Prince of Stone (Imperia)

by Gena Showalter

  Oh, look at that. She’d just used the word freaking without having to correct herself. Gold star for me!

  Kiss him.

  Gah! Not this again. But…the desire plagued her. Should she just kiss him and get it over with? Maybe the desire would ebb, then.

  “Nope. Doesn’t matter. I can’t do it,” she said, even as she traced the cold, hard ridges of his abdomen.

  A masculine moan seemed to reverberate in her ears, just as before. This time, she didn’t jump away.

  Kiss me, Katie.

  Statues were not real, and they couldn’t project messages with their eyes. Yet, the urge to obey besieged her.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

  But her resistance was already beginning to crumble. With the garden in the backyard, twilight and foliage offered a shadowy protection. No one would ever know what transpired here.

  When she dropped her gaze to his deliciously plump lips, the remaining resistance took a bullet to the heart. She would do it. She would give him a kiss. But only one! It would be short and sweet. A G-rated peck. There would be absolutely nothing sexual about it. Seriously, on a sizzle scale, he’d only get one star from her.

  Who are you trying to convince?

  Fine! “I’m going to end up with a stone statue groom and pebble children, aren’t I?” she muttered.

  Katie cradled his cheeks with her hands and leaned closer…closer still. Contact, her lips meeting his. An electrical current lanced her. Her eyes slid shut of their own volition, ribbons of heat wrapping around her.

  Her every thought tapered off except one: This is what a kiss should be like.

  She glided her hands into his thick, silky hair, then sank her nails into his scalp, holding him captive. His lips were so much softer than she imagined. Warmer, too. Almost lifelike. Okay, definitely lifelike.

  Heaving a breath and detecting a hint of sandalwood, she broke the kiss to rest her head upon his shoulder. A clean, male scent wafted to her nose as she imagined his arms banding around her. He would run his hands down the ridges of her spine, cup her butt and ease her closer. Imagined she could feel his breath fanning against her nape, every beat of his heart racing in time to hers.

  “I truly am insane,” she whispered. “If you were real, I’d gobble you up in one tasty bite.”

  Wait. She’d combed her fingers through his silky hair? What’s more, his arms had banded around her.

  “I assure you I’m very real,” a deep voice proclaimed, “and I look forward to your devouring. You have my permission to proceed.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE MAN’S VOICE was pure unadulterated sin. All smoke, gravel and sex. Plus, he had a panty-melting accent. Another gold star from me!

  Shocked and confused by the turn of events, she snapped to attention, staring up at a flesh-and-blood man with dark hair and blue eyes that glowed with wicked promise. The most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. But, but…

  Where was the freaking stone?

  Expression bewildered, he stretched his arms overhead, then rolled his neck, leaned left and right, and shook out each of his legs.

  Rapture replaced the bewilderment, a slow smile lifting the corners of his lips, revealing straight white teeth.

  Just like that, liquid heat pooled between her legs. He moved with grace and innate sensuality; she could watch him forever and never get bored.

  Except he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be real. Dizzy, she closed her eyelids and counted to ten, expecting him to be back to normal by the time she refocused.

  Please, Lord, let him go back to normal.

  Four. Three. Two. She cracked open her eyelids an-n-nd her shoulders sagged. The warrior’s image remained the same: human. And hard.

  Her heart thudded against her ribs, panic razing her calm. How could a stone man become a flesh-and-blood one, with bronzed, kissable skin? How could he hold her in his embrace? Or move? How could she feel the heat of his body seeping through her clothes?

  “You’re…you’re…” As mystified as she was, she struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Wait. Maybe you aren’t.”

  “I have no idea what you are saying, katya.”

  Katya? Tentative, she poked at his shoulder.

  Contact. Heat. He was real. He wasn’t a figment of an overactive imagination. And he was still hard. Not that she was looking down. Well, not anymore.

  There had to be some kind of explanation for this. A thousand questions whirled inside her head, all complex. What she ended up asking? “H-how? I bought this property several weeks ago, and I’ve walked through this garden almost every single day since. You’ve been right here, hard and cold and stone. You’re a statue,” she babbled. “I know you’re a statue.”

  “Nay, katya. I was a statue.” His eyes widened with awe and disbelief, reminding her of a little kid who’d just discovered Santa had visited. “Now I am free!”

  “Free?” Her confusion amped up. But so did her attraction. He was a total snack. “Free from what?”

  Ignoring her newest question, he closed his eyes and muttered something in a language she’d never before heard, his tone urgent. Then he refocused and scanned the area. Fierce disappointment eradicated his smile.

  What the frick is going on? “Explain how this is possible,” she said, a pleading quality in her voice. “How were you stone seconds ago, yet a man now? Were you pretending to be a statue to punk me? Maybe you’re a hallucination and my mind is tricking me into thinking you’re tangible. That makes sense, right?”

  “Nay.” His features softened as he reached out to touch her cheekbone. “You are beyond lovely.”

  “Really?” He was the first guy to ever say so.

  He says one nice thing and you forget the situation?

  Her wits finally sparked to life, shouting, Danger, danger! She didn’t know this very real, very muscle-y man, and she certainly didn’t know what he planned to do with her.

  Icy fingers of fear crept down her spine. Ready to dart to her truck and speed away, she stepped back and spun. A huge mistake. She’d forgotten she stood upon a dais, several feet above the grassy foundation. Now she hurtled toward the ground.

  The man could have caught her, but he didn’t even try. He was too busy stretching. All she could do was twist midair so she landed on her butt rather than her face. The ensuing thwack hurt, impact knocking the air from her lungs and whisking locks of hair over her eyes.

  Once she regained her breath, she jumped to her feet. But she didn’t run as she’d first intended. Be it shock or fascination, she remained firmly rooted in place, staring up at him.

  He stepped off the dais and landed on his feet, his erection bobbing. Not that she was looking down. Gaze heating, he perused her curves.

  Katie gulped. He was so tall, taller than anyone she’d ever met, and she had to look up, up, up to meet his stare. His shoulders were so broad and his muscle mass so stacked, she felt breathtakingly feminine and surprisingly vulnerable for the first time in her life. A total dream come true, and dam—dang it! The longer she peered at him, the faster her common sense evaporated.

  “I…you…” Come on! Open mouth, speak words.

  He took a step toward her.

  No, no. Retreat! “Stay where you are,” she commanded as she inched away.

  He raised his chin. “I mean only to ascertain that you are unharmed. Women are weak, delicate creatures, and you collided quite forcefully with the ground.”

  Wait, wait, wait. Did he say “weak” and “delicate” and reference her? She narrowed her eyes, a lightbulb going off inside her mind. Her brothers must have paid this man to paint his skin and linger nearby, then position himself on the dais anytime she neared.

  That was a ridiculous amount of effort for a prank, but no one except her family spouted that “women are weak” nonsense.

  How the guy had gone from silver to bronze in a split second, she didn’t know. “Gray, Nick, Erik, Denver.” No need to shout for Brian,
the fifth brother, who lived elsewhere. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called, spinning to make sure her voice carried in every direction. “I know you’re here. Don’t be afraid. I’ll only kill you twice.”

  Mr. Stone crouched down in an attack position and scrutinized the garden. His muscles bulged with tension. “Your enemies lurk nearby?”

  “Not enemies. Idiots.” Katie shouted for her brothers again. “The joke is getting old. Come out. I know this is an actor.” She rammed an index finger into his hard chest.

  “I am not called Anactor.”

  A small kernel of unease infiltrated her mind, like a pebble in her shoe or a thorn in her paw. “I mean it,” she yelled, sharper than before, “come out or I’ll give this guy the Kick of Death you taught me.”

  “So there is no danger to you?” the man asked.

  Only to my sanity. “No danger.” And no brothers, apparently.

  He relaxed his stance.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “I am Jorlan, and you are Katie.”

  Jorlan. Had he…was it possible…could his transformation have happened maybe possibly…supernaturally?

  She’d never been a big believer in vampires, werewolves, aliens or zombies but…maybe.

  No, no, no. What are you doing? Looking for the spectacular rather than the probable got people into trouble. This guy, he was just a man. A man who had a lot of explaining to do. Namely, was he a psycho killer or a practical jokester sent by her brothers?

  She chewed on her bottom lip. With her luck, she’d gotten the psycho killer. “Maybe I should go,” she said, trying for breezy but getting stormy.

  When she inched backward once again, he didn’t act as if he cared one way or another. Would a psycho killer really let her go without a fight? She halted.

  Curiosity battled pragmatism as she observed the man who’d appeared from nowhere, taking in every detail, searching for answers. He was just so…big. One flick of his wrist could snap her neck like a twig. Yet, he’d touched her so gently, belying any menacing intentions.

  Hello, walking contradiction.

  She must have blinked or lost focus, because she didn’t notice any movement, yet suddenly he was just in front of her, looking at her, into her.

  He traced a fingertip along the bridge of her nose, saying, “I thank you for breaking the curse. But now we must find a sorcerer. Come.” He said no more, just slipped around her and strode off, expecting her to follow.

  Heartbeat, heartbeat, heartbeat. She watched him, mesmerized by his, well, butt. What? It was the truth. He had hot buttered buns, baby, and she wanted a bite.

  Wait. Curse? Sorcerer? “Where are you going to find a sorcerer?” The man had materialized in her garden, wearing nothing but a smile, and he thought he could spew nonsense and leave without offering an explanation?

  Oh, that ticked her off, eradicating any lingering fears. Was he big enough to hurt her? Yes, no question. Was she mad enough to inflict some major damage of her own? Try me.

  “I demand you tell me why you’re here and how you transformed from stone to man,” she called.

  In a graceful motion at odds with his size, he spun to face her. A wistful glint appeared in his eyes, yet his body radiated potent fury. He is the human equivalent of a fire that blazes across a night sky, somehow both hot and cold at the same time.

  Instinct shouted: Run.

  Her temper bellowed: Bring it on!

  Like a vengeful hunter inspecting cornered prey, he walked around her and snapped, “A woman like you has no right to issue such a demand to a warrior like me.”

  Excuse me? “This woman has every right to do whatever the hell she pleases. I own this land, which means I own you!” Wait. That sounded bad. “I mean, I own you when you’re a stone statue.

  “Obviously, your brain is still a hunk of stone, so I won’t waste my time explaining all the reasons why you are a misogynistic douchebag.” She closed the distance and latched on to his arm to keep him rooted there. “Sorcerer hunting or not, you can’t go around naked.”

  He arched a brow, an insolent salute, and glared at the hand on his bicep before meeting her gaze. “You know not your place, female.”

  “My place? My place!” His words had expressed displeasure, while his voice had been husky, rich and carnal, his eyes heavy lidded and erotically inviting. Which made her think he’d just suggested her “place” was his bed. “I do what I want, take what I want, say what I want and stay where I want,” she snapped.

  “And what do you want to take next, then?”

  Gah! He’d used the carnal tone again, causing her nerve endings to spark to new life. If she gave him the slightest encouragement, he would strip her down and ravish her, wouldn’t he?

  Ravish. What an underappreciated word. And action. “I want to take…this opportunity to tell you I’m not interested in you romantically.”

  Far from offended, he offered her a patronizing smile. “I am confident you fell in love with me at first sight. Why else would you walk these gardens multiple times a day for several weeks, staring at me? Why else would you kiss me?”

  Heat blistered her cheeks. “I’m not in love with you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not—yet—but you still wish to sleep with me.”

  “I will not be sleeping with you.” Maybe. Probably. “I’ll only sleep with the man I love. Like I said, you don’t qualify.”

  He frowned. “I don’t qualify—yet. But, my philosophy differs from yours. I do not think I can fall in love with a woman unless I sleep with her.”

  “That is…that…argh!”

  “My freedom is only temporary. To forever break my curse, I must win your heart. Something I know I can do—in bed.”

  Was she alarmed or excited by the thought of his seduction?

  Whatever the emotion, she’d already lost all claims to sanity. Any other woman would have run screaming for help already.

  “In the meantime,” he continued, as if he hadn’t rocked her world, “I must find a sorcerer who wields magic powerful enough to open a vortex.”

  That was his second mention of a sorcerer. And what did he mean, magic and a vortex? “Are you on drugs or something?”

  “Nay, I am on grass.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a stubborn stance that told her he was used to receiving instant compliance.

  “Grass, like marijuana?” she asked.

  He motioned to the ground. “Like grass.”

  Okay, clearly they had some kind of communication barrier. “Let’s backtrack a little. I know of no, uh, sorcerers. As for the bedding, I give you permission to find another partner. Have fun. Bye.” She waved him off.

  An invisible mask seemed to evaporate, revealing immense pain and fury, but also desolation. With one glimpse, he tied her stomach into a thousand knots.

  “We do have psychics,” she rushed out, willing to say anything to wipe away that desolation. Too bad all psychics were fake.

  His brow knitted together. “Psychics?”

  Was he purposely acting perplexed or did he truly not know? “Psychics claim they can predict the future, but they can’t. Not really. No one can.”

  He paused as he considered her words. “Magic is real. As I seek someone who wields it, aye, your psychic will do nicely.” Despite his now amiable tone, cold determination tightened the line of his jaw. “As for the bedding,” he added, mocking her. “It will be spectacular.”

  Mmm. Agreed.

  Argh! She might as well send him an STD for the big event.

  Crap! STD. She’d meant “save the date,” not “sexually transmitted disease.” “Let’s drop this subject,” she grated. “I’m not having sex with you, and that’s that.”

  His blue, blue eyes iced over—the only warning she received before he advanced. His long stride forced her to walk backward, until she bumped into a statue. She expected a surge of fear but…she experienced a storm of lust.

  Unacceptable! She didn’t know this
man. Not the big things, and certainly not the little things. Like, did he prefer tea or coffee? Fact: tea drinkers thought they were better than coffeenians like Katie. Did he only make decisions based on his astrological sign? Annoying! It removed any kind of personal blame for a person’s decisions. Did he get tired of women as soon as he slept with them? Probably. Because he had a penis, the world’s permission stick for bad behavior. Yet…

  Her lust refused to fade, her long-ignored body hungry for pleasure. Her nipples puckered, and her core ached. Next thing she knew, she was arching her back to push her hips forward and grind against his erection.

  Shivers plagued her, as if she’d been horny for eighty-four years, and she sucked in a breath. At the moment, sleeping with him didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

  “Tell me you do not want me, katya, and mean it. Do it without gyrating on my rod. Only then will I believe you.”

  The low timbre of his voice held the steely edge of a sword, and even that was an aphrodisiac.

  Crappity, crap, crap. The man oozed power and authority, challenge and charisma, and she was one hundred percent into it.

  No, no. Fight his appeal! Breathless she said, “About the psychic.” She flattened her palms on his chest and pushed, but he didn’t budge. In fact, his irises seemed to harden back into stone. “All business establishments are closed until tomorrow morning.”

  Hold up. Had she truly thought the word back? So she believed he’d been stone, and what? He’d changed into a man, à la the movie Mannequin? Nope. No way.

  “When the sun rises, you will take me to see a sorcerer. Promise me.” His lips parted as he awaited her response, giving a hint of the pearly whites beneath. “Now, let’s backtrack again.”

  “Mention sex one more time,” she said, “and I won’t take you to see a psychic. Why can’t you take yourself, anyway?”

  He ground his teeth, anger seething just below the surface of his skin. “You know this world. I do not.”

  Wow. She hadn’t expected the threat to work. Now that it had… “I’m going to ask some questions, and you’re going to answer me or…” She let him fill in the blank.

  Which he did. Accurately. His expression darkened, and he barked, “Ask.”