She stopped herself, debating whether to confess Jorlan’s true origins. Her gaze gravitated to him. He looked so lost, and wanted to go home so badly, she decided that confessing his alien status was worth the risk of sounding like a nutcase. “The thing you have failed to divine is that we’re not talking about an emotional home here; we’re talking about another planet.”
“So you’re aliens, are you?” the woman asked without missing a beat, as if she’d heard that claim a million times before. “I knew it the moment you stepped inside.” She pulled a small, dark bottle from her pocket. “Drink this and you will—”
Argh! Katie jolted up, fist clutched tightly. “You can take your potions and stuff them up your as—”
“That is enough.” Jorlan’s voice echoed off the walls.
Everything instantly quieted.
“’Tis time to leave, katya.” He didn’t wait for her reply. He simply pushed to his feet and strode quietly from the building.
CHAPTER SIX
EVERY MAN POSSESSED one fear, a fear that consumed him, could drive him to the brink of madness. Jorlan had just discovered his. Being trapped on this forsaken world for all eternity frightened him to the marrow of his bones. He’d known the possibility existed since the beginning of his curse. Yet now the realization weighed him down, more potent than ever before because he was finally free.
Free, but yet, not free.
He couldn’t go home until he won Katie’s love; that he accepted. He had only thirteen more days to win her; that he accepted, as well. But what he could not accept, did not want to accept, was the fact that no true sorcerer might dwell here, that there might be no means to return home when the time came.
He stood outside the false mystic’s dwelling, his legs braced apart, his arms locked behind his back and his muscles clenched. It was a warrior’s stance, one normally used just before battle as plans and strategies were formed.
This seemed the greatest battle of his life.
His first instinct had been correct. No magic resided in the House of Mysticism. He had known it before stepping inside, and he’d known it after. Yet he had foolishly clung to hope. Now he was forced to face the truth.
What manner of mystic studied a man’s hand to open a vortex? One without any true magic or ability, he answered darkly. The irony was that the fraud inside that shabby building had actually spoken some truth. He should possess enough power to take himself home. Magic dwelled inside him, so much magic—but ’twas a force he could not control, therefore, ’twas a force he could not reply upon. Curse it! A simple spell was all that was needed. A simple spell, yet hopelessly beyond his grasp.
He tried again, anyway. He closed his eyes, raised his arms high in the air, and uttered the needed words. As he spoke, the air around him swirled, swirled around and around, faster and faster, and then…stopped. He tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
Each of his failures—with Katie, the psychic and his own powers—weighed heavily upon his shoulders. His arms dropped to his sides. Why did the magic and spells that came so easily to his mother’s people prove so difficult and oftentimes disastrous for him? Why? Did he possess too much physical strength, mayhap? Did his supernatural ability to hunt and destroy his enemies somehow weaken his magical ability? If so, he would gladly relinquish the gift, for what good did it do him when he could not even initiate battle with his greatest enemy?
Jorlan’s teeth ground together, and his breath scalded his throat. Pride demanded he at last avenge his loss of time, companionship and pleasure. Pride demanded…and yet still he could do nothing.
He uttered a dark, humorless laugh. The curse welcomed his frustration like an angry storm cloud welcomed a raving wind, both ever ready to unleash a torrent of sorrow and pain. Fists clenched, he fought for some measure of inner peace. One minute stretched to another, yet his struggle proved fruitless. He needed an outlet, something, anything to soothe the razor-sharp edges of his emotions.
A soft, gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?” an even gentler voice asked. “I know that didn’t go the way you planned, and I’m sorry I brought you here, but we’ll find someone else. There were tons of names in the phone book, and I promise we’ll visit another psychic in the morning. I would take you now, but I’m afraid another failure would…” Katie’s words drifted to quiet. “I just think it would be better to wait until morning.”
He gazed down at her beautifully tapered fingers, at her pale skin against his own deeply tanned. For one raw moment, that touch made him feel as if he’d harbored his hate and resentment too long, as if he had nothing to fear. Yet he still craved an outlet, and she had just provided him with one. He drank in her loveliness, letting it soothe his inner wounds like a caress. “I warned you of the consequences did you touch me, katya,” he said, his tone deceptively soft.
She snatched her hand to her side. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Touch me first, and I have the right to touch you in return. That you agreed upon.”
“You looked so upset—I didn’t mean—that was not an invitation!”
“Wasn’t it?” He spun to face her, took her forearms in his hands and hauled her to him. Chest to chest. Hardness to softness.
“Let go of me,” she told him heatedly, but she made no move to pull away. Nay, she sank more snugly into him. “Let me go,” she said again, this time with breathless surrender.
He didn’t want to let her go; he wanted to hold her so tightly against him she could only part her lips and cry out his name. She must have sensed his needs, for her gaze collided with his, amber eyes locked with blue. Neither glanced away.
“You will thank me for my refusal in just a moment.” He didn’t give her time to deny him. His fingers journeyed upward and tangled in her hair; he tugged her closer until not a breath of air separated them. Then he ravaged her there in the morning sunlight where anyone could see them, where anyone could hear them. Over and over he pushed his tongue past Katie’s teeth, stroked inside, took. Demanded.
For a moment, he thought she meant to resist, but Katie surprised him by uttering a low and needy moan. She opened for him completely, then moaned again. The sound washed over his body, fueling his need. Her ragged breath fanned his nose and his cheek as their tongues danced and sparred. The carnal fragrance of her filled his head, and he thought to hold her in his arms for all the days of his life.
Last eve he had wondered at her taste, and now he knew she tasted sweet and female, part soothing balm, part kindling. Would she taste the same between her legs? Just the thought of laving her there caused the fire inside him to rage—a fire that had nothing to do with his pain, his sorrow or his duty. Nay, he burned only for Katie, for her passion. Burned to take her breasts in his hands. Burned to suck her nipples into his mouth.
“This is what I wanted last eve,” he whispered hotly. “This is what I craved while I lay upon your floor, tightening my hand upon my cock, all the while imagining your touch instead.”
She whimpered.
He placed his hands upon her buttocks and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her woman’s place against his erection. Up. Down. Up, he urged her, mimicking the motions of sex. She willingly arched back and forth. He ached to shove her drocs down
