Caress of Flame (3 page)

“Quit being such a loser,” she told herself firmly as she started the car. “Pretty soon you’ll think you’re being stalked.”

But the feeling of being watched didn’t lessen as she pulled out of her driveway.

The drive to The Pink Pit seemed to take forever, and when she pulled into her parking space behind the club the hairs on the back of her neck once again rose in alarm.

“What the hell?” She threw open her car door and stepped out. She turned in a circle, looking every which way for some sign that someone was watching her. Of 1course she saw nothing and berated herself for being so damned paranoid. Still, she walked a little faster than normal to the back entrance of the club.

Once inside she felt safer. There were half a dozen bouncers in the place and it was a very popular club, full of people. If anyone was stalking her, they couldn’t hurt her here. Isis pushed the thought of an imaginary stalker far from her mind and focused on the night ahead instead.

Going through the motions of readying herself for the stage like an automaton, Isis didn’t even give the other girls in the powder room a passing glance. Tonight, for her first show, she wore a flowing white dress with a virginal, white, lacy bra and a white thong that was nothing but a scrap of cloth. It clearly showed her pussy and that would earn her a lot more money tonight. Or at least she hoped so.

When it was her turn to go out onto the stage, Isis almost froze. That feeling of being watched, of being the subject of a very hungry gaze, had come back with brute force. She was nearly immobilized by fear for a few long seconds and then Isis forced herself to pass the curtain and enter the stage, still breathless with worry.

Of course someone was watching her, Isis chided herself. She was a stripper.

Dozens of eyes watched her every night. With this reminder, she threw herself into her routine.

She skipped to the center of the stage to give her virginal look a more authentic feel for her audience. However, she shattered that illusion when she did a slow back flip, revealing her crotch to the crowd, and skillfully unzipped the back of her dress.

Her virginal attire slipped unheeded to the floor. She danced, undulating her hips suggestively, letting her breasts bob with each movement, and casually unhooked the front clasp of her bra. Isis then made a great show of taking off her bra, throwing it into the crowd. Money waved wildly about the stage and Isis bent to let several men stuff bills into her panties. She saw even more waving and knew that tonight she’d make a lot of money.

What she didn’t see was the six and a half foot, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle marching up to the stage. She finally saw him when the dark man shoved some of her customers to the side and approached her, climbing onto the stage.

Isis backed up, knowing the bouncers behind her were coming forward to escort the giant off the stage. But her eyes never left his—they were pale yellow with an orange fire in the center. They burned right through her, as if he could see into her soul.

His hair caught her eye then—it was so long and so straight. It shone like a mirror and was so black as to be almost blue in the bright lights of the stage.

Jack, the first bouncer to reach the dark man, put his arm out to stop him from getting any closer to Isis. With one well-practiced move the dark man grabbed Jack’s hand and karate chopped his arm. Isis, as well as everyone else around the stage, heard the sound of Jack’s arm breaking, even over the loud music still playing. The dark man shoved Jack off the stage and into the crowd.

1Shrieks sounded out and the music stopped. The lights came up in the club, blinding everyone for a second except for Isis, who was still framed by the spotlight.

She stood frozen, unable to move. As if watching a play she stared, dazed, as the second bouncer, Mike, came forward and made a grab for the dark man. The dark man felled the bouncer with nothing but a punch to his jaw. Mike went down hard and the man advanced.

Isis’ paralysis broke and she turned to run. Something hit her with the force of a battering ram. She was spun around by hands stronger than any human’s she’d ever come across and thrown roughly, unceremoniously over the dark man’s shoulder. In a growing panic Isis beat at his back and buttocks, unavoidably noticing how hard and muscular the giant was.

Another bouncer had reached them. The dark man grabbed the bouncer by the neck and, with an almost casual flick of his wrist, threw him several feet across the room, tables and chairs spilling as the bouncer landed. Hard.

Isis roared and sank her teeth into the lower back of her captor, gagging as the dark man’s hair filled her mouth along with his flesh. The man didn’t even flinch.

Chaos ruled the club. People everywhere were running for the exits. Another bouncers carefully approached them. Isis could see him out of the corner of her eye. She continued to pummel the dark man, but none of her blows seemed to even faze him as he let the bouncers get closer. She rose up, putting her hands on the dark man’s back so that she could look over his shoulder. What she saw froze her heart with fear.

The dark man raised his hand, palm out, and pulled it back as if he were about to pitch a baseball—then an incredibly hot burst of air exploded out of his hand and sent the bouncer flying backward, helpless. Isis felt the heat of that strange wind and she knew immediately that this was the man she’d seen the night before. She remembered that heart exploding into fire in the dark man’s palm and at once knew a true, very elemental fear.

Isis bucked wildly, trying to dislodge herself. The man put his hand on her ass—his skin was so
hot
—and effectively stilled her panicked movements. More bouncers approached, but none were foolish enough to get too close to the man who held her captive. Soon all the bouncers who worked in the club surrounded them and Isis felt sure that, with their combined strength, they could free her from this frightening man.

The world fell away and Isis screamed as the sensation of incredible speed overcame her. The G-force pressed her legs against the man’s muscular chest. He still hadn’t taken his hand from her ass and for some reason that was the most noticeable thing in the strange nothingness Isis found herself flying through. She felt a sick clenching of her stomach and the next thing she knew they were standing in a room she’d never seen before.

Isis was unceremoniously thrown onto the softest, largest bed she’d ever seen. An article of clothing was tossed in her face.

1“I’ll leave while you dress,” the man said in a voice that made her instantly wet. She tamped down on her very unexpected spurt of desire, reminding herself of what this man could do to her if he so chose. Without another word, the dark man turned and left the room, audibly locking the door behind him.

Isis jumped off the bed and flew toward the door he’d passed through. She tried the handle, just to be certain, and sure enough it was locked tight. The door was made of some kind of stone and it looked really heavy, so she knew she couldn’t force it open by ramming it with her body or anything like that. But no way was she staying here. There had to be a way out. There was one other door in the room—a closet she guessed, but she would have to investigate to be sure.

“Let me out, you psycho,” she screamed through the door, hoping the dark man could hear her beyond it. There was no reply.

“Fuck.” She spat out her favorite curse word and kicked the door rebelliously. She was wearing her white stilettos but the kick still hurt her toes and she cursed again.

Her nipples were hard and cold. After being pressed to that man’s superhot—

literally
hot—body, she felt bereft and chilled. She grabbed the article of clothing he’d thrown at her. It was a sixties-style baby doll dress. Isis thought it very weird for a guy to have something like that. Unless he’d done this before, with other girls not unlike her.

Would he kill her? She didn’t know. Would he rape her? God, with a voice like that he’d only have to talk to seduce her, but still, the idea scared the shit out of her. She hadn’t had sex since…well, that was a train of thought she refused to follow.

Isis put the dress on and began to look for a way to escape, hoping that the man wouldn’t return before she found her way out of the room.

1
Chapter Three

The other stone door in the bedroom didn’t open into a closet as she had first suspected. It led, surprisingly, to a very spacious apartment. There were no windows anywhere that she could find and a door that she assumed led out of the apartment but which, of course, was locked tight when she tried the massive…God, was it
gold
?…handle.

The apartment itself was a wonder to her. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. The ceilings were so high that the light didn’t reach the top and it was cast in darkness and eerie shadow. And the lights—they were so strange. The lamps didn’t use light bulbs, at least none like any she’d ever seen. Instead, strange orbs of light floated serenely beneath the lampshades, providing all the illumination that the room needed.

The walls and floor were made of stone, as was the furniture and bed. All Isis could think was that it must have been a bitch moving all that heavy stone into the dwelling.

There was little artwork in the apartment, but it wasn’t needed. All the stone—the doors, the bed, the chairs and tables—were carved with beautiful depictions of what looked like elaborate Celtic knot work and fairy tale creatures. Thick rugs covered the stone floor, pretty things with lovely shades of gold and red and black. It was definitely a masculine dwelling—she could tell that by the color scheme alone.

The air smelled sweet, almost like eucalyptus, and the temperature was perfect. Not too hot, not too cool, just right. There was a dining area but no kitchen that she could find. And there was an incredibly beautiful bathroom all done in stone, with a sunken tub, beautiful sinks, a bidet and a strange-looking toilet.

Isis went through the apartment three times before she gave up and plopped down in one of the great stone chairs. They looked like thrones with plump cushions on them.

Isis punched one of the cushions and growled with her frustration, afraid that the man would come back. Afraid that maybe he
wouldn’t
come back and she’d die of starvation.

“Don’t be stupid,” she told herself. “You should be worried he’ll come back with a hatchet or something.”

But he wouldn’t need a hatchet. Isis had seen and felt the strength in him. He could kill her with one blow, she was certain of it.

Would he beat her? Kill her? Why had he kidnapped her? There were a thousand and one questions she kept asking herself and she had no answers to any of them. She would just have to wait to find out what her fate was to be. “The story of my life, man,”

she said aloud. The sound of her voice, meant to help comfort her, only made her more aware of how alone she really was.

She looked expectantly at the bedroom door, wondering when he might return.

One thing was certain—no way did she want that bed anywhere nearby when the dark 1man returned. She’d just stay here, in what must be the sitting room, and let him come find her.

Isis looked around for a weapon. A candlestick, a vase,
anything
, so long as it was hard and heavy and strong enough to knock her captor out. If she could even get that close to him…Isis wasn’t sure if she should wish for that or not. She settled for a strange-looking stick that had been propped against the wall. It was a lovely walking stick, carved elaborately and encrusted with semiprecious stones, and some stones that she would have sworn were real. Like diamond and ruby and tanzanite. She gripped it hard in her hands and took a few practice swings, using it like she might a baseball bat.

The sound of the bedroom door opening alerted her. Isis quickly moved to stand behind the frame of the door that led into the sitting room and waited for him to pass through it.

She saw him come to the doorway and pause. Had he seen her? She didn’t think so.

But it was obvious that he was being cautious.

“Put that down.” His lips tickled her ear.

Isis shrieked. How had he done that? He hadn’t come through the door, he’d just appeared at her side. She backed away from him and raised her weapon.

“That scepter was my father’s. He was a member of the Council and it was a symbol of his rank. I would be very…displeased if you damaged it,” he told her carefully, advancing almost infinitesimally toward her with his hand outstretched.

Isis paused, responding to the gentle caress of his magical voice. Then she gripped the scepter tighter. “Fuck it,” she said and swung it with all her might.

The man merely plucked it from her fingers. This enraged Isis, his show of casual power, and she flew at him in a fury. She punched him, kicked him, pulled his hair and bit his nipple through the strange material of his shirt. He gently grabbed her and held her so close she could no longer move, so she spat in his face instead.

“Let me go,” she said through a curtain of her tangled hair with a calm she did not feel.

“I am only keeping you from hurting yourself,” he said, holding her with one arm as he gently placed his father’s scepter against the wall.

His voice was making her nipples hard and her cunt wet. She fought furiously against the reaction but there was no use. Her body’s response was far beyond her control.

“What do you want with me?” she asked, hating herself for the tremor she heard in her voice.

His strange eyes seemed to glow from within. His face was so close she could have kissed him. Her spittle glistened on his cheek and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, she wanted to gently wipe it away and apologize. One thing was certain. He was a beautiful man. There was no other word for it—only beautiful. Isis had never seen anyone like him.

1He had the most perfect nose she’d ever seen. His skin was so golden it was almost bronze. His cheekbones were high and his cheeks were a little hollow. He had lips like Johnny Depp’s, sculpted and shapely, with a bit of a pout. His mouth held her fascinated for many long seconds and she knew instinctively that he was waiting for her to continue her study of his face, patiently, as though he had all the time in the world to do whatever it was he wanted to do with her.