the dragons want their palace back?”
“Oh, yes.”
Her eyes widened at his nonchalance. “And that doesn’t bother you? The thought of battling such fierce creatures?”
“No. Why should it?” He stopped to glare at her, his chest seeming to expand right before her eyes. The heat of his skin caressed her, and the heady scent of him filled her nose, fogging her head.
Sconces blazed from the walls, their glow flickering over the contours of his face. Shadows and light fought for dominance, playing over his cheeks, making him appear menacing.
“I’m fiercer,” he said. “I’m stronger.”
Hello, male arrogance. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t share your confidence,” she said dryly.
He frowned. “If the thought of dragons scares you—”
“Terrifies me,” she interjected. In this land, you were either predator or prey. Since she wasn’t a predator...
“How will you react when I introduce you to the vampires?”
A strangled gasp wheezed from her throat. “I’m not meeting vampires.”
“They are our friends.”
He talks as if we’re already a couple.
“Look. I know you told me those creatures existed, but I never actually thought you’d make me interact with them. Vampires drink blood, Valerian.”
“They won’t drink yours, Shaye.”
She sighed. There was simply no arguing with him. He had a response for everything.
“Let’s bargain,” she said. “You won’t introduce me to vampires, and I’ll...” What?
In the distance, swords clanged together. Grunts sounded, and male laughter abounded.
“I like where you are headed with this conversation,” he said. “We’ll revisit what you’re willing to do after the fight.”
“No. We finish it now.” She jumped in front of him to stop him and flatten her hands on his chest—oh, how he burned. “Forget the vampires. Win the fight, and I’ll kiss you.”
Desire flared in his eyes. The same consuming desire she’d encountered when she’d first watched him stride from the ocean.
“Give me a preview of this kiss,” he said.
Desire consumed her. “Or what? You’ll lose? I don’t think so, babe.” Babe? Her cheeks heated. What an embarrassing slip of the tongue. “You’ll do anything to keep your crown.”
“Obviously I won’t. I’m fighting my cousin, risking my crown, to keep you.”
“I thought there was no real risk for you.”
His eyes gleamed with calculation. “Kiss me now, and I’ll end the fight as quickly as possible. I won’t drag it out.”
Well...
Her gaze lowered, lingering on his lips, and her breath caught in her throat. If her touch strengthened him, how much more so would her kiss? And he needed his strength, right? The future of his kingdom was at stake!
“Fine,” she whispered, already rising on her tiptoes.
He needed no other prompting. He tangled his fingers in her hair and slammed his mouth onto hers. His hot tongue pushed inside, past her teeth, past any thought of resistance.
In seconds she felt burned alive. The woman who’d once eschewed dating became wild. Someone who existed only for pleasure, sex and debauchery. For this man.
Valerian consumed her. Dark need consumed her—and she discovered that she liked every second of it.
His taste was pure sexual heat, raw masculinity, exotic and addictive; his tongue worked hers with expert precision, her every nerve endings leaping to blissful life. Her nipples hardened, the apex of her thighs ached, and her stomach quivered.
She wound her arms around his neck, accepting him fully, demanding more; a feral growl of satisfaction escaped him.
“I want you,” he whispered fiercely and as always, the sound of his wine-rich voice excited her.
He was made for her, only her—his every action, every breath, they happened simply to please her.
The thought intoxicated her. Like the man himself.
“I want you,” he repeated. “Give me everything.”
“Never,” she forced herself to say. Then, of course, she contradicted herself by running his bottom lip between her teeth.
His callused hands slid down the ridges of her spine to settle softly on the curve of her hips.
“I need your breasts in my hands. Please, Shaye.”
Yes! Oh, yes. Her nipples hardened more, and they hurt. They actually hurt, desperate for contact.
He tunneled his hands under her shirt, his fingers tickling her skin. She gasped in wonder when his thumbs grazed each aching crest.
“I wish I could stand you in front of a mirror and slowly remove your top, baring your flesh inch by precious inch,” he said. “I would cup your breasts in my hands, framing your nipples with my fingers as they pearled for me.”
Her knees trembled. “I should hate the thought,” she told him, breathless. She brought her hands to his chest, brushing her thumbs over his nipples. They were hard little points she wanted to lick and suck. And, as her fingertip curled in the steel loop anchored in the right one, she wanted to lick and suck that, too. “Should absolutely, positively hate it.”
He groaned. “If this is the way you hate...”
“The pheromone. Only the pheromone.”
“No.” He grated the negation.
Angry with her now?
She licked the seam of his lips, and his anger returned to passion. Their breaths had mingled. Now their gazes locked, a sultry clash of turquoise against brown, passion against passion.
“Hate me some more,” he told her.
She rose on her tiptoes—her body seemed to have a mind of its own—placing her lips just in front of his.
He kissed her harder than before, his hands returning to her waist and tightening, his grip needy, firm and commanding.
His message was clear: she could not escape.
Why would she want to escape?
He pulled her closer, until she nestled against the long, rigid length of his erection. A hot, raspy gasp left her, spears of pleasure arcing through her, spawning other bursts of sensation.
