***
Some kind of instrumental music filtered through speakers in the ceiling as Theron sat in the kitchen watching Casey clean up the dishes from dinner. A candle in a large hurricane lamp flickered in the center of the table, casting warm light and the scent of vanilla across the room. But what held his attention wasn’t the candle or music, but rather the woman in his line of sight.
Woman. Holy Hades. A human woman. One he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. He’d changed his mind right there during dinner. When he’d held her hand in his and recognized the desire in her eyes. For some reason, the Fates had given him this respite here with her while he healed. Why should he fight it?
Her back was to him as she washed their dishes. He’d offered to help, but she’d told him to sit and relax and not irritate his injuries. If she knew what he was planning, she wouldn’t be standing there looking so at ease.
Snug jeans molded to her body like a second skin. Her simple white V-neck sweater was somehow hotter than any lingerie the Argolean gynaíkes he’d been with over the years had ever worn. Watching her, blood rushed to his groin and tightened his jeans until he had to shift in his seat to release the pressure.
He lifted the lager in his hand and took a small sip to cool the heat building in his veins. He’d had better, but this wasn’t too bad. And it beat that carbonated crap any day. Humans had some strange tastes, though this one he sort of enjoyed. And he could go on watching the woman in front of him move all night long.
Which was ironic, considering he’d given his kinsman Zander such a hard time about his unhealthy obsession with human women. And yet, here he was.
Theron’s watched her lean down and place a pan in a bottom cupboard. The denim stretched across her heart-shaped ass, the waistband dipping low over her back until he saw a glimpse of white lace peeking from beneath. His pulse kicked up and the blood roared in his head.
She opened a cupboard to her right and eased up on her toes to put a bowl away. When it was obvious she was having trouble reaching the highest shelf, he rose slowly and moved to help her. The pain in his leg had dimmed to a dull throb, but there was no reason to tell her that.
Citrus and lavender drifted to his nose when he got close, remnants of the same shampoo he’d used in her shower and something else that could have been lotion or perfume, he wasn’t sure which. He eased in behind her and took the bowl from her hand. “Let me help.”
She stiffened as their fingers brushed. The muscles in her arms and legs went rigid. His chest brushed her back as he set the bowl on the top shelf, and his elbow ran down her forearm in a barely-there brush of skin against skin.
“Thank you,” she said softly, easing back down on her feet. The motion brought his hips into contact with that delectable ass he’d been admiring before, and the erection he’d been fighting all night came roaring back.
He knew she felt it because she went still. All through dinner, as they’d made mindless small talk about the area and the lake and her neighbors, she’d been looking at him like she wasn’t sure what he would do next. For a while he’d thought it was fear making her wary, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. The way her body tensed, the way she drew in a sharp breath and held it without moving at their contact was a clear sign of arousal.
Neither of them spoke, and in the silence he could hear her heart beating its erratic rhythm. He lifted a lock of hair from her shoulder and ran it between his thumb and forefinger. It was smooth and silky, and he had a wicked desire to see the dark mass spill over his abdomen as her lips trailed south along his body. He lifted the lock to his nose and sniffed. “Oranges or grapefruit?”
She swallowed. “Bed Head.”
His brow lifted, and he knew she caught his confused expression from the corner of her eye. “It’s a type of shampoo.” She turned slowly and eased back just enough so her sweet behind brushed against him and then was gone. “You really do live in an isolated area, don’t you?”
He nodded, watching the way her eyes flicked over his face as if searching for the answer to some unspoken question.
“I’m almost done here,” she said, “and it sounds like the CD ran out. Why don’t you go into the living room and find something else to listen to? The CD player’s in the entertainment center.”
At her words, he realized the speakers in the kitchen were silent. “If you wouldn’t mind, there are a few stitches left in my leg that could be removed. I could use your help.”
Her gaze flashed down to his denim-clad thigh, hovering momentarily on his growing erection. Her eyes widened slightly just before a blush crept over her cheeks. She turned quickly back to her dishes. “Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll, um, grab some supplies and meet you in the living room.”
A grin sliced across Theron’s mouth as he headed for the stereo cabinet. His leg was growing stronger by the minute, and there really was no reason to remove the few stitches that were left, as they’d be gone by the following morning, but he wasn’t above using any means he could to get his little human exactly where he wanted her.
She was, he decided as he opened the cabinet and glanced around the living room, a multitude of inconsistencies. When he’d asked how she found him behind that strip club, she’d told him she worked there. He’d tried to picture her in XScream but couldn’t. She was tall for a woman, and she definitely had the body to strip, but there was an innocence to her eyes that other humans who worked in those places lacked. The way she’d taken care of him after the attack—a stranger who’d stumbled out of a strip club, no less—was in direct opposition to the tough woman she obviously had to be in such an establishment. He tried to reconcile the two parts of her but couldn’t.
And then there was this house. Before he’d made his appearance in her kitchen, he’d taken a thorough tour and familiarized himself with both the interior and exterior. The house itself was old, the interior done mostly in white with bead-board walls and delicate crown moldings. The rooms were small, the ceiling only a foot or so above his head. The furnishings were antiques he couldn’t picture her buying, because they didn’t fit with what he’d seen in her bedroom: a red velvet club chair and fluffy gold pillows he could easily envision her sinking into. Modern art on the walls, a silver-framed mirror reflecting back into the room. Most of the house looked decorated by an elderly person. That one room didn’t.
He made a mental note to ask her about the difference, and then changed his mind. In the long run her answer wouldn’t matter. After tonight he’d never see her again.
He found the stereo equipment and was just opening the CD drawer when she walked into the room. A hint of lavender preceded her, signaling her arrival to his senses, setting off a heated reaction in his groin.
“Did you find anything worth listening to?”
He grabbed the first CD in the stack and read the cover. “Bing Crosby?”
Casey burst out laughing. He turned at the infectious sound, not entirely sure why she found his suggestion so amusing, but enjoying the reaction. If there was one thing he’d learned about humans over the last two hours, it was that they were wildly unpredictable and passionate in ways Argoleans never were.
“Is that wrong?” he asked hesitantly.
“Not if you’re eighty, I suppose.” She walked toward him and stopped so close he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her fingers brushed his as she flipped through the stack, sending a tingling along his nerve endings that, oddly, relaxed him. “Most of these were my grandmother’s. She had a thing for good ol’ Bing.” She held up two CDs with Christmas trees on the front. He knew enough about human culture to recognize the holiday. “She’d listen to these year-round. Didn’t matter if it was June or December.”
She put Bing’s CDs back and flipped a few more before she found one she liked. “Try this one. It’s mine. I’ll go grab my first-aid supplies while you do that.”
He glanced at the CD cover. A man in a white shirt and big cowboy hat looked back at him. He didn’t have a clue
what kind of music it was, but he figured if she picked it, it had to be good. Music began filtering out of the speakers as he moved to the couch and sat down.
The seat wasn’t large enough for his big body, but he stretched his legs out and relaxed back into the cushions anyway. He could hear Casey rummaging in the bathroom cabinet and smiled to himself. It had been a long time since he’d had to seduce a female. As an Argonaut, Argolean woman were his for the taking. If he wanted companionship, a crook of his finger was usually all it took.
She came back into the room and sat on the edge of the sofa just out of his reach, placing the first-aid kit on the low coffee table. “I love Kenny Chesney. He’s got the best voice.”
For a fleeting moment, he wondered just who the heck this Kenny person was and how he could find him and beat him to a pulp. Then when she started humming along to the music, he realized she was talking about the singer on the CD.
And wasn’t that just the weirdest reaction to have? If he were human, he’d have defined the feeling as jealousy, but that was an unknown emotion for an Argonaut.
He managed a wan smile.
She glanced at his face with a look of skepticism; then her gaze ran down to his legs and back up again quickly. A blush crept across her cheeks, one that warmed his blood all over again.
“You”—she cleared her throat—“are going to have to take off the pants if you want me to, ah, look at your leg.”
He fought to keep from grinning as he rose slowly from the couch, making sure to wince as if his leg was definitely hurting, and slid his hands to the top button of his jeans. Her eyes followed and froze, intent on watching what he was about to reveal.
A wicked thought occurred. And blood rushed to his groin.
Anything I want.
He popped the top button and hesitated. “I’m still a little weak, meli. I think I’m going to need your help with this. Give me your hand.”
Chapter Six
Marked (Eternal Guardians #1) Page 11
