Willow was pregnant. And Heath was the father. Every other worry she had thought was important in her life had just lost its relevance, and each tiny detail that might impact the child’s life had been elevated to the utmost importance.
Every worry but that one melted away when Heath slowly removed her snow-crusted cloak, and then her clothing, piece by piece, and lay her down on the bed.
She watched as he stripped his own clothing away, and wondered if she possessed the magic to somehow bewitch him in their lovemaking, so that he would not abandon his child to chase her other self.
She pushed the thought away. That wasn’t how she wanted to keep him.
He crawled in beside her, and she opened her arms to him.
He made a sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat at the feel of her bare body pressed to his.
She kissed his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, feeling frenzied with need and longing.
She could feel him smiling under her kisses and her heart melted like it was made of chocolate.
She kissed her way down his neck, pressing her lips to the broad planes of his chest, nuzzling his abs, and drinking in his rich woodsy scent.
“Willow,” he murmured.
Well, at least he knew her name now. And it sounded so good coming out of his mouth. As good as he was about to feel in hers.
She kissed lower and found him rock-hard and waiting.
12
Heath
Heath closed his eyes and braced himself.
But nothing could have prepared him for the jolt of pleasure he felt when Willow’s velvet tongue began to caress him.
He cried out and fought the urge to tangle his hands in her hair and urge her on.
Willow hummed her pleasure against him and continued her slow teasing, lapping at him, taking him just barely into her cruel mouth and then easing off him again, flicking her tongue against his most sensitive spots as she found them, and then slowly drawing him in again, deeper and deeper.
Heath had been spoiled with every pleasure he could imagine, until it barely registered as pleasure anymore.
But this teasing ecstasy was more than he could bear. And at the same time he never wanted it to end.
Willow moaned around him and his resolve nearly broke.
“Stop, love,” he warned her.
She redoubled her efforts, blinding him with pleasure.
With the last of his willpower, he grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her from him.
She whimpered in protest, but allowed him to snuggle her to his chest.
“Gods, woman,” he whispered to her, his body still reeling. “You’ll drive me mad.”
She was driving him well past that point already. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and he was half-drunk on the sweet perfume that was her scent.
She wiggled her hips in response, and he smiled.
“Take me, love,” he told her.
She slid herself up and took him in her hands.
He prayed for the strength not to fall apart immediately as she slowly lowered herself onto him.
She sighed as she took him all the way in.
The light of the bedside lamp glowed in her hair and he watched her, rapt, as she moved herself on him. Her breasts bounced, nipples peaked and perfect, and her belly jiggled just a bit with each thrust. She was softness personified, and he loved her with every fiber of his being.
He reached up to take her hands, enjoying the way the vines on their fingers twined together.
Willow’s own pleasure was upon her now and he lost himself in her small sounds and the expression on her beautiful face as she found her ecstasy.
The sight was too much for him and he exploded inside her, the pleasure like a living thing, devouring him from the inside.
When it was done, he pulled her down on top of him, curling himself around her protectively.
Yes, there was something different about his princess.
Whatever it was, he would discover it, and help her in any way she asked of him. Even if she did not ask, he would support her with everything he had.
He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep feeling wildly happy.
13
Willow
Willow lay awake as the first light of dawn tried to force its way through the still-raging storm outside.
Heath’s body was curled protectively around hers, one hand resting on her tummy, as if he instinctively knew about the baby she was building in there. Contentment seemed to exude from his pores as he slept.
But Willow had no way to know if it was love for her, or merely the sexual release that gave him the slight smile he wore in his sleep.
She very slowly slipped out of his embrace and padded into the bathroom.
After she freshened up, she headed for the kitchen to see about a cup of warm tea, but the sight of the driving snow outside distracted her from her purpose.
She wandered closer to the window, studying the swirling eddies of white against the slowly brightening sky.
Heath seemed to think it was a magical storm. Was it fueled by her magic?
And if she had caused it somehow, could she stop it?
You might be the most powerful Winter Fae in a generation.
Mother Alma’s words echoed in her head. If they were true, she should be able to do something to stop the blizzard and save her doppelgänger.
Willow pushed open the glass doors and stepped out onto the snow-covered balcony, closing the doors behind her as silently as she could. She walked to the edge and leaned out over the railing, feeling the cold embrace her like a long-lost love.
Snow thrashed down on the meadow below, turning the trees into lumpy, white ghosts.
She closed her eyes and extended her hands, palms up, like the wizards did in the movies. She wasn’t really sure how it was supposed to work, and she didn’t have much else to go on.
There was a connection between her and the snow, tenuous but real, like a loop extending from someplace deep inside her out into the swiftly falling flakes and back again.
She opened her eyes and moved her hands, watching the snow swirl slightly in the wake of her movements.
Or maybe it was just the wind.
She tried again, moving her right hand in a circle.
The snow followed merrily, rushing around in a little tornado.
She circled her left hand and another gust followed.
Encouraged, she moved both hands like an orchestra conductor.
She felt the movement burst inside her chest first, and then it followed out into the sky, where the snow formed swirling curlicue patterns before subsiding into a regular storm again.
She smiled and tried something different, building something imaginary with her hands and then watching the roiling skies.
Suddenly the snow formed a ghostly bear shape that frolicked and played with another bear shape across the sky. Though the creatures were made of wind and snowflakes, they seemed to have real weight and spirit.
The magic was coursing through her veins now, she could feel it in every part of her being.
Snow foxes and rabbits chased each other between the bears. Snow trees rose out of the ground. Universes of snow twinkled above the animals.
But the storm seemed to be increasing now instead of slowing.
Willow sorrowfully realized that to do what she had to do, the storm had to end.
Focusing every cell of her body to bend the magic, she closed her eyes as she swept her hands upward then brought them crashing down, like she was dashing the very idea of the storm against the ground below.