His twin brother had died years ago, leaving a hollow ache in his chest. An ache he prayed his mate would fill. He’d searched for her. For centuries. No stone in Atlantis had been left unturned. Eventually he’d begun to despair. What if I don’t have a mate?
I do. I must.
He wouldn’t give up hope.
His father had told him a nymph would know his “one” the moment he scented her, and she would, in turn, recognize him, choosing him above all others.
“I’ll lead five of you to the surface.” Valerian wondered what kind of world waited on the other side of the portal. Dangerous, no doubt. “We’ll go in, find as many women as possible as fast as possible and return with those who wish to follow us.”
Joachim’s dark brows knit. “Why don’t we simply take the women we want? Why must we give them a choice?”
“We aren’t dragons.” In other words, they weren’t barbarians.
“Well. My ravishment of you can be postponed, it seems.” The dryness of Dorian’s tone failed to mask his excitement.
Broderick frowned. “What if human females want nothing to do with us?”
Laughter erupted.
Grinning, Valerian patted him on the shoulder. “Good one.”
Broderick’s frown melted, revealing a smile. He snickered. “I thought so.”
“How will we decide who beds whom?” Shivawn asked.
“My elite will go first, from the highest ranked to the lowest.” The elite had fought in more wars, were stronger, faster and needed sex more than an average solider. “I have no need to choose, of course.”
Broderick rubbed his hands together. “How soon can we leave?”
There was no reason to wait and every reason to hurry. “We leave now.”
CHAPTER TWO
A BAREFOOT BAY destination wedding. Complete with a wide expanse of glistening beach, crashing cerulean waves, a magical pink-gold sunset and a warm, sultry breeze. White rose petals formed a line along the fine-grained sand; as the wind blew, a few of those petals danced and twirled away. The couple even now pledging their undying love stared deeply into each other’s eyes, their hands clutched tightly, their lips parted in expectation of the coming kiss.
They presented a beautiful sight—but Shaye Holling only wanted to gag.
However, she maintained her smile, brittle though it was, and fought the urge to adjust her ill-fitting seashell bikini top. The grass skirt itched her calves.
The more horrid-looking the bridesmaids, the more exquisite the bride, eh?
Thanks, Mom.
Yep. Her mother was the bride.
Shaye shifted uncomfortably, her shoulders burning. She’d been standing in the sunlight for only half an hour, but her ultrapale skin had already turned a lovely shade of lobster red.
In fact, the richly dressed crowd of onlookers no longer eyed the bride and groom. Instead, they stared at Shaye.
And why not? Red skin. White hair. Brown eyes. Blue seashells. Green skirt. I’m a freaking rainbow.
She shifted again and dang it, her seashells dipped, forcing her to adjust.
Silver lining: a new idea for her business, Anti-Cards, popped into her mind.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Because of you, I found religion. I finally believe in hell.
She sighed. Her mother’s long silvery-white hair—so like Shaye’s own—waved down her back, a perfect mimic of the creamy satin slip dress billowing at her ankles. Nowhere was there a woman more gorgeous than Tamara soon-to-be Waddell. No one more surgically enhanced. No one else who went through men like sexual Kleenex.
Okay. There was probably someone else who went through men like sexual Kleenex. But come on! This was her mom’s sixth marriage.
Tamara looked over at her and frowned. Back straight, Shaye, she mouthed. Smile.
A straight back displays your breasts to their best advantage, Shaye.
A smile is honey and men are flies, Shaye.
Do you want to die alone, Shaye?
Shaye straightened her shoulders to make her mother happy and pretended to focus on the minister.
“‘To love, honor and cherish...’” His smooth baritone created a perfect harmony with the gentle lap of waves.
Mostly, she heard love, blah, blah, blah.
Love. How she despised the word. People used love as an excuse to do ridiculous things.
He cheated on me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.
He hit me, but I’m going to stay with him because I love him.
He stole every penny from my savings, but I’m not going to press charges because I love him.
Her mother had said each of those things at one time or another.
And how many times had Tamara’s boyfriends groped Shaye herself, claiming they’d fallen in love with her?
Her, a mere child.
Shaye’s father was another prime example of the “love is all that matters” idiocy.
I can’t live with you and your mom, Shaye. I don’t love her anymore. I love Glenda.
His secretary. Of course, after Glenda had lost her sparkle, he’d fallen for Charlene, then Kasey, then Morgan.
When Morgan divorced him to be with another man, Shaye sent him an I’m so sorry card. What she’d really wanted to send was a Finally getting what you deserve sucks big-time, doesn’t it? card, but none had been available—the very reason she’d started making her own.
Over the years, her Anti-Card business had only grown. There were a lot of people out there who wanted to tell someone to screw off—in a fun way.
She worked close to eighty hours a week, but she loved every second. A love that would never come back to bite her.
Thanks to popular cards like I’m so miserable without you, it’s almost like you’re here and You can do more with a kind word and a gun than with just a kind word, she provided jobs for twenty-three like-minded men and women and made more money than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Life, for the weird-looking little girl who’d only ever disappointed her parents, was finally...not good, not really, but good enough.
She sighed.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister said.
Amid joyous applause, the brow-lifted, cheek-implanted groom laid a wet one on Tamara, who returned the kiss with vigor.
How long would this marriage last?
Not my problem. Soon Shaye would be on a plane, returning to Cincinnati and her quiet little apartment. No family. Few friends. Absolutely zero romance.
Life would be worth living again.
The glowing couple turned and strolled down the aisle, hand in hand. The lyrical thrums of a harp echoed behind them.
Daughter duty done at last. As everyone else filed toward the reception tent, Shaye inched closer to the sandy shore, moving away from the masses, escape within her grasp.
“Where are you going, silly?” A bridesmaid latched on to her arm with a surprisingly intense grip. “Remember, we’re supposed to take pictures and serve the guests.”
She swallowed a groan. Basically, the torture had only just begun.
* * *
AFTER AN HOUR of posing for a photographer who finally gave up trying to make the antisocial daughter of the bride smile, Shaye served cake to a line of champagne-guzzling guests. As expected. Most of those guests ignored her, merely grabbing a plate and ambling away. A few tried to talk to her, but quickly retreated when she snapped a cranky reply.
When the line stopped progressing, she glanced up, her eyes narrowed. A man—one of the groomsmen—had claimed his dessert but hadn’t stepped out of the way. Instead, he grinned at her.
“No, thank you,” she said, being preemptive in case that grin meant Let’s get our flirt on.
He balanced the cake in one hand and swirled his champagne flute with the other. His green eyes twinkled with merriment. “I’ll take a little slice of you if you’re serving it.”
Wow. Talk about inappropriate.
Should she throat punch him now or later?
Being nice is a choice, her therapist once told her. You don’t have to be cruel to others, physically or emotionally, to get your point across. All you need to do is communicate your desires in a firm but polite manner.
“I’m not serving myself to anyone.” Choose your attitude. Communicate your desires. “I’m not interesting in flirting, either.” Good? Good.
Groomsman’s grin only broadened. “How about a dance? I’ll do all the flirting, and you can simply enjoy the fruits of my labors.”
“No, thank you,” she repeated. She turned to the man standing behind him and handed over a plate. “Sorry for your wait, sir.”
Groomsman’s grin slipped a little. He drained his glass and set the empty on the table, exactly where it didn’t belong. “I get the feeling your mother...exaggerated about the best way to approach you. I should probably—”
“Shaye, darling,” her mother called airily. The scent of her expensive perfume wafted as she floated to Shaye’s side, blending with the aroma of sugar and spice. “Wonderful. You’ve already met your new stepbrother, Preston.”
Stepbrother? Well, that showed exactly how much contact Shaye had had with her mom these past few years. She hadn’t known groom number six had children. Actually, she hadn’t even met her newest daddy until an hour before the wedding.
Shaye glanced at Preston. “Nice to meet you.”
“A true pleasure,” he said, a little unsure.
He was a very handsome man, but he wasn’t even close to her type: absent.
She gathered two plates to pass to the couple behind him. Communicate desire. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must finish serving the guests before there’s a revolt.” A few ladies at the back of the line looked ready to claw out her eyes just to eat the jelly inside.
Tamara uttered a strained laugh. “There’s no reason to be rude, Shaye. You can do your duties while getting to know your new brother.”
“No, thank you.” He wouldn’t be her brother for long. No reason to forge a relationship already doomed to fail.
Her mother hissed, “I hate when you speak those three little words.”
“Why? They’re polite.”
“You,” her mother said, pointing to one of the other horrendously clad bridesmaids. “Take over the cake. Shaye, you will come with me.”
Strong fingers curled around Shaye’s wrist. A second later she was being dragged out of the reception tent to the edge of the beach.
Sand squished between her sandaled toes as a warm, salty breeze wrapped itself around her, swishing her grass skirt over her knees. Sunlight had faded completely. Now slivers of ethereal moonlight illuminated their path. Waves sang a gentle, soothing song.
Her mom’s velvety-brown eyes—eyes exactly like her own—narrowed slightly. She dropped Shaye’s hand as if contact could cause premature wrinkles. “Do you want to kill my hopes and dreams? Because that’s what you’re doing.”
Shaye wrapped her arms around her middle. “Your hopes and dreams...for me?”
“Of course for you! At the rate you’re going, you’re going to die alone, not just unloved but despised. I’ll never have a grandbaby.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dying alone. I imagine it’s quite peaceful.”
“Would it kill you to be nice?” Tamara smoothed a wisp of hair from her face. “To pretend you have a heart for just a few hours?”
That stung. Badly. “I’ll worry about me, and you worry about you, okay? This kind of upset could cause you to shrivel up like a raisin.”
Horrified, Tamara patted the skin around her eyes. “I just had Botox. I shouldn’t have a single line or wrinkle. Do you see a wrinkle? Tell me!”
A new card flashed through her mind.
There’s only one person worthy of dating you—YOU!
“Mother, you inspire me,” Shaye replied honestly.
Somehow mollified, Tamara brushed her fingertips over the side of her face. “Yes, well. I try.”
“So...are we done here?”
“No! Not even close.” Her mom stomped a high-heeled foot. “Tell me why you spurn everyone. Tell me why you never date.”
She used to date. She’d quickly discovered men never called when they said they would. Most hadn’t been interested in getting to know her as a person; they’d wanted to get her out of her clothing. Some guys had admired other women while they were out with her.
Some had lied straight up. One had used her for her money. Another had cheated on her.
Relationships were too much trouble for too little reward.
Shaye twirled a strand of the grass skirt around her finger. Instead of explaining her reasons to her mother, she said, “I love you, and I’ll call you when you return from your honeymoon. Now I’m going home.”
“You’re not going anywhere, young lady. Not until you’ve apologized to Preston.” Tamara shoved a finger in her face. “You treated him shabbily, and I won’t have it.”
Had she treated him shabbily?
Shaye valued and prized honesty, and that’s what she’d given him. Shouldn’t he thank her?
Would she ever understand the complexity of human interactions?
“Mother. Nannies raised me.” A gentle reminder. “Your orders hold no sway with me.”
The color drained from Tamara’s cheeks. “But... I’m your mother.”
“And I’m the Ice Princess of Bitterslovakia, the Grand Duchess of Rancorstonia and the Queen of Hostileland.” The many names Tamera had called her over the years.
Waves splashed in the distance as her mother snapped, “All I’ve ever wanted was a nice, normal daughter. Instead I’m stuck with you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You won’t be happy until you’ve ruined my wedding.”
Fighting the newest sting, Shaye allowed a familiar icy numbness to encompass her. The same numbness she’d relied on during her childhood. A sweet relief against depression and desolation.
Tamara stared past her. “Conner tried to tell me. You’re jealous of me. Admit it! I should have disowned you long ago. Conner says negativity must be purged to allow positivity to flourish.”
Wow. Of all the things her mother had said over the years, that little gem might have cut the deepest.
She thinks I’m the problem.
Wow. Just...wow!
As a little girl, Shaye had craved her mother’s attention, approval and adoration more than breath. But nothing she’d tried had worked. Not gifts or fits or pretending to be the woman’s shadow. Once, Shaye had even run away.
The police had found her, and the nanny had come to pick her up.
“Why don’t you do us both a favor and take responsibility for your own life,” Shaye said, her voice as cold as her internal armor.
The tears began to pour down Tamara’s cheeks. “Conner and I wanted so badly for this day to be perf—” Her eyes widened and glazed with lust. “Perfect,” she finished on a dreamy sigh. “Hmm. So perfect.”
Her voice had dropped to a husky purr.
“Mother?”
“Man.” Tamara stretched out her arms. “My man.”
“I don’t understand.” Shaye dragged her gaze to the ocean—her mouth fell open in shock.
There, rising from the water like primitive sea gods, were six gloriously tall, muscled barbarians. The moon glowed behind them reverently, providing each male with a golden halo.
The warriors were shirtless, revealing washboard abs and skin so tanned it made her think liquid gold had been poured over st
eel. They looked like supermodels. Only better. Yes, so much better.
Unbelievable...surreal...magnificent.
As the six warriors focused on Shaye, molten air snagged in her lungs, melting her precious ice armor.
The urge to strip and splay herself atop a table to offer her body as the dinner buffet bombarded her. She would be an all-you-can-eat buffet. No charge.
She moistened her lips. Her mouth watered, her skin tingling, and her stomach clenched.
I’m...turned on? By strangers?
What’s wrong with me?
The men continued to prowl toward her. They were so close she could see the silvery water droplets sliding down their chests and gathering in their navels.
Other droplets slid lower...
Her gaze snagged on the man in the middle, and she forgot how to blink.
Dangerous, her most feminine instincts whispered. Lethal.
He was taller than the rest of the group, his dark blond hair hanging in a wet tangle around features that had been chiseled by a master. His eyes... Oh, glory hallelujah, his eyes. They were blue-green, neither color blending with the other but standing alone, so wickedly mesmerizing she felt the pull of them all the way to her bones.
Her nipples hardened, and an ache suddenly throbbed between her legs.
There was something wild about him. Something untamed and savage. His confident swagger, perhaps. The deceptively calm glint in his expression that said he did what he pleased, when he pleased.
As she stared at him, he stared at her. He studied her face, searing arousal flickering in those magnificent eyes, the blue-green deepening and mixing at last, becoming smoldering turquoise.
Raw, masculine perfection.
“Mine,” her mom said on a wispy catch of breath. “All mine.”
A previously missed detail hit her awareness. The warriors carried swords.
They’re armed for war.
She gulped. The one in the middle cocked his finger, beckoning her to join him.
Shivering, drowning in the flood of his maleness, she struggled to shake her head no.
Go to him, her stupid whoremones beseeched.
Forbidden Craving Page 2
