Page 63 of Savage Blooms
Adam’s thoughts drifted to the game of Confession. As good and right as kissing Nicola had felt, he still couldn’t forget the way Eileen’s eyes blazed a challenge as he slipped a hand under her panties, the way she had said his name like an oath as he brought her close to the edge.Most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about that high color in her cheeks when he gave into his meaner instincts and held her down. He had never enjoyed overpowering someone like that before. But there was an animal satisfaction in overcoming Eileen Kirkfoyle, one that probably should have alarmed him. What else did Eileen enjoy, besides being held down? What else might she let him do, if he asked?
Adam’s mind wandered again, settling for a moment on the tousle of Finley’s curls against the floor, the way he had looked up at Nicola like she was God incarnate while she straddled his hips. Adam had wanted to chalk his arousal up to the general aura of sex hanging in the air, but when he traipsed downstairs the next morning and found Finley brewing coffee, jaw stubbled from sleep and pillow lines pressed into his cheeks, all that wanting had rushed right back in. It was inappropriate to dwell on, surely, no matter how good Finley looked fresh from bed. But Adamwasdwelling, and all this reminiscing had him half-hard in his sweats.
And then, of course, there was Nicola. Mercurial and irresistible, all honey and light one moment and bared teeth the next. He couldn’t stop looking at her, even when he had two fingers inside Eileen, and something about Nicola watching him watching her while Eileen watched Nicola grind against Finley had tied Adam into such a tight, inextricable knot of emotion that he hardly knew what to do with himself.
Everything had changed between them, and yet nothing had.
Adam summited a small hill to find the lord of the manor crouched down in the mud, examining a ghostly white mushroom with a scholar’s interest.
“Eileen!” Adam called, and began to close the distance between them.
She rose to her feet with unhurried languor, regarding him curiously. She was wearing a long russet-colored coat over a plum dress that skimmed her bare knees, and her hair was coming loose from its updo. As Adam approached, he noted the sweat on her brow despite the chill of the morning, the way her cheeks were pinpricked with red. The coat was barely fit for early autumn, let alone a spring still touched by morning frost.
“I’ve been trying to catch you,” Adam said, only slightly out of breath. “Finley wanted me to make sure you were all right.”
“I slipped out because I wanted privacy,” Eileen responded. She was still staring at the mushrooms, deep in thought. “I don’t always tell my old man where I’m going.”
My old man.Adam wondered for the hundredth time about the nature of what lay between Finley and Eileen, a devotion so honed it was almost painful to witness, yet one that allowed them to pursue other people. It was like nothing he had ever heard of, much less seen in real life.
“You should be careful in the grounds,” she said. “Many parts of Craigmar are still wild and uncultivated. I would hate to see the woods eat you alive.”
“You seem fine.”
“I grew up here. Craigmar is a part of me. It doesn’t know you yet. You’re still wearing the ring I gave you, aren’t you?”
She was being cryptic again, like she had donned her lord-of-the-manor mask in order to keep him at a distance. Compared to last night’s gleeful indiscretions, it was a little jarring. Adam showed her his hand, his ring finger bound in iron. Eileen just nodded, harrumphing in her throat.
“What kind of mushroom is that?” Adam asked. He knew it sounded stupid, but wanted to do anything to keep the conversation going.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Eileen replied, pressing her lips together tightly as though the mushroom offended her. “They just sprang up overnight.”
Adam took a better look at the mushroom, pale and mottled, and realized it was merely one of dozens, sprouting in a perfect circle on the hillside.
“That’s a strange formation,” Adam said, taking another step towards the fungal ring.
Eileen’s hand shot out to grasp his wrist, almost hard enough to bruise.
“Children know their stories well enough not to play in mushroom rings. Place one foot inside that ring, andyou might slip right out of time, disappear away to a world where years pass like hours. You could walk out again a decrepit old man.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Nicola,” Adam said with a laugh. But Eileen was still holding him tightly, her skin clammy against his own.
“It isn’t a joke, Adam. You should listen more when Nicola talks. You aren’t in Kansas any more.”
“I’m from Michigan,” Adam quipped, but he took a step back all the same. He looked down at Eileen’s hand, frail in the thin morning light, but she didn’t let him go. She just stood there with a miserable expression on her face, holding him stiffly, as though waiting for him to do something.
Adam took a wild guess and latticed their fingers together. Eileen relaxed, but only slightly.
“You don’t look very good,” he said gently. He didn’t want to offend her and rouse her ire, but more importantly, he was concerned about her. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“I’m never feeling well,” Eileen said, sullen. “Apparently my ultimate destiny is only to feel worse and worse until I die.”
“That’s not going to be anytime soon,” Adam said firmly.
“Perhaps,” Eileen said, toneless and unconvinced. “Perhaps not.”
“Is there some diagnosis here I don’t know about?”
“Not particularly. It’s just a family trait. We can senseour own ends, sometimes far in advance, sometimes only days. Maybe you’ll sense yours too, when the time comes.”
