Darkfire Kiss (10 page)

Or a negotiation. He glared at her, although she didn’t know what might have put him in a worse mood in the last five seconds.

“Of course I can,” she said to Doug with new confidence. “Maybe even today.”

“I look forward to it,” Doug said; then he was gone, the dial tone echoing in Melissa’s ear.

Her uninvited guest stared at her, seeming not even to blink, but she already knew that he wasn’t inclined to hurt her. She had to hope that she didn’t change his mind. There was a shadow behind him, another guy with blond dreadlocks, but Melissa didn’t care if he’d brought a friend.

Her business was with him, and that book.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” she said, crossing the living room and stretching out one hand. She spoke with cool composure, as if her heart weren’t thundering in her chest. “Thanks for bringing back the book you took from my coat pocket.”

“How dare you post those pictures?” he said, moving so quickly toward her that Melissa was astounded. One instant he was in the foyer, and the next he was right before her.

“How did you do that?” she demanded.

“How could you do
that
? How could you betray me and my kind?” he retorted.

“I have no problem betraying Montmorency.”

“But you didn’t! You betrayed me!” He dropped the book and snatched her up by her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers as he held her off the floor and shook her. “Do you have any understanding what you have done? Do you realize what you have put at risk?” His eyes were snapping, and his grip was resolute.

But he didn’t hurt her. He was restraining himself.

“I’ve done what reporters always do,” Melissa retorted, not in the least bit convinced that she was in the right. “We tell the world about news, and if that wasn’t news, I don’t know what is.”

Even as she spoke, she felt a strange heat sliding through her, as if she stood close to a bonfire. No, it was more than a heat against her skin; it was one inside her. It hummed along her veins and warmed her muscles from within. It was a heat that awakened a languorous fire inside her own body. That flame swept through her veins and left her blushing like a schoolgirl.

It was a hungry inferno that reawakened parts of Melissa that he’d caressed the night before.

That tide of heat left her taut. It left her tingling. It made her want him all over again, immediately, if not sooner. He had his hands on her shoulders, his gaze locked upon hers with a passion other than desire, and all she could think about was doing the wild thing with him all over again. She wanted the weight of his hands on her, the caress of his fingertips across her skin, the strength of him inside her. She wanted to feel his breath mingling with hers.

She wanted to feel vibrantly alive again.

She swallowed and looked at him, tormented by an itch he’d yet to satisfy. His eyes darkened, looking like molten chocolate, and when she licked her lips, he caught his breath. She watched him inhale, knew their thoughts were as one, and wished his friend hadn’t been in her foyer.

Or, to be fair, that her front door could still be closed.

“Do you recognize what you have put in peril?” he demanded, his words softer than they had been.

Why
were
his hands so hot? It was as if the heat were surging from his body into hers, an electrical current flowing along a conduit. But that made no sense.

Melissa tore her gaze from his and looked down at his hands. He held her in his powerful grip, ensuring that she couldn’t escape but not hurting her. That alone might have been worthy of interest, never mind his intensity, but it was the dancing flicker of blue flames across her skin that confused her. It seemed to emanate from the points where they touched, then slither across her skin before it disappeared.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What are these flames?”

He looked away, and she knew he could see them, as well.

“How did you make them, and what do they mean?”

“Darkfire!” he whispered, his tone carrying mingled awe and dread.

“What’s darkfire?” she demanded. The way he closed his eyes told her that he knew and that he didn’t intend to share the story.

He put her down, turned away, and strode across the room. He shoved a hand through his hair, his agitation clear, and turned his glare on the view out the window. “It doesn’t matter,” he said tightly. “What matters are those pictures.”

His reaction told her exactly the opposite of his words.

The heat was fading, leaving Melissa inclined to shiver. It had something to do with his touch, something he didn’t want her to know.

That just meant she was even more determined to find out.

“Bullshit,” she said. “You wouldn’t be hiding the truth from me if it didn’t matter. What’s darkfire?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder, leveling a cool look at her. “Nothing I need to tell you about.”

“Why not?” There was nothing more infuriating to Melissa than a man saying she didn’t need to know some aspect of reality. She could take whatever truth he dished out. She pursued him across the room and touched his elbow. A green-blue flame leapt between them at the point of contact.

His friend swore and took a step backward, his shock clear.

Melissa looked between the two of them. “It seems to affect me. Looks like I have a right to know!”

Mr. Conscience turned then, his eyes narrowed. “But I don’t trust you.”

Melissa smiled. “Why not?”

“Because you’ve already told the world too much.” Anger thrummed beneath the rich depths of his voice. “I see no reason to tell you anything more. I see no reason to give you the power to destroy us.”

Oh, that was interesting. This flame was big, big stuff. There was a story behind it, and realizing as much only made Melissa more determined to learn what it was.

His lip curled. “Particularly not so you can get a job.”

That he could dismiss her objectives without understanding anything about her, that he could judge her and find her wanting without two crumbs of the truth, just made Melissa mad.

“Not even to make a deal?” she challenged, then took a step back as his eyes flashed with answering fury.

O
utrageous! That she thought she could negotiate after her willful exposure of the
Pyr
pushed Rafferty over the edge. This woman had put all of his fellows at risk, for no other reason than to share what she knew. He had no doubt that any other secrets she worked free of him would end up on that blog, as well.

As determined as he was to not shift in her presence, her defiance provoked him almost beyond reason.

Maybe that was her plan. Hadn’t she pledged to the man on the phone that she’d get daylight pictures of the
Pyr
? Rafferty was glad of the sharp hearing that was characteristic of his kind—although he didn’t welcome the news, he was glad to know her intent.

That this woman, this
opportunist
, was the mate chosen for him by destiny and the Great Wyvern was a disappointment beyond Rafferty’s current comprehension.

He’d mourn that fact later.

He’d atone for his crime later.

First things first.

“You tricked me about the camera,” he said.

Melissa smiled a little, that smile feeding Rafferty’s libido in a dangerous way. Her lips had such a ripe fullness to them, and were tempting enough—when she smiled, just a little, he had a hard time thinking of doing anything other than kissing her. “I guessed what you’d want. I thought you might follow me to get it.” She shrugged. “So I prepared for that eventuality.”

“Your planning could have been a little more complete,” Rafferty said. “Did you plan for Magnus to surprise you in his home?”

Her alarm showed for only a heartbeat, just a glimmer in her eyes, before bravado dismissed it. She
had
been surprised, then. “I thought he might be home or come home. I didn’t realize what he might become.” She lifted her shoulders. “Could I really have prepared for that?”

“You could have avoided breaking into his house, maybe not stolen from him.” Rafferty scooped up the book from the floor. She reached for it, but he held it beyond her grasp.

“You’re not his friend,” she charged, pursuing him. “What difference to you?”

“You entered his house, and you stole from him. You call yourself a journalist, but I don’t think that’s responsible pursuit of a story.” He shook the book before her, his heart pounding that they were toe to toe. “Is that why you have to
negotiate
to get a job?”

She slapped him hard, right across the cheek.

It didn’t hurt Rafferty, but it astounded him. Did she have no fear?

“I am a good journalist,” she said through her teeth, her eyes flashing. “I am one of the best. I have been at the top of my profession….”

“Yet you apparently aren’t there now. Did you bend the rules too much in pursuit of your ambition?”

“No!” She was livid, furious as he’d never yet seen her, and Rafferty was fascinated by the heat of her response. She composed herself with an effort, hiding all that passion away. Then she continued with a control that he knew was hard won. “Something interfered, but it’s done now, and I’m going back to work.”

“Something?” Rafferty echoed.

“Something.” She spoke firmly, that fire lingering in her eyes. It was almost as if she had been a victim of some injustice, but Rafferty wouldn’t give her that much credence. She folded her arms across her chest, looking formidable and self-assured, then smiled. “But I don’t have to confide in you any more than you have to confide in me.”

“Something,” Rafferty repeated, his gaze slipping over her. What on earth could have interfered with this woman’s pursuit of her goal, whatever it was? He couldn’t begin to imagine. She was so determined, so resolute, and—he had to admit—enticingly sexy when she spoke with such ambition and resolve.

She wasn’t one for half measures; that was for sure.

And she wasn’t afraid of him.

Or if she was, she hid it well.

She put out her hand, her manner imperious. “Give me the book, please.”

Rafferty fanned through it. “Why did you want it? Didn’t you understand that he wouldn’t let anything in his possession go without a fight?”

Her smile was rueful, and her tone was hard. “Oh, I knew that about Montmorency. That’s why I took the chance.”

“Excuse me?”

“The potential reward was worth the risk.” Her gaze was unflinching; the set of her lips hard.

“He won’t pay you a ransom.”

“I don’t want one.”

“What do you want?”

“Justice.” The word erupted from her lips with such force that Rafferty knew it was the truth. He was intrigued. Had he misjudged her? Justice for whom? Over what? “Give me the book, please.”

“It’s just a date book,” Rafferty said, fanning through it again, as that seemed to annoy her.

Her eyes flashed on cue. “Well, I happen to think it’s important where Magnus Montmorency has been and when, not to mention who his friends are.”

What did she know about Magnus? Rafferty watched her as concern replaced his anger. Magnus knew who Melissa was, and he could probably follow her scent to wherever she hid. She obviously had some scheme against him.

And Rafferty knew Magnus well enough to know that his old foe wouldn’t let a mere human interfere with his plans.

Rafferty’s mate was toast.

He might not want her to be his mate, but he certainly didn’t want her to be destroyed by Magnus. No one deserved that.

Rafferty toyed with the book, the firestorm messing with his ability to think straight. “If you know anything about Magnus Montmorency, you have to understand how dangerous it is to plot against him.”

“And if you know anything about the world, you have to know that the truth will come out and justice will prevail. Particularly if there are people who have the guts to do something about it.”

“That would be journalists?”

“Some of us.” Melissa tried to grab the book, but Rafferty deftly moved it out of the way. “How can you be so fast?” she said with irritation.

“Montmorency’s just as fast,” Rafferty murmured.

She flushed, but her lips set in a firm line. “I don’t care. I know what he does, and he has to be stopped.”

“Even if the price you pay is your own life?”

Melissa paused, then leaned back, her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted as she watched him. “You didn’t come here to bring back the book. What do
you
want?”

“I want you to say that the pictures are a hoax, and remove them from your blog.”

She smiled. “And I want that book.”

“Stalemate,” Thorolf said from the foyer. It wasn’t the most helpful comment he could have made. Rafferty gave him a poisonous look.

“Friend of yours?” Melissa asked.

“Sometimes,” Rafferty admitted, and her smile broadened.

“I’ve had friends like that,” she murmured. Their gazes locked, and Rafferty felt a tenuous sense of common purpose with her. It was as seductive as her perfume.

Or was that just his own ideas about the firestorm at work?

Thorolf cleared his throat, seeming to see Melissa’s words as an opening. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything in the fridge that needs eating?” he said, his manner cajoling. “You know, a roast chicken or, maybe, a ham?”

The prospect that Melissa, who was so slim, might have such a quantity of cooked meat in her fridge amused Rafferty. He found an answering humor in Melissa’s eyes, one that made his heart skip a beat.

“I think there’s some chickpea salad,” Melissa said, her tone all innocence. Rafferty nearly laughed out loud at Thorolf’s disappointed expression.

“Come
on
,” Thorolf said, a plea in his voice.

“The salad is pretty much it. Some antipasto. Half a head of romaine. Please, help yourself,” Melissa said, her smile fading as she faced Rafferty again. “I think we’ve got a bit more to discuss here.”

“I don’t think we have anything more to discuss,” Rafferty replied, but Melissa planted her hand on his chest. The surge of heat from her palm made him stagger. The power of the firestorm—and the desire it awakened in him—pushed the thought of everything except claiming his mate from his thoughts.

Claiming her again and again and again.

It was too easy to remember the softness of her skin beneath his hands. To remember how she sighed and shivered when he ran his tongue over her tight nipple. To remember the taste of her and the smell of her, and the way she tightened just before she came.

He could almost feel the tug of her fingers in his hair, the way her teeth had grazed his skin, the scratch of her fingernails in his shoulders, and he stepped closer to seduce her all over again. The darkfire flickered blue with green lights, consuming him, tantalizing him, dazzling him.

“You haven’t told me what this is,” Melissa said, her words falling on a breathless note. Her eyes were wide and clear, her lips parted, and Rafferty could smell the sweet perfume of her desire. She knew exactly what she had to negotiate with, which should have worried Rafferty more than it did.

As it was, all he could think about was her smooth heat around him, her softness urging him closer, her perfume ensnaring him.

“Darkfire,” she prompted when he didn’t answer. “What’s darkfire?”

“It’s a special kind of firestorm, one that has been foretold for millennia.”

Her eyes widened, and he saw the golden flickers in her irises. He took another step closer, his hands rising to her shoulders again. She felt small and fragile in his grip, feminine, delicate.

Delicious. She was staring at his mouth, and she licked her own lips as she let him draw her even closer. The heat roiled through him, pushing every thought but one from his mind.

“What’s a firestorm?” she whispered, just as her breasts collided with his chest.

“This,” Rafferty said with satisfaction, and claimed her mouth with his own.

Melissa closed her eyes as he kissed her again. She’d provoked him, and she was only glad that it worked. She’d been sure that her memory of his kiss must have been overrated, had known that she needed to taste him once more to be sure, had pushed him until he kissed her again. She had a fleeting realization that she still didn’t know his name, followed by the recognition that in this instant she didn’t care. Then his kiss obliterated all conscious thought.

There was only feeling and sensation.

There was only heat, like molten glass flowing through her body. It incinerated her defenses, melted her resolve, destroyed any inhibitions she might have thought she had. She caught him close, those blue flames snapping and crackling between them. They rolled over her skin, sexy and seductive, making her feel vital.

They were like a visual clue to the desire that raged between them. Every place she touched him, sparks danced. Every place they fell upon her own skin simmered with an answering heat. Then they slid, moving more like liquid than flame, slipping across her skin and leaving a trail of lust. She was burning up with desire for him.

He was moving more quickly than he had the night before, and she knew that he was feeling the same incredible desire. He unfastened her jeans with impatience, and she loved the smooth heat of his broad palms sliding over her skin. The fact that he couldn’t control himself, that he couldn’t wait to have her, fired her blood as surely as his touch. She wasn’t—or had never been—the kind of woman who made men lose control. It was dizzying to be so desired. His hands were strong and capable, deft and utterly distracting. She felt his fingers slide beneath the elastic of her underwear, and she sighed in contentment.

She hadn’t imagined his powerful tenderness.

His touch was, in fact, even better than she recalled.

His fingers made her moan; that spark leaping against her skin left her dizzy. She locked her arms around his neck and hung on, rolling her hips against him. He had a massive erection, straining at the front of his jeans, and she remembered the sweet fullness of having him inside her.

He wasn’t the only one who was impatient.

She thought of his friend in her kitchen but heard the persistent rattle of dishes. He was busy.

And there was something exciting about the need to be quick and quiet. She met the intense gaze of Mr. Conscience, so determined to please her, and her pulse fluttered.

Then it thundered.

His fingers moved with greater demand, and she thought she might just faint with pleasure. Was that possible? She wanted to find out. She reached for the front of his jeans and unfastened them, sliding her hand inside. He inhaled sharply, cast aside her jeans, then cupped her buttock with one hand. He touched her again, and she squirmed with impatience.

“Now,” she whispered. “Here.”

Melissa slid one bare foot up the muscled strength of his calf, and, once again, he was holding her above the floor. She freed him from his jeans, pushing them down over his hips, then met his gaze.

His gaze was simmering, a heat that echoed the fire in her own veins. He slid two fingers inside her, easing his thumb across her clitoris as he did so, and Melissa trembled. He smiled, then repeated the gesture, driving her higher and higher with each sweep of his thumb.

Melissa thought she couldn’t stand it any longer just as sparks exploded through her body. She cried out in her sudden release, arching against him. The orgasm was amazing, potent enough to leave her shaking.

She was ready for him, but he dropped her on the couch suddenly. Melissa bounced slightly, right where they had made love repeatedly the night before, and watched him stalk across the room. What had changed? What was wrong? Was his friend returning?

No. The fridge opened again, as if the friend was optimistic that its contents might have changed while he wasn’t looking. She heard Mr. Conscience refasten his jeans. He had his back to her, but she could see from the set of his shoulders that he was as taut as a bowstring.

However taut that might be. Melissa wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one.

She caught her breath and straightened her panties, trying to pull her thoughts together. This guy really shook her. “Is there a problem?” she asked.