Page 170 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 16

Jean-Paul's apartment was not so much an apartment as a small jewel of a townhouse in Coteau-Arge, one of the wealthy areas of the city that shared a boundary with the palace grounds. Nowhere a mere major could afford to live. A reminder instead that he was a duq to be. Wealthy and powerful. And not hers. At least not after tonight.

He certainly hadn't wasted any time bundling her into a carriage once he had returned to the ballroom. There had been a certain tightness to his expression when he'd found her, but it eased when she had taken his arm to let him escort her away. The ball was still in full swing, and it was too early for the court to be leaving. But Jean-Paul didn't seem to care about that. As soon as the carriage had gotten well away from the lights of the palace forecourt and reached the dimly lit road that led through the grounds to the main gate, he'd lifted her onto his lap and kissed her again.

Which had driven all lingering doubts from her head. It was only the shortness of the journey that had meant they hadn't progressed much further than kissing. She'd never had sex in a carriage, and Jean-Paul's was certainly large and luxurious enough that it would have been possible, but she wanted to savor him more if they were only to have one night.

They'd separated as the carriage had come to a halt, and the door to the townhouse had been opened by a manservant who had vanished when Jean-Paul told him he wouldn't need any more assistance for the night.

She had no idea if there were other servants. If there were, they didn't make themselves known.

And now she stood near shivering with wanting as she watched Jean-Paul pour them both a glass of campenois and wondering why he was wasting time with alcohol.

Still, she took the glass when he offered it and sipped politely. No doubt it was good—she hoped the son of a duq wouldn't serve bad wine—but her senses were too focused on him to spare the liquid bubbling over her tongue much effort. Jean-Paul rushing through her blood was headier than any wine she'd ever drunk.

Though she feared the aftermath may be as painful as the aftermath of an excess of alcohol.

But she'd set her feet upon this path, and no rational thought could stop her now.

Jean-Paul gestured at the wall, and the earth-lights there brightened.

She sent her magic searching down for a ley line. Of course there was one close to hand. A branch of the main line that ran below the palace. It answered her call, and power shimmered through her. She let go of the control of the sight and let herself see him with his magic. He didn't gleam bright as strong mages did. The light that shimmered over his skin, marking his power and his connection to the ley line, was subtler but somehow certain, as though rooted deep in the land. Solid. True. Earth magic and blood magic both, she thought. Which made sense for a warrior and a noble.

He would fight for what was his. And keep it close.

Well, she was never going to be his for long, but tonight she would savor him. She'd heard of strong powers that blended during sex and of mages using sex to deliberately combine their powers. She’d shared a bed with a strong mage or two in her time, but none of their kisses had ever made her feel like his.

Power wasn't what she wanted from him anyway. Tonight, she was more interested in passion.

She pushed the magic away, sending the lingering excess she'd pulled up from the line through the earth-lights, making them flare momentarily brighter. Careless of her. She knew how to shift power gracefully. But it seemed he had her off-balance.

Jean-Paul's brows lifted. "Did you like what you saw?"

Ah. She was discovered. He'd known she was looking at his magic. Had he sought hers as well? "Did you?"

"I don't need magic to like what I see when it comes to you, Lieutenant."

"Imogene," she corrected. She liked the way he used her rank. Teasing, yet respectful. But she wanted her name on his lips now. Wanted him to say it again, the way he'd said it when he'd first kissed her.

"As my lady wishes," he said. "Come here, Imogene."

That voice. It stroked her like rough silk. Commanding and enticing. She moved to him without thinking.

He took the glass from her hand, putting it and his aside. "What shall we do now, Imogene?" He brushed a curl back from her face.

She turned her head, nipped at his fingers. "I'm going to kiss you again. And then you're going to take me to bed."

"I like that plan."

"Good." She rose to her toes and put her hands around his neck, tugging his head down to hers. She wasn’t short, but he was tall enough that she needed his cooperation if she was to avoid having to find a footstool to climb on to kiss him.

She smiled at the thought and he paused, his face close to hers.

"Something amusing?"

"I was just thinking of ways to get around you being so tall," she said.

His mouth curved, too. "Well, as to that. I find the best way is for you to get me to lie down."

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