“Too many have coddled and spoiled you throughout the centuries,” he snapped. “Their mistake. I will not be so foolish.”
Why would he crave what she’d given the others, anyway? What use had he for soft, stolen glances? Graceful brushes of her fingers against his cheek or his arm? Her body leaning into his?
Rather than shrinking from his obvious annoyance, she dazzled him with another false smile. “Ohhhh. I understand what’s going on here. You have a French maid fetish.”
“I have no fetish,” he snapped. Merely thinking of this sensual female dressed in a barely-there black dress threatened to unman him. I might have a fetish.
Another unacceptable outcome. No one should throb for a pretty face and lush curves. Even if the owner of both had been crafted from his deepest, wildest, most secret dreams. For him. He should care about her actions—and the fruit thereof—more than anything.
“Well, lucky for you,” she continued blithely, “I’m happy to play this role. Hopefully, our vigorous lovemaking will improve your mood.”
Lovemaking? Vigorous? Sweat beaded his brow. He could count on two hands the number of sexual experiences he’d had with Samantha and Rebecca, his only lovers. He’d rather forget the tame, uncomfortable encounters.
Am I hurting you?
No, it’s fine.
Are you sure? You appear pained.
I’m sure but…are you almost done? I don’t mind if you wish to hurry.
After a third unsatisfying interlude with each, he’d ceased making advances. Now, Viola baited him. Yet he wondered… Would Viola demand satisfaction?
“You’d best be careful, goddess.” Narrowing his eyes and lowering his chin, he intensified his scrutiny of her. “What will you do if ever I take you up on your offer?”
“Brag,” she quipped, all seduction and indulgence as she twirled a lock of pale hair.
Kindling for him. How he burned.
Close the distance. Force her to back down.
Would she back down, though? Or let him do things he’d only dared imagine during the darkest of nights?
Temptation itself…
“Why do you call me Forsaken?” she asked. “Have we already reached the cute endearment stage of our association?”
“I merely offer you a warning. You made me a Forsaken. Therefore, I will make you one.”
“Got it. You speak of a species. Something I should have known. You know what that means? You guys suck at PR.” Pensive, she turned to inspect more of the room. “To be clear, the Forsaken are Fallen Ones with wings, yes?”
He gave a clipped nod in response.
“Makes sense, I suppose. You are indeed forsaken, even by death. If someone removes your wings, will you become a Fallen One, mortal and killable?”
How quickly her mind worked. He shook his head. “The damage is already done. Though I welcome any attempts to remove my wings.” Actually, he welcomed any excuse that allowed her to touch his body…
“Thank you for the permission, darling. I never would’ve tried to take your wings otherwise, honest. Well, almost honest.” She winked at him. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He popped his jaw before pointing. As if she hadn’t noticed the door already.
“Wonderful. After our little skirmish on the beach, I’m positively filthy.” She paused to run her gaze over the length of him as if she’d spied a tasty dessert. “I’ll clean up…so we can get dirty again.”
The scent of roses wafted from her as she strolled past him, sharpening his hunger. Must the temptress roll her hips like that?
When Brochan remained in place, she halted in the doorway to glance over her shoulder. A half-smile bloomed. Umber irises glittered. “You can watch me if you want.”
Watch the little beauty…bathe? He swiped a hand over his gaping mouth. He’d never watched a female bathe, and he thought he might kill to do so now.
Need to see her.
Need to see her wet.
“There’s no water in this realm.” A reality he suddenly lamented.
“Then why do I sense it?”
She was able to sense water? A fact he hadn’t known. “You are always right? Never wrong?” he asked, curious.
A tinkling laugh with the slightest edge escaped her, teasing his ears. “Hardly. I was mistaken once. The time I thought I was mistaken.” She disappeared inside the confines of the bathroom. Only seconds later, she squealed with delight. “Oh, look. I was right again, as expected. We have an endless spout.”
Heat lanced his spine. What other things delighted her?
Inner shake. Endless spouts were a myth. Weren’t they?
He strode into the ensuite, propelled by a force greater than himself, only to jerk to a halt. The goddess stood in a spacious shower stall, a vision in her slinky white gown. The hem raised as she reached overhead to toy with the nozzle.
“Once activated, it should work with simple voice commands.” As she pressed symbols around the base of the spout, clear water came bursting out, soaking her. She erupted into peals of laughter, another tinkling melody he found charming and irritating in equal measure.
Still grinning, she pivoted to confront him. So beautiful, his chest ached. So sexy, his shaft threatened to rampage past his zipper.
The fabric of her dress became transparent when wet. The sight of her robbed him of breath.
“Oops,” she said, batting her lashes at him. “You seem to have a little drool at the side of your mouth.”
Did he? Hunger gnawing at him, he reached up to pat his mouth without looking away from her. Dry. “You lied about something so trivial?” He slitted his eyes. Whoever lied about small things lied about all things. How many other untruths had she told him?
“I most certainly did not lie. You have metaphorical drool on your face. It’s not my fault you don’t know the difference. By the way, I’m glad you decided to watch.” She traced her fingertips to her lips. “Are you ready for the show of a lifetime?”
By some miracle, he managed to lift his gaze to hers. She wouldn’t really do it. His heart thudded. Would she?
Challenge sizzled between them. With slow, languid movements, she unfastened her shoulder straps. The waterlogged top swooshed down, hanging from her midriff, where cinched material held the skirt in place.
She would.
His legs shook. She wore no bra, her lush curves on exquisite display. A butterfly tattoo glittered on her torso, its wings stretching from her shoulders to the waist of her dress, where the image disappeared.
The things he longed to do to this female…
No! He had worked hard on his core of iron, ensuring his resolve remained forever unshakable. Over the centuries, myriad demons had tortured him, but none had broken him. The goddess wouldn’t succeed where so many others had failed.
Derive pleasure from the one he despised? No. “Your game will fail. I’ll never crave you the way McCadden did. You’ll never direct me.”
“Say that again when I’m fully naked.” She reached behind her, loosening the skirt. A skirt she held in place. “Neither of us will believe you, but we’ll get to laugh about it later.”
Brochan went motionless, his every muscle knotting. She wouldn’t take this interlude further, wouldn’t drop the material and bare her body to the beast who’d imprisoned her in a wasteland.