The Taking (Seven Deadly Sins #3)(42)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Oh,” she said, her eyes lolling into the back of her head, her fingers fluttering in the air, their path toward his hair forgotten.

“Open your eyes,” he said in that rough voice she had gotten accustomed to, as he moved inside her with hard rhythmic pushes.

Regan forced her eyes open and looked into his cerulean ones.

It was at that moment, when her orgasm burst, and his followed on the heels of hers, that she fell deeper into the abyss of pleasure than she ever had in her entire life.

Chapter Twelve

Regan wasn’t sure what the rules on cuddling with Felix were, so she lingered on her side of the bed, satisfied and replete enough that it didn’t even really bother her that they weren’t touching. He had just kissed, sucked, and caressed her enough to save her from touch deprivation for the next year.

Except that Felix reached over and pulled her onto his chest. Even better.“How long have you had your shop?” she asked, curious about him, about his lifestyle, his beliefs. He fascinated her, and she loved to hear him talk.

“Forever.” His thumb skimmed her upper arm.

Well, that was specific. “Were you raised in New Orleans?”

“Yes. On North Rampart Street”

“Really? That’s such a different world from the suburbs, so exotic almost. I don’t think I know anyone who was raised in the Quarter. What did your parents do for a living?”

“My dad was a businessman, but he didn’t live with us. I don’t think his wife would have appreciated him living with his lover and their illegitimate child.”

No, that was not a suburban family arrangement. It shocked her, but Felix didn’t say it with any particular emotion. He just sounded sleepy, relaxed.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“For what? It was a long time ago. My parents were together for twenty some years. My father just wasn’t going to divorce his wife for financial reasons. It worked well enough for them.”

Regan pondered that. She didn’t think for one minute she could share her lover with another woman. Call her selfish, but she wanted to be her husband’s priority, his love, his passion. Which made it an even greater mystery why she had married Beau. Then again, that was the picture he had painted for her. The reality had been harshly different. She wondered what marriage to a man like Felix would be like.

Not that it was wise to contemplate that, even in theory. She would just wind up hurt. But that didn’t stop her from snuggling closer to him, caressing his chest with her fingertips the way he was touching her arm.

“Were you raised with voodoo or did you do that on your own as an adult?”

“My mother practiced in secret and she taught me. My father wouldn’t have approved. It wasn’t until he died that I decided to make a living at it.”

“Are you glad you chose this career path? I think it sounds freeing, to be able to take your passion, your beliefs, and earn a living with them.”

“It’s not a career. And if I had to do it all over again, I would change a lot of things. Selling dolls to tourists isn’t fulfilling. That’s not voodoo.”

She raised her head off his chest and looked at him, wanting eye contact, wanting to understand him. But he was staring at the ceiling. “What is voodoo?”

“Do you know,” he said, his fingers still tracing patterns on her skin, “that the voodoo God Danbala is as old as humanity, and as such, he no longer speaks … he uses the hissing of the snake to communicate. So the chanting of the ceremonies is that of the snake.”

Sometimes in her conversations with Felix, Regan felt like she’d missed a directional signal, indicating they were turning right or left. This was one of those times. “Snakes. Great,” she said. “My favorite.”

“If you listen, it might have something to tell you of value.”

He had definitely gone left and she was still standing in the intersection. “You want me to listen to a snake?”

Felix finally turned and looked at her. “Your snake. Listen to your snake.”

She’d get right on that. Feeling frustrated, Regan said, “This is all new to me, you know. Until I bought this house, I was just an average twenty-nine year old woman who liked to shop for sweater sets and pencil skirts and enjoy a good meal in a nice restaurant. I don’t understand all of this … otherworldly stuff.”

“Yet you collect cemetery art and believe in ghosts. I don’t think you were ever quite the nonbeliever you’d like to think you were.”

Maybe she didn’t know what she had been. Who she was now. Or where she was going. This divorce was supposed to be a new beginning, the end of drama in her life, and yet she felt like she was being plunged into something bigger than her, in her very own house. Something she didn’t understand at all.

And she was, as of two hours ago, sleeping with a man she didn’t understand at all either.

“Maybe you’re right” Regan rolled off of him and onto her own pillow, suddenly feeling petulant.

“Go to sleep, Regan, and dream of happy things. Dream of playing on the beach with Moira.”

Heart rate jumping, Regan flipped back over and stared at him. “How did you know my sister’s name was Moira? I never told you that.”

He frowned. “I don’t know. You must have told me.”

Not knowing anymore what was real and what was imagined, Regan flopped back down, suddenly wanting to cry. “Did I tell you she died of leukemia when I was four? She was only six. That stuffed monkey was supposed to be buried with her. I was afraid for Moira, being closed in that box, and I didn’t want her monkey to be in the dark either. And I wanted to keep something of her because they told me I’d never be able to see her again. So I took the monkey and hid it before my mom could take it to the funeral home.”

Felix shifted closer to her and brushed her hair off her face. Regan closed her eyes tightly, trying to stave off the tears. She had no idea why she’d just told him that. She had never admitted the full truth of Moira’s monkey to anyone, not even Chris.

“Oh, cherie,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry you had such a huge loss at such a young age.”

His lips drifted over her forehead and Regan sighed. It was a relief to finally unburden herself of the truth, even if it didn’t change it.

“It’s time to let go of your guilt. Your guilt for living, for laughing, for keeping a toy when you were young and confused. Just let it go, and do whatever you want with your life.”