Heart Of The Dragon. Gena Showalter
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my bed, woman?”
Overwhelmed by her failure, she whispered, “What do you plan to do with me?”
Silence.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she cried.
“I know what I should do,” he said, his voice now a low growl that vibrated with anger, “but I do not yet know what I will do.”
“I have friends,” she said. “Family. They’ll never rest until they find me. Hurting me will only earn you their wrath.”
There was a concentrated hesitation, then, “And what if I do not hurt you?” he asked so softly she barely heard him. “What if I only offer you pleasure?”
Had the callused surface of his palms not brushed her forearms, she might have been frightened by his words. Now she was oddly enthralled. Every fantasy she’d ever created rushed through her mind. Naked, writhing bodies—on the floor, against a wall, inside an airplane. Her cheeks fused with heat. What if I only offer you pleasure? She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t.
He answered for her. “No matter what I offer you, there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.” His voice hardened, losing its sensual edge. “You are in my home, in my personal chambers, and I will do whatever I want. No matter what you say.”
With such a dire warning ringing in her ears, she snapped from whatever spell he’d woven and called upon her terrorist training from flight school. SING, she inwardly chanted. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Spinning, she elbowed him in the solar plexus, then slammed her foot into his instep. She swung back around and shoved her fist into his cold, unemotional face. Her knuckles collided with his cheek instead of his nose, and she cried out in pain.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even bother to grab her wrist to prevent her from doing it again.
So she did.
She drew back her other arm and let it fly. On impact, she experienced a repeat of the first punch. Throbbing pain for her, smug amusement for him. No, not amusement, she realized. The blue of his eyes was too cold and hollow to hold any type of emotion.
He arched a brow. “Fighting me will only cause you hurt.”
Her gaze slitted, incredulous, clashing with his. After everything she’d endured these past two days, Grace’s temper and frustration erupted full force. “What about you?” She jerked her knee up, hard and fast, gaining a direct hit between his legs. Groin: the last section of her training.
A slight breath whooshed from his lips as he hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut.
She raced to the door and began clawing at the seam. “Open, damn you,” she railed at the exit. “Please. Just open.”
“You do not look capable of such a deed,” Darius said, his voice strained. “But I will not underestimate you again.”
She never heard him move, but suddenly he was there, his arms braced next to her temples, his hot breath on her neck. She didn’t try to fight him this time. What good would that do? He’d already proved he did not react (much) to physical pain.
“Please,” she said. “Just let me go.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. From fear, she assured herself, not from the sensual strength of his body so close to her own.
“I cannot.”
“Yes, you can.” She twisted, facing him, and shoved him backward. The impact, though slight, caused him to trip once more on the sheet. He took her down with him and when he hit, he rolled them over and pinned her.
Automatically she reached up to push him away from her. But her fingers caught in his shirt, causing the neckline to gape. Both of the medallions he wore sprang free and one of them plopped against her nose. She gasped. Which one belonged to Alex? The one with the glowing eyes?
What did it matter? she thought then. She’d come here with a medallion, and she was leaving with one.
Determination thudded like a drum inside her chest. To distract him, she screamed with all the power her lungs allowed. She flailed her legs and wrapped her sore hands around his neck, as if she meant to choke him. She hurriedly worked one of the clasps, and when she felt it unlatch, she jerked her hands down and shoved the chain into her pocket. She gave another ear-piercing scream to cover her satisfaction.
“Calm down,” he said, his features pinched.
“Bite me.” She screamed again.
When she quieted, he said, “I would be most upset if you damaged my ears.”
Upset? He would be most upset. Not infuriated, not lost in a rage. Simply mildly upset. Somehow, with this man, that seemed all the more frightening than out-of-control fury. With a deep, shuddering breath, she relaxed into the floor. After all, she had what she wanted, and fighting him did nothing more than press their bodies together, as he was fond of reminding her.
His brows winged up, and he blinked, broadcasting his shock at her easy compliance.
“That easily?” he asked, suspicious.
“I know when I’m beaten.”
Darius used her stillness to his advantage and allowed more of his muscled weight to settle atop her. He braced her wrists above her head—something he obviously liked to do, since it was the third time he’d done it to her—causing her back to arch and her breasts to lift for his view.
“You wish for me to bite you?” he asked, dead serious.
Briefly she experienced confusion. Then she realized what he meant. Oh, my God. She had told him to bite her. Something dark and hot twisted in her stomach, something she had no business feeling for this man. An image of his straight white teeth sinking into her body and taking a little nibble filled her line of vision. Erotic and sexual; except…
If he were a vampire, she’d just given him an open invitation to make her his next meal.
“I didn’t mean it literally,” she managed to squeak out. “It’s just a figure of speech.” With barely a pause, she added, “Please. Get off me.” He smelled so good, so masculine, like the sun, the earth and the sea, and she was sucking in great gulps of that scent as if it were the key to her survival. He was beyond dangerous. “Please,” she said again.
“Too much do I like where I am.”
Those words echoed in her mind with such clarity her body offered a reply: I like where you are, too. She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. How did he do this? How did he make her feel strangely captivated and oddly entranced, yet fearful at the same time? He was quite possibly a bloodsucking vampire. He was also so sexy he made her mouth water. Made her ache in places she’d thought dead from disuse. Made her crave and fantasize and hunger.
Get a hold of yourself, Grace. Only an idiot would lust after a man of questionable origins and even more questionable motives.
What did he want from her? She studied his face, but found no hint of his intentions. His features were completely blank. Her gaze probed deeper, taking in the scar that slashed down his cheek, raised and puckered, interrupting the flow of his dark eyebrows. This close, she noticed the slant to his nose, as if it had been broken one too many times.
He was darkly seductive. Dangerous, her mind repeated.
That’s it, she realized reproachfully. That’s why I’m so attracted to him. I’m a danger junkie.
“What did you do to your hands, woman?” he suddenly demanded. His features were no longer blank, but projected a fierceness that was beyond intimidating.
“If I tell you,” she said, faltering in the face of that severity, “will you let me go?”
His eyes narrowed, and he brought one of her palms to his mouth. Heated lips seared her flesh before the tip of his tongue flicked out, licking and laving the wounds. Electric currents