Her shoulders hunch and the color leaches from her face.
“I am not allowed to show mercy. Not even to myself.” I curl my fingers into a fist, then smash it into the wall near the shower door, next to her face.
Tiles scatter to the floor. A big crack rips up the wall and to the ceiling, and bits of brick and plaster pour over us like rain.
Every muscle in her stiffens and seems to mirror the frustration that churns my stomach. But she doesn’t scream out or push me away. None of the normal reactions I’d expect from a female.
But then, she’s not a helpless woman. She’s a trained soldier herself. It’s why she was on stage with Amara as her bodyguard.
And none of that forgives what I’ve done to her.
“Okay.” She jerks her chin.
“What?” I struggle to clear my head. Then bring all my attention back to her. Apparently, having her close is as bad as not having her with me.
I simply can’t make up my mind about what I want from her. My guts twist and my emotions are all over the place. What the hell is happening to me?
“Clearly you are upset at having hurt me. I appreciate the thought…and while I don’t really like the idea of your being in here with me, if that’s the only way I can take a shower, then so be it.”
She twists her shoulders and I let her go.
Reaching for her shirt, she yanks it off.
All my muscles go rock-hard. No, correction. One particular muscle—the one between my legs—is particularly hard and aching and far more aroused than the rest of me. My balls go hard. My crotch feels too tight for my pants. A growl rumbles up, and I don’t bother to hide the sound.
She tosses her hair and shoots me a glance from under hooded eyelids. “Don’t get too comfortable, big boy.”
Holding my gaze, she glides her pants down her legs and kicks them off along with her underwear.
The space is suddenly full of her scent.
That musky essence of her skin laced with the sweeter spoor of her arousal flows over me.
I can’t take my eyes off the creamy skin over her shoulders, the swollen breasts, the pink of her areolae, how her waist pinches in before flaring out to meet her voluptuous hips.
My tongue feels like it's stuck to the roof of my mouth. My palms go damp. Get out of here. Leave. Now. But my limbs feel like they are weighed down.
She raises her arms and tugs off the band that restrains her hair. Those dark locks cascade over her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist.
The woman is teasing me—of course, she knows how much I want her. I’d made her climax and almost taken her at our first meeting, and now she is mine…and…I can’t do this. Can’t watch her bare her flesh knowing I’d hurt her, then managed to put her back together. Huh? What is this? An attack of conscience? Or something else? Something deeper, more insidious, something that jolted to life as soon as I saw her.
My throat closes.
My chest hurts.
I hate the feelings she incites in me. To protect, take care…to fucking wreck her.
I reach out a finger and run it over her arm where the skin had been badly burned off. “I hurt you.”
Goosebumps pop over her skin. Her very soft, completely healed skin. “Yet here I am, whole again.” She frowns. The skin around her eyes wrinkles. “Are you going to tell me how you did that?”
She half angles her body.
Just enough for me to see the rounded flesh of her breasts. Her nipples are pointed and tapered and waiting for my touch. The muscles of her belly flex as if she’s inviting me to ravish her. And I want to. But I must not. I will not do this. Not now, not until I’ve made it up to her for the hurt I’ve caused her. I drop my hand to my side.
“I can’t.”
13
Gia
He struts away, and I can't take my eyes off him. His wide shoulders narrow down to tight flanks. His thighs are corded with powerful muscles that undulate with each step. He moves like a big cat. Silent yet powerful. The man is lethal, and he’s an enigma.
Warmth fills my chest. My arms and legs tingle.
He’s Fae, he hurt me with his psychic energy, and he still turns me on.
I’d actually stripped in front of him. I am not sure what goaded me to do so, except that I’d wanted to see the impact it would have on him. Which is apparently not enough to have him stay.
Why had I invited him to stay?
Had it been that little burst of temper which had sent a frisson of anticipation rolling down my spine? My nerve endings are still raw, and while my body is tender, it’s nothing compared to that bone-shattering hurt I had awakened to earlier. Clearly, he’d managed to heal me, and I am not sure if I want to know how. Fae are supposed to have magical energies after all…so perhaps that’s what it was? Goosebumps rise on my skin.
Something inside me insists I don’t want to find out the reason for his strange reaction, his aloofness…yet.
I shake my hair back then step into the shower cubicle and turn on the faucet.
Let the hot water pour over me. Sinking into my skin, locking in the heat in my bones. The last of my aches melts away.
By the time I am done, the water is running cold.
I use one of the towels to pat my skin dry; only then do I realize I don’t have any new clothes. Wrapping another towel around myself, I hesitate at the door. I don’t want him to see me in just the towel, I don’t. But he’s already seen me naked. He’s squeezed my breasts and stuffed his fingers inside my pussy and—my thighs clench. Damn the man. I shouldn’t feel such primal need for him. Shouldn’t miss him when he’s not here, near me.
My heart begins that familiar thud. My insides quiver. I toss my head and flounce out.
The room is empty, and the bed has been made.
The sheets have been stretched tight, not a crease. Huh! Guess that military training comes in useful in more than one way. And on a chair by the bed are neatly folded clothes.
I walk to the chair and shake out a pair of jeans, a shirt, even underwear. How did he get hold of them? I survey the room again. It's furnished with a double bed, a nightstand with a chair next to it, and a closet in the corner. There is a mirror pushed up against one wall. I shrug into the clothes.
Of course, everything is my size.
I walk out of the room and down the stairs. The scent of coffee attracts me to the kitchen. I pour myself a cup. My captor—or my savior? I am not sure what he’s meant to be—is not to be seen.
I cross over to the window, and flinging the panes open I lean out. Trees line the property. The air is crisp and clear, and I can see all the way down the valley to the next slope. We are on a hill of some kind. I assume we are still in Russia, but where?
The hum of people talking reaches me. I leave the kitchen, following the voices to the closed door on the other side of the corridor. I press my ear to it.
I know I am eavesdropping, but big deal. He shot at me; I can listen in on his conversations. Besides, he hasn’t restricted me to my room or anything, has he?
“I can’t come back to Singapore, Boris.” His voice rumbles through the closed door.
“Why not?” Boris’ reply is muffled. It seems to originate from a communication device.
“What’s come up to make you stay back when your people need you most?”