Free Wicked Paradise by Erin Richards Page A

protection.
    “What crystals? They hold magic?” Morgan tilted her head. “Are there great quantities of them?” Maybe they could use the crystals to rid the island of WindWraith. An excited idea bloomed. The crystals must be the source of the stones in their amulets!
    “The island is plastered with them. I haven’t figured them out yet.” Ryan shrugged his broad shoulders, a challenging demeanor about him. “Maybe you can shed light on them.”
    Gwilym’s potion worked its magic in her mind, and Ryan’s dialect became clearer. Her thoughts still felt like unopened books, but she was distinguishing concrete knowledge in bits and chunks. At least Ryan spoke a common tongue. For the most part. The power tripping jackass phrase still puzzled her. The idea seemed to suit him. She stifled a snort.
    “In fact,” Ryan lifted his amulet to eye level for closer inspection, “this crystal looks like it came from the same source. There’s a bed of purple stones behind the grotto’s caves.” A grunt sounded low in his throat. “I’ll be damned. I never linked the two.” He studied the amulet’s reverse side. “You made this?”
    His eyes darkened in that intense gaze Morgan now recognized as mistrust. He had no reason to trust her, but she’d soon change him of that absurd notion. She must. It seemed Ryan O’Rourke, Fomorian assassin—she thought no less of him now—was part of her destiny.
    “Yes. I’ll explain once we reach refuge.” Morgan peered over the precipice and her stomach somersaulted. She saw only a descent into the rocky sea below. Toppling off cliffs wasn’t a feat she ever cared to repeat. “How do we get down there?”
    Ryan stepped to the rim of the rocky platform. “I’ll jump down first, then you.”
    She pinned him with a grimace. “Easy for you to say. I’m a High Druid Sorceress, not a raven.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m an assassin, not an extreme survivalist.” Ryan faced her and lowered away from the ledge, disappearing from view. “Come on.”
    Morgan inched her leather-shod feet toward the edge. Panic welled up, mocking the last of her good sense.
    “Get on your knees, and work backward until your legs dangle. I’ll catch you.”
    Morgan backed up, butting against the rock face. “I can...not.”
    “It’s a short drop. You’ll be okay. Trust me.” Concern replaced the impatience in his tone.
    Fueled by both his empathy and his entreaty, her determination kicked in. Show of strength became her new motto, even if she didn’t feel it inside. She inched toward the edge and crawled backward until her ankles left the solid surface.
    “Don’t look down. Focus forward.”
    Morgan followed his advice. Within seconds, his hands encircled her legs, and he grasped her waist to tow her into the safety of his muscular arms. Her feet met rock, and she twined her arms around Ryan’s waist, burying her face in his chest. He stepped into the cave entrance, dropped to the ground, holding her on his lap. Hugging her tight, he rested his chin on top of her head.
    It was easy to relax with Ryan’s warmth gloved around her. His quickening heart against her cheek stabilized her own erratic heartbeat. The stone in his amulet glowed strongly—from her nearness, his urges, she didn’t know. Closing her eyes, she blocked out everything except the truth of her destiny and the reality of this man. To the Goddess with my show of strength. I’m a woman, not a warrior. He won’t like me if I proved too powerful to him. Bloody hell, she acted as if he wanted her!
    Her mind drifted to that morning, waking safe in her bed on Avalon, her body in pained-pleasure from her frightening and passionate dream. The dream where her longing met Ryan’s desire in harmony, where life seemed simple, love appeared natural. Where distrust and recklessness never visited.
    A skittering awareness on her backside sent her pulses racing again. Ryan’s fingertips caressed her back, his hands angling toward her hips.