped her head and pulled her close for a chaste kiss.

  “Yes, it fits,” he whispered against her lips.

  Her hand, the one without the bandage, moved to his chest. Her fingers entangled in the hair, a sharp sensation assaulting his skin as she made a fist. He inhaled harshly. He’d liked it that night in his bed, and he liked it even better now with his erection trapped between their bodies. Sara dragged her chest down his, the friction delicious and searing hot. His cock rested in the valley of her breasts, the plump skin cushioning him with softness and silk that had him delirious with want. He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers in the sand next to him. It was all he could do to not jerk his hips up in search of the sweet friction he’d find between those perky tips.