“And now I find out that it was all an elaborate lie.” His mis-matched eyes had turned positively malevolent in the mirror by the end of his confession. The golden one was glowing like a torch. “Sloan told me, when she finally regained consciousness, about your little scheme with Caleb.”

Tears had started running down my cheeks at the beginning of his speech, tears of pain. But they turned to tears of relief at news of Sloan. “Sloan is okay?” My voice was raw, holding back sobs. How I’d hated myself for dragging her into my mess, and thinking it had gotten her killed.

He stroked my wet cheek, his expression softening at my tears. “She was in real rough shape when we found her, but she’s fully recovered now. It will take Cam far longer to get over it.” He smiled slightly. “You might want to avoid him for awhile.”

“I usually do. Those two are something, huh? They almost make us look stable.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up. “I wouldn’t say that. But their story goes back just as far. The same year, in fact. 1947 was the year for tempestuous lovers to meet, perhaps.”

This was news to me. My brows shot up. “I didn’t know that. I would pay good money for that story.”

His gaze turned speculative. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. Some other time. I had something else in mind for the moment.”

He lowered my legs, one at a time, very slowly, to the floor. They felt like jelly. I leaned back heavily against him. He watched me, his lids heavy, while he arranged my uncharacteristically wavy golden locks around my torso, curling them around my br**sts just so. “Put your hands on the mirror,” he ordered hoarsely. I did. “Spread your legs further apart.” Another order. I complied.

He stepped away from me, moving to my left and closer to the mirror. I could see him more clearly now in the reflection, but he was out of arm’s reach. His exquisite eyes never left me, his hair falling against his face as he bent forward slightly to unbutton his long, dark robe. I noticed for the first time all of the intricate patterns embroidered into it, in a deep purple thread. It was covered in runes. Powerful ones. Whatever the druids had been up to tonight, it was strong magic. Something that required the most powerful druid I had ever seen to also have to dress himself in power. “That is an intimidating piece of clothing. Am I allowed to ask what it was for?”

He smiled enigmatically. “It’s best if you don’t. Druid business. Some things gain power when you speak of them.”

I thought immediately of that terrifying grove I had witnessed. “The grove,” I guessed.

He gave me a level stare. “There is a binding ritual that the guardian must perform in order for us to maintain…peace. I am the guardian. That is all I can say about it. Please, speak no more of this. As I said, words give it power.”

I nodded slightly. Giving that thing more power was the last thing I wanted. It had been added to the very small list of creatures in the world that scared me shitless. And I had only had one run-in with the thing…

I gasped, my mind going suddenly, perfectly, blank. Dom had finished unbuttoning the robe and let it drop to the floor. He stood gloriously naked now, and I was transfixed. My eyes soaked in the sight of him. He was massive, of course, towering over my own six foot height. And his muscles bulged in a most distracting fashion. But for all that, he was lean and sinewy. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his entire, perfect frame. He was almost..elegant, for all of his monumental size. That perfect body combined with his aristocratically beautiful face. He was an exquisite work of art. How many hearts had he broken since I’d left? At least one, I knew firsthand.

I bit my lip as I openly ogled him. He was tan from head to toe, and I wanted to lick every tan inch of him. My eyes ran down his chest, past his sculpted abs, to his glorious, jutting erection, and all the way down his long, muscular legs.

“You said you wanted me naked. Well, here I am.” His voice held a playful taunt. I practically panted.

“Don’t move an inch,” he told me, sensing I was about to jump him. Dammit.

Without warning, he started to stroke himself. I gasped. I was in for a doozy, if he was in this kind of a mood. He knew just what would drive me mad. I licked my lips. “I want to do that,” I told him. I didn’t even recognize my own voice.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips sensually amused. “Do you? Is that really what you want?”

I nodded, then thought about it, and shook my head. He laughed, stroking faster and harder. “Tell me what you do want. Or I may just make you watch me finish myself.”

“I want you to take me against this mirror. I want to watch your eyes while you do it. I want it to be so hard, and so deep, that you wonder if you’re hurting me. But I want you to be so far gone that you don’t stop, even if you are.”

That did the trick. He was behind me, bending over me in a dizzying move. He pulled my head back by the hair, so I was looking up at him.

He didn’t hold back, ramming into me in that oh so smooth way he had. He thrust, again and again, and I could see my hair shifting through colors out of the corner of my eye. His eyes turned from playful to ardently serious, and he started speaking in a language that sounded like Gaelic. His voice was a deep lilt when he did this, and it drove me mad. How had I never learned to speak that language?

Tears pricked my eyes, then ran down my cheeks freely. What I wouldn’t give to have him love me again, the way he used to. That kind of love was addictive. I had simply known that, for him, the sun rose and set with my presence, and I had felt the same for him, though I had never been as good at showing it to him. Not like he had for me. Was that love he’d once felt still salvageable? Were we? I was terrified to ask. So scared that I knew I would run from the answer until it chased me down. And so the tears flowed freely down my cheeks, tears of hope and despair.