The thoughts tumble around in my head. There is a fluttering in my stomach, and I push against his chest.
A growl rumbles from him. “You’re awake?”
“Where am I—?” My voice cracks; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
When was the last time I drank water?
Well, if you don’t count the gallons I swallowed as I sank under the waves, eh? A chuckle wheezes out of me.
I feel lightheaded, enough to be able to laugh at this strange scene which might well be from a dream. Except it isn’t. The man-mountain moving under me, his flesh surrounding me, the pulse of need flooding down the bond…all of it tells me I am alive. “Why did you save me?”
He doesn’t reply at once.
Is he considering his words before speaking? Strange. The Zeus who’d taken me like it was his due had never given thought to the feelings of another.
He cups my cheek, and his touch is so gentle, so sweet. “You didn’t leave me a choice, little squirrel.”
My throat closes. That term of endearment…does it mean that he cares for me? Nah. Not possible. So why does it feel like I betrayed him when I ran from him? He took me without giving me a choice, I was right to leave him.
“It won’t work, you know.” His voice reverberates under my cheek, so growly and yet so soothing.
I want to close my eyes, burrow into him, merge with him, and go right back to sleep.
“What?” I swallow, somehow knowing what he is alluding to, but that isn’t possible. He cannot read my thoughts, can he?
“You keep trying to leave, not realizing that I will follow you.”
His words send a wave of need coiling through my womb.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I will always find you, and claim you.” His jaw tics, and a nerve throbs at his temple. “You are mine to own. To claim. To possess.”
The passion shimmers in the air between us.
The hair on my neck prickles. The flood of raw emotions, of fear and lust and his utter need to take, flows down the bond. My chest hurts. The back of my eyeballs begins to throb.
It’s not like he doesn’t know every inch of my body, or how my flesh responds to him, not like he hasn’t shown me how much he wants to dominate me. He wants to break me.
His gaze narrows; the skin stretches over his cheeks.
My chest grows heavy. There is a ball of emotion inside clawing, waiting to get out. The force of it is bigger than the mating bond, more profound than the physical urge to want him to rut me, more primal than the need to procreate that is inherent in my omega state.
It is real, alive and writhing inside of me, and that scares me.
This need to tell him that I am his.
To respond to that call of his mate, to tell him I am here for him, that he can take me, slake his thirst in me, bury himself inside me, and knot me all over again. And I want it all. So much.
The depth of my emotions washes over me and floods into the bond, sweeping through it.
Under me, his heartbeat increases in speed. Heat pours from his chest, and his muscles go rock-hard. Can he sense what I don’t dare tell him? That I hadn’t meant for it to be this way?
Why is it that he just has to look at me, touch me, hold me, and I will dissolve, shatter into a million pieces, each of which reflects his name? Screams this monster’s status. Alpha. My alpha. Mine.
The mating bond curls inside me, tugging at me, yanking at me, pleading, urging, begging me to accept.
“No.” I yank myself from his hold with such speed that I must have taken him by surprise.
His grip loosens, and I wriggle out from under his grasp. Hitting the hard floor, I push myself to a standing position. The world swings around me. His big body moves. His muscles tense, and he springs up to his feet, arms outstretched to catch me.
My legs tremble, and I punch my toes into the floor for support. “Stay away…” I gasp.
I don’t need to ask him to know that he saved my life.
I lurch to the door and shove it open, stepping onto the fine white sand. There is a beach in front of me, sloping down, ringed with coconut palms, and beyond that the sea, waves, and the blinding sun shining off of it for as far as I can see. It should be idyllic but it is not.
It should gladden me that I am away from the smoggy, dirty streets of London, but it doesn’t.
I am here alone with him. My skin puckers.
I stumble forward and onto the beach. My feet sink into the sand. I look down and draw my gaze up the curve of my ankles, to my legs, over my bare thighs, to my stomach. My breasts are bared to the sun.
I am naked.
Heat flushes my cheeks. All this time, in his arms, I didn’t have any clothes on.
Something sounds behind me, and I swing around and flush. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I know my neck must have turned an interesting shade of scarlet. For the man is naked, too.
He has not a stitch of clothing on.
Not his pants or those massive boots I’ve seen him in. Nope. There’s a vast expanse of honey-brown skin, marked with those tattoos I’d been admiring down to the sculpted planes of his stomach, and below that his shaft, which is already semi-erect.
“Wh…why did you bring me here? Why did you rescue me?” Why am I bothering to ask him this question?
He confirms my fears. “One guess?”
“Uh, because you needed time away, and this is your island retreat?” I swallow.
“Wrong answer.” His stance is patient. He’s waiting, waiting.
“And because I am your…” I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Say it.” His voice is soft.
“Your…” I force myself to open my eyes. “Omega.”
“And?” He takes a step forward.
I hold my place. I will not be scared. I am not going to step back. Not going to show him how afraid I am. That my heart is pounding, my throat is dry, while sweat breaks out on my forehead. “And I need water. I am parched.”
He turns and walks inside the house, then reappears at the door with a bottle of water.
A bottle?
So someone has stocked this place. I lean back and take a better look at it. The structure is rudimentary but seems secure. It must be for Zeus to bring me here. Why is it that I trust this alpha so implicitly with my safety? Was it because he'd jumped into the ocean after me and saved me?
I want to ask him why he did it but I am not sure I want to know his answer. Not least because I don't want to question the warmth that pools in my chest at the thought of him risking his life for me. My captor had become my savior and how do I feel about that, eh? Why am I not panicking? My toes curl and my fingers and toes tingle. With fear? Anticipation? Both?
I close the distance between us and snatch up the bottle, “This place belongs to you?” I gulp down the water then hand the bottle back to him.
Without wiping the top, he tilts it to his lips and chugs down from it, too.
It feels very intimate. My lips tremble. I want his mouth on me again. Longing sears my belly, and I push back the need to press my thighs together. But I must have given something away, for his gaze drops right back to my core.
He bends to place the bottle at the side, on the ground, then straightens. “It’s just you and me, and no one is going to come here, not until your lesson is complete.”
“Lesson?”
“Yes, little omega. The one you need to learn.” He looks at me. Hooded eyelids. The silver in his irises is as liquid as the sea behind me. As tempting as the water, I had dived into when I had jumped off the cliff. There’s a pleasure-pain of calling in them. They scare me and seduce me at the same time.