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Authors: Lexi George

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Dooley gave the bowl a disinterested sniff and sauntered out of the kitchen to flump on the floor next to the couch.

“Brand man?”
she whined, nosing Brand on the arm.

“No, Dooley, leave him alone!”

Chastened, Dooley put her head on her paws.

Addy glopped a can of tomato soup into a saucepan and added milk. While the soup warmed, she heated a frying pan and made three grilled cheese sandwiches. Sliding the grilled cheese sandwiches onto a plate, she sliced them in two, then poured the tomato soup into an over-sized mug. She arranged the plate and mug on a wooden tray, and added a glass of milk, salt and pepper shakers, a soup spoon, and a napkin.

Balancing the loaded tray, she went into the living room and set it on the coffee table. She stepped back, eyeing with appreciation the more than six and a half feet of hard-muscled male lying on her couch. She let her gaze roam over the broad chest, past the lean waist, and down the long, muscular legs. Jeez Louise, he was a heartbreaker. There ought to be a law.

“Brand?”

Dooley lifted her head to look at Addy.

Addy cocked her head at the dog. “What do you think, Dooles? Wake him up and feed him, or let sleeping warriors lie?”

Dooley exhaled and dropped her head back onto her paws.

“Thanks, hound doggie. You're a big help.”

She leaned over Brand and gently touched him on the shoulder. “Brand? Are you hungry? I've brought you something to eat. But, if you'd rather sleep, Iâ”

Brand jerked her on top of him and rolled over, pinning her beneath him on the couch. He kissed her. Addy sighed and gave in to the drugging, heated bliss of his mouth. His tongue danced a mad tango with hers, stroking, tasting, sending her spinning closer and closer to the edge of reason. Her breasts tightened. Each velvet brush of his tongue sent an exquisite shock of sensation along her nerves. Her womb clenched, and the flesh between her legs throbbed in response. She heard someone moan, a wanton, keening cry of pure lust, and realized with a little jolt of amazement that someone was her. Something about this guy reduced her to a primal state of raw animal need. But if she was on fire, so was he. Heat came off him in waves. She was amazed he didn't burst into flames and incinerate them both. He wasn't hot, he was highly combustible. He was . . .

Wait a minute, what was she doing? A few minutes ago, this same guy had been a walking, breathing column of fire. Was she insane?

She ended the kiss with a gasp and opened her eyes. Brand crouched over her. His long hair hung about his face, and his sensuous lips were drawn back in a snarl. He looked grim, fierce . . . ferocious. She was prey, a helpless doe trapped in the steely claws of a hungry mountain lion. But it was his eyes that frightened her most, hard as flint and glittering with anger.

His burning gaze drifted over her face and lingered on the fluttering pulse at her throat. “Good, you are afraid,” he said. “Perhaps you possess some modicum of intelligence after all, although I doubt it.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“YES.” His voice rattled the windows. “I AM CALLING YOU STUPID, YOU IDIOTIC, FOOLISH,
INFURIATING
WOMAN! DO YOU NOT REALIZE YOU COULD HAVE DIED BACK THERE?”

Dooley yelped and ran into the laundry room.

“Now look what you've done,” Addy said. “You've gone and scared the dog. You ought to be ashamed.”

“I ought to be ashamed?
I
ought to be ashamed?” Brand jumped up off the couch and began to pace around the room like he was about to . . . well, like he was about to burst into flames.

He glared at her, chest heaving. “You disobey me and nearly get yourself killed, and you have the audacity, the sheer effrontery to tell me
I
ought to be ashamed. Unbelievable.”

Addy leaped to her feet. “Disobey? Look here, buddy boy, I didn't sign up for your stinking Dalvahni army. You aren't the boss of me.”

“You are mistaken, Adara Jean.” Brand stalked toward her. “For however long I am here, for however long I
choose,
I am very much the boss of you. And you will do as I say, or suffer the consequences.”

Addy's heart tripped into a crazy staccato beat. Scared, of him? Maybe a
little.
Not that she'd let him know it. She raised her chin in defiance. “Oh, yeah, like what?”

“I haven't decided.” He backed her across the room. “This is a new experience for me, being turned inside out by a mere female. Maybe I'll tie you to my bed and keep you as my thrall for a few thousand years. A few millennia beneath me as my sex slave should teach you your place. But, then again, you are a remarkably stubborn woman.”

“Brand, you need to calm down.” Addy gave him a coaxing smile and back-pedaled faster. “You're a little wound up, that's all. Going nuclear will do that to a guy.”

She turned and made a run for it. He caught her before she reached the kitchen.

“A little wound up, Adara Jean?” He pushed her against one of the columns.
“A little wound up?
You do not know the half of it.”

He grabbed her head in both hands and kissed her.

Chapter Eighteen

J
ust being in the same room with her nearly drove Brand insane. The scent of her, the soft fall of her hair against her neck and shoulders, the slow, sultry sound of her voice made him ache with longing. But, touching her . . . Touching her drove him over the edge. He was on fire, consumed by a driving lust unlike anything he'd ever known. He felt frenzied, unhinged, shaken.

How had this happened? What had he become? He was a warrior, honed by combat, ill-equipped to battle the changeable, maddening welter of
feelings
the woman stirred within him, emotions that a few days ago he would have found unfathomable.

The Dalvahni were created for battle, thrived upon it. Death came seldom to them, for they were unmatched in physical prowess and virtually indestructible. The Dalvahni did not know fear. He had not experienced that particular emotion until he met Adara.

Awaking to find her gone had been a lesson in fear. Not his first such lesson since meeting her, but a lesson well taught nonetheless. Interesting, enlightening, terrifying, and permanently etched in his brain. Then he'd arrived at her shop and found her lying helpless beneath the ravening djegrali, her shirt bespattered with blood and a pool of the stuff around her. That had been another lesson. He had not borne that tutelage so well. Indeed, he remembered little of it, a flash of agonized grief and bitter remorseâtoo late! too late!âand then darkness and falling into flame. He did not exaggerate when he told Adara he went a little mad. He feared there was no cure for it, this madness in his blood that made him burn for her. Truth be told, he did not want to be cured. He saved her life, infused her with a portion of his power and immortality, and
he
was the one who had been changed in some fundamental way, leaving him a stranger to himself.

It made him angry, made him want to punish her for the anguish he endured when he thought she was dead. He wanted her at his mercy, wanted her to beg for more, to ache for him the way he ached for her.

Tilting her head back, he ended the kiss. Her eyes were closed, her mouth soft and rosy from his kisses. Her hair was damp. The scent of her soap filled his senses. She must have showered and changed her clothes while he slept, because the blood-stained blouse was gone. Fury gripped him anew as he relived that awful moment when he found her bloody and broken on the floor, the ghoul bent over her. Her reckless disregard for her own safety made him want to smash something, anything that threatened her harm. He wanted to carry her off and lock her in some tall, desolate tower, and keep her there safe, for his pleasure and his alone.

“You were injured.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I saw the blood. Show me where you were hurt.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes drowsy with passion. He felt a surge of triumph. He was once more in control. He would conquer this insanity.

“I hit my head.” She relaxed against him. “It's nothing. I'm fine.”

“That is for me to decide.” He ran his fingers through her hair and examined her scalp. “Here?”

“No, a little higher.” She closed her eyes and arched her back. “That feels good.”

“Clever little cat.” She had no idea she was in danger. “You like that, don't you?”

“Hmm.” She leaned into his hands. “There, I think that's the spot.”

“You think? You're not sure?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore.”

“That's because you are Dalvahni now. We heal quickly. That is good.”

Something in his voice must have warned her.

She opened her eyes, her expression wary. “Why?”

“Because if you were still injured, I could not do this.” Picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom.

She squealed and kicked her heels. “Brand, what are you doing? Put me down!”

He smacked her hard on her deliciously rounded bottom. “Be still,” he ordered.

“Ouch! I will not be still. I don't have to do what you say.”

He strode into the bedroom, dumped her onto the bed, and fell on top of her. He looked down at her with a deliberately sensuous smile. “Perhaps not, but you will want to, little one. Oh, yes, you will want to very much.”

She gaped back at him with a dazed expression, her lush mouth forming an “o” of surprise. Good, he thought with a ripple of satisfaction. Let
her
be off balance for a change. He'd been reeling since the moment they met.

He lowered his head and traced the shape of her lips with his tongue. “Kiss me, Adara.” He breathed the words of entreaty against her mouth. “Take me in. I'm starved for the taste of you.”

She nuzzled him back and caught his bottom lip with her teeth in a gentle nip. The small gesture was almost his undoing, the wave of desire that swept through him so strong he all but forgot his earlier resolve to stay in control. With an effort, he pulled back from the precipice. He was Dalvahni, he reminded himself. He would overcome these puling feelings.

He kissed her, using all his considerable skill. To his delight, she opened for him like a flower. Some of his determination wavered as he lost himself in the sweetness of her mouth.

“That's it, little love.” He trailed his lips along her throat. “I want you, Adara. Tell me you want me, too.”

“I'll do better than that.” Her voice sounded throaty, breathless. “I'll show you.”

With a seductive smile, she slid out of his arms. She swung her hips and sauntered to the end of the four-poster bed. Mischief and a hint of shyness gleamed in her sultry brown eyes. Her pale blond hair was mussed and hung in wild curls about her shoulders, her lips still pink from his kisses. She stretched and raised her arms over her head. Her shirt tightened across the fullness of her breasts. He swallowed as the garment rode up and offered him a tantalizing glimpse of her taut belly.

“It's hot in here, don't you think?” She widened her eyes at him. “ 'Scuse me a sec, won't you?”

She turned her back on him with a swish of her hips. Pulling the shirt over her head, she tossed it aside. Brand stared, mesmerized, by the sharp indention of her waist and the pale, smooth skin of her back. She stood before him clad in some kind of white halter and a pair of loose, short trousers that rode low on her hips. His heart tripped into a gallop as his gaze roamed down the graceful curve of her spine, stopping at the point where it disappeared into the top of her trousers. He stared at her delicious heart-shaped ass and imagined her naked on her knees before him. He would take her from behind, his hands clutching her firm, round bottom as he thrust inside her . . .

He pulled his thoughts away from the heated image. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. By the sword, the woman threatened his willpower. She was not naked and already he weakened.

“Would you like me to turn around?” she asked.

He could do this. He was Dalvahni. He would master these feelings.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded better, calmer, more in control. “Turn around.”

“
Please,
Adara, turn around.”

So, it was not enough that he panted after her like a lovesick boy. She meant to toy with him, too. A warrior did not beg. Still, he reasoned, it was a small enough concession. Let her think for the moment she was in charge.

“Please, Adara, turn around.”

The sound of his voice, low and rough, surprised him. He was the hunter, she the hunted, he reminded himself. He would show no weakness. He would not falter.

He . . . would . . . not . . . falter.

She turned around, and he was lost.

The undergarment she wore cupped her breasts like a lover's hands, lifting them so they nearly overflowed the cloth that bound them. Time seemed to slow and then stand still as he stared at her. He felt feverish and lightheaded with desire. With an effort, he reined in his crumbling control.

“Take off your trousers.”

Adara smiled and traced the skin of her belly with one hand. He watched in helpless fascination as her fingers toyed with the metal button securing the garment.

“They're called shorts, and I think you mean âtake them off,
please,
Adara.' ”

“Call them what you will, take them off, for pity's sake,” he said through his teeth.

She unfastened the button. Brand heard a metallic scritch. She wiggled her hips, and the shorts hit the floor. She stood before him clad in the white, lacy contraption that held her breasts up like a sacred offering and . . .

His tortured gaze drifted lower. A scrap of filmy, white material covered her mons, an inconsequential bit of lace all that separated him from heaven.

He drank in the sight of her. His hot gaze drifted over her flat belly and ripe breasts, moved up and lingered for a moment on her full mouth. Their eyes met, and she gasped.

“See how I burn for you? Are you frightened, Adara Jean?” He left the bed in a blur of movement to stand before her. “If not, you should be.”

She stepped back with a small sound of surprise.

“No.” His voice sounded harsh in the quiet room. “Do not move. I want to look at you.”

She stilled. He circled behind her and stopped. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was beautiful, a creature of fantasy, all lush curves and gleaming, flawless skin. Her legs, sleek and strong, ended in a firm, round rump that was scantily covered by a patch of white cloth.

“So lovely.” He ran his fingers down her supple back. To his fierce delight, she shivered in response. “What is this thing you wear?”

“W-what?”

He traced a path along the lacy edge of the garment. “This tempting silk confection that covers your delectably rounded bottom, what is it called?”

“P-panties.”

He dropped his hand and stalked around her. “And this thing that displays your bosom to such magnificent advantage?”

She stared at him, wide eyed. “It's called a bra. It supports a woman'sâ”

“I can see what it does. I
like
what it does very much.”

“I'm glad youâ”

“Take it off. Slowly.”

She reached up and slipped the straps of the bra off her shoulders.

“Stop.” He tugged on the straps, freeing her nipples. “Beautiful.” He stroked the tips of her breasts. Tilting her chin up, he caressed her full lower lip with his thumb. “Do you like it when I touch you, Adara?”

“You know I do.”

“Good. I'm going to kiss you now.”

“Yes, Brand, please do.” The look in her eyes made his heart pound harder. “I think if you don't kiss me soon, I'll die.”

Her entreaty shattered the last vestiges of his resistance, all thoughts of pride and conquest vanquished.

“Adara, you are killing me.” He pulled her into his arms.
“Te egeo.”

I need you. The Latin words sprang from his unruly tongue, culled from his memories of a previous trip to Earth more than a thousand years before. Somehow it was easier to say the words in another language, less an admission of weakness.

“Te cupio,”
he murmured.

I want you.

“Te adoro,”
he said, throwing caution to the wind.

His restless hands moved down her back. Some instinct guided his hands to the catch beneath her shoulder blades. The bra dropped to the floor, and she was left clad in her panties. He kissed her. His tongue mated with hers in a heady, intoxicating dance. She moaned against his mouth, a breathy sound that went straight to his groin. He tore his mouth from hers at last and lifted her luscious breasts in his hands. The weight and feel of her silken flesh in his hands was glorious. Murmuring her name, he took first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, stroking, suckling, savoring her small shrieks of pleasure. He trailed his fingers down her flat stomach and touched her between her legs, teasing her through her panties.

“Brand.”
She arched against his questing hand.

He gave a ragged laugh. “I wanted to take this slow, little one, but I don't think I can.”

She opened her eyes to glare at him. “Well, who asked you to?”

With another shaky laugh, he removed his shirt.

“Oh, my God,” she said. Her gaze on him was like a physical touch. “You are so damn beautiful.”

He shook his head. “I am not the beautiful one, you are.”

“No way. You're like a freaking god or something.”

He unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my damn. That's quite a mister you got there, Mister.”