First, he unveiled a half grin. Then, a full-fledged one. So gorgeous. He freaking stole her freaking breath.
Voice like sin, he told her, “To tup is to have sex. Make love. Have intercourse.”
“Thanks for clarification,” she replied, tone as dry as the desert. Wait. He’d asked her a question. What, what? Oh, yeah. Freezing. “Go tup yourself.”
He laughed. “I plan to. Often.” Emboldened, he raked his gaze over her, making her feel as if he’d removed every stitch of her clothing in the process. “Wishing I had ignored your command and continued to touch you, katya?”
Yes. No. Maybe? She scowled. Maybe he was some type of incubus, who emitted a powerful pheromone able to seduce anyone in seconds. “My name is Katie, not Katya.”
“You are a katya to me. A—” he paused, as though searching for the right description “—little witch.”
Her jaw went slack, then closed with a snap. Instead of being pleased that the endearment didn’t mean “pleasure slave” or “easy lay,” she was kind of insulted. Witch, as in massive bitch? “Would you like it if I called you Giant Bastard?” Great! Now she had to remember to drop a quarter in the swear jar.
“Call me whatever you wish.” His grin returned with an indulgent slant, his eyes glittering seductively. “But be warned. Utter a sharp sobriquet, and I will make you kiss the sting away. After all, it is a woman’s duty to pleasure her man.”
A woman’s duty? “I’m being punked, aren’t I?” If he was serious…
He would learn soon enough. She was a woman, yes, but she was not a doormat.
“Look,” she told him, “I’d appreciate it if you’d nix the pleasure talk. I’m a lot of things, but a one-nine-hundred number isn’t one of them. Unless you’re willing to pay a thousand dollars a second. No? Anyway. Help me understand what happened to the stone or…” Once again she left a threat open-ended, allowing his imagination to fill in the blank.
“What is there to understand?” He closed the distance, using a steady, predatory pace, as if he couldn’t tolerate another moment without human contact. “You broke the first part of my curse, katya, setting me free. To break the rest of the curse, you must give me your heart.”
Her mind tossed out a single thought: Naked man approaching, naked man approaching! She darted to the left. He followed.
“I warned you not to touch me.” Now she darted to the right. Again, he followed.
By the time she stopped, a prickly bush pressing against her back, they were only a whisper apart. His body heat enveloped her.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ll wait until you beg me for it.”
Gulping, she gazed up at him. Beg him? Never!
Probably never.
Maybe under certain circumstances.
As she debated inside her head, the scent of sandalwood and raw, male virility penetrated her awareness. If this continues, I will for sure beg.
“How kind of you,” she mocked. “In return, I’ll extend you the same courtesy. If I start beating you up, I’ll stop just as soon as you beg me. M’kay?”
“You beat up me?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Good luck with—”
She hooked her foot behind his knee. Heart racing, she yanked. As he collapsed, she twisted and latched on to his arm, then shoved him. When he hit the ground, he hit hard, all that muscle and brawn weighing him down. What he didn’t do? Pause to take a breath.
In an instant, he jumped to his feet and fronted on her, menace radiating from his pores. “Obviously, you have what I have heard your people refer to as beginner’s luck. If you tried such a move again—”
Hook. Yank. Shove.
Katie grinned down at Jorlan, who lay flat on his back. “You were saying?”
He stood, everything from his expression to his tone broadcasting his wish to retaliate somehow. Yet he merely glared and huffed. “Do not strike at me again. Next time I won’t be surprised. However, I will respond with a kiss.”
So…he wanted her to do it again? “Just maintain your distance, and we won’t have a problem.”
Even as his lips thinned with displeasure, he gave a stiff nod. Another surprise—easy compliance. “How did you learn such a trick?” he asked.
“Hard work.” Inhale, exhale. Her heartbeat began to slow at last. Good, that was good. Forcing herself to peer somewhere, anywhere, else was another matter entirely.
Thick scars formed a random pattern across his abdomen, and damn—dang if they didn’t add to his appeal. A dark whorl of hair surrounded his navel, and pointed down, leading to his jutting shaft.
Do not look down. Not again.
Oops. She looked down, drooled and prayed he didn’t notice.
He gave her another slow, knowing perusal in return. Oh, yeah. He’d noticed.
Katie cleared her throat and did her best to ignore the newest burn of embarrassment in her cheeks. “Tell me more about this supposed curse.”
Bitterness hardened his features, and she felt a twinge of guilt for mentioning a painful subject.
“That need not concern you,” he said.
Oh, really? “Do you want my help with the psychic or not?” A girl had to use the cards she had in hand.
He narrowed his eyes. “Percen de Locke is my brother and a powerful sorcerer. He cursed me, trapping me inside a stone casing. I could hear, see and feel everything around me, yet I was unable to respond…until a fair maiden’s kiss set me free. Temporarily.”
Yeah, right. That kind of thing occurred in fairy tales, books, movies and mythology, not reality. But…
What if he had told the truth?
No, no. Absolutely not. It was make-believe, nothing more, nothing less. Because, bottom line? Katie Isabella James was no Princess Charming.
She drummed her fingers over her arms and said, “You wouldn’t, by chance, have powers of your own? You know, to prove your story.”
He did the whole brow arching thing, all, You’re staring at the magic right now, baby doll. “What of my instantaneous transformation?”
Yeah, what about it? “That could have been faked. I’m gonna need something more.”
“You’ll think anything I do is faked.” Still, he thought for a moment, evincing a sense of mounting irritation.
“Can you prove your story or not?” she insisted.
His irritation only sharpened, and maybe acquired a tagalong: frustration. He heaved a heavy breath. “My statue has moved from one garden to another for centuries. Though this one is remote, I have encountered a wide variety of mortals. You are a species that relies on logic, rejecting anything you cannot rationalize, never understanding your limited life experiences do not paint a full story.” A pitying light entered his incredible eyes. “Your people fear magic because they do not understand it and therefore cannot control it. Where I hail, both great lord and peasants laud mystical abilities, though only those in the upper classes wield it. So aye, I wield magic, and I can prove it.”
So much info to unpack. No doubt Jorlan had a position in the “upper classes,” which explained his air of entitlement.
Was “great lord” another title for a king?
“You are right,” she admitted. “I’m often guilty about reshaping a truth to fit my narrative, rather than accepting I don’t see all, don’t know all, don’t comprehend all.”