For a few glorious moments, nothing else existed, and once again the powerful need for him roared to life like an inferno, heating her chilled body. She felt the wall against her back while the solid strength of him pressed against her. Suddenly, he pulled back, pressing his forehead to hers.
“Sorry.” He dragged in a shaky breath, closing his eyes.
She could see him fighting for control, trying to respect her wishes, but at that moment, she couldn’t think of one single reason to stop. If the desire churning inside him was a fraction of what was clawing at her insides, they were both screwed.
Unable to help herself, Olivia tugged at his sweater, then pulled him closer, her damp fingers cupping his face as she leaned in and took his mouth. She felt him draw down the zipper on her coat and push it off her shoulders, leaving it in a wet heap on the floor.
“You know,” he murmured against her mouth, punctuating every few words with devastating kisses. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.”
“I definitely should,” she agreed, pulling his sweater over his head, along with his shirt.
He tugged her shirt up and over her head, dropping it behind him. “Damn it, I need to be inside you,” he whispered against her lips as he stroked her skin.
For a second, they broke apart, staring at each other, then they crashed back together, and from that moment on, it was nothing but mindless, primal claiming. There was no tomorrow, there were no consequences, there was no place for logic or sense, only the desperation for each other that neither understood nor was ready to examine too closely.
Clothes were stripped unceremoniously from damp, heated skin and thrown to the ground. He lifted her, pressing her back against the wall.
Olivia wrapped her legs around him and threaded her hands into his dark, silky hair. Biting down on his lower lip, she plunged her tongue back into his mouth.
Desperate to be inside her, he lined up and thrust deep. Her head fell back as she let out a deep gasp. He buried his face in her neck as her back thudded against the wall, knocking an ugly picture of a vase of daisies clattering to the floor. They were beyond noticing anything but each other.
They were blind to everything but the pleasure each could bring to the other. The tempo of his thrusts quickened and the pressure built, until finally she shattered in his arms, and Theo was helpless to do anything but follow. They stilled, panting hard, their hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together.
“I love my present,” Theo finally breathed out against Olivia’s mouth.
A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “You know”—she glanced at their clothes strewn across the floor—“one of these days we might actually make it to a bed.”
20
While Olivia showered, Theo settled in the dining room. He flicked through the pages of a book on great artists of the twentieth century, marveling at the works of Monet, Picasso, and Klimt. Putting it aside to look at later, he leafed through another on art techniques and mediums, stopping at the section on oil painting. Propping it open on the table, he picked up one of the tubes and unscrewed it. Squeezing a little of the paint out onto his fingertips, he rubbed them together, familiarizing himself with the consistency and texture. Smiling, he retrieved a small palette and set to work.
Olivia padded down the stairs and realized how quiet the house was. Pausing by the dining room she smiled. Theo had managed to find one of the small canvases she’d bought and was trying his hand at painting. She winced slightly at the splotches of paint on the rug and the table, but what the hell, he seemed completely lost in his own little world. Deciding not to disturb him, she crept past the doorway and headed into the library.
Seeing the stack of books Theo had been reading through the night before, she moved toward the desk to put them away. As she gathered up the pile, she took her time, scanning through the collection accumulated by her family over the centuries. Some of them were so fragile they looked as if they might fall apart if she breathed on them; others were crisp, new paperback novels. It was a very eclectic collection, which suited her just fine.
Deciding she should probably call Mags since she’d been dodging her calls for days, Olivia pulled out her phone and started to scroll through to her number, but before she could hit connect, something caught her eye.
Bending down, she realized one of the books must have toppled off the pile and fallen behind the desk. Shoving the phone back into the pocket of her jeans, she reached into the gap and nudged at it with her fingertips until she could grasp the corner more firmly.
After retrieving the book, she closed it, intending to put it back on the shelf, but she caught a glimpse of an illustration that looked familiar. Flicking back through the pages, she found the picture that had caught her attention, her mouth falling open as she read briefly through the text accompanying it.
“Theo,” she called loudly.
After a few moments, he wandered into the room. She tried not to grimace when she noticed him wiping the paint from his hands with one of her guest towels that had been folded neatly in the laundry room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noting the expression on her face.
“Look.” She handed him the book.
“This is it, exactly.” His eyes widened slightly in surprise. “This is the seal I remember Nathaniel wearing around his neck.”
He watched as Olivia’s lips moved. She murmured something, but he didn’t quite catch the words.
“What?” Theo asked.
“It’s Latin,” she replied. “It says that the seal depicts two demon brothers bound together for eternity.”
“Demon brothers?”
