by S. K. Yule
He flashed a toothy grin. “Let’s not argue over such a trivial matter. The sooner we get your things, the sooner you can freshen up and rest.”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, and started for the front door.
She wanted to smack that smug smile off his face. She had no doubt that he was aware he rubbed her the wrong way, and it was obvious he was enjoying it. The way he shrugged off her dislike of him as easily as shooing away an errant fly irritated her even more.
“What’s your last name?”
“Powers. Why?” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, and her stomach quivered. Good God, Isabelle. Don’t turn into an idiot over a ripped bod and a pretty face.
“Mine’s Drakar.”
The way he watched her gave her the feeling that he was aware she wasn’t entirely unaffected by him.
Great, just what she needed. A guy like him to think she’d be an easy panty-dropper.
Maybe you should be. How long has it been since you were last with a man, never mind one who looks like Cyrus?
“Didn’t ask,” she replied, “but good to know.”
She stopped at the back of her car, dug her keys from her purse, and hit the button to pop the trunk.
Cyrus stopped and whistled. “Nice ride. For some reason, I didn’t imagine you driving such a sleek, mean-looking thing.”
She quirked a brow. “Why’s that? I’m not some big, chauvinistic, macho man, so I’m not allowed to drive a fast car?”
“I simply meant, you strike me as, I don’t know…the introverted type. Yet I have to admit, you don’t seem to take lip off anyone. That tells me that maybe you didn’t make friends easily as a child—possibly because of your talent? Maybe you were picked on for it? Bullied? Perhaps it’s your way of rebelling. Whatever the reason, it’s a sweet ride.”
“Thanks. I think,” she muttered under her breath, strangely perplexed by how he’d read her so well. Maybe he was just one of those people who were observant, and put pieces and clues together better and quicker than others. Maybe he was a type of Sherlock. She inwardly sighed and shushed her meandering brain.
Okay, so anyone who liked her ride couldn’t be altogether bad—could he? And now that she was trying to look anywhere but at him, she was getting a closer look at the black car parked next to hers. Talk about nice rides.
As if he could read her mind, he pointed in the direction of the car she was admiring. “That’s mine.”
He watched her closely as she smiled and tried not to let drool slide from the corner of her mouth. She would love to get her hands on that beauty. She bet it would fly down the highway with a growl that would raise goosebumps on her skin. Her obvious admiration for the slick machine couldn’t be hidden.
He flashed another smile, a genuine one that started to melt the ice wall she’d been trying to erect between them. “I can take you for a ride sometime, since it’s obvious that we both appreciate the need for speed.”
“We’ll see.”
Who was she kidding? She’d be in that damn car right now if he asked.
After she retrieved her bag from the trunk, he took it from her and refused to give it back when she reached for it. She rolled her eyes, shut the trunk, and followed him as he carried it into the house and up the stairs.
Cyrus opened the second door at the top of the stairs, went inside, and placed Isabelle’s bag on the bench at the end of the bed. “Welcome to your room.”
She barely glanced at him. “Thanks.”
Instead of immediately leaving as she’d hoped, he stood at her door, watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“Did you know that the golden brown color of your hair is a perfect complement to your creamy skin?”
She shook her head at him.
“No? How about the fact that your lips are the prettiest, softest shade of pink I’ve ever seen?”
She shook her head again.
The corner of his mouth tipped up in a lop-sided grin. “I wonder—”
“Wonder what?” Her whispered words barely made a noise from her tight throat.
“If you’d let me taste them, or if I’d get slapped for trying. Oh, hell, it would be worth a slap.”
He took a step toward her, and she backed away from him.
She didn’t want him in her room.
Oh, you want him in here, and you so want him to kiss you.
He was too big, too male, and almost too hard to resist. Yeah, he was full of himself, but she’d bet her life savings that he gave an enjoyable ride. His body was made for it.
Get a hold of yourself, girl!
No man had had such an effect on her. One minute she was irritated with him, the next, she wanted to rip his clothes off and screw his brains out.
Too long without a man. The root of her predicament—unused, overactive hormones. Once she relaxed, freshened up, and gained control of her traitorous body, she’d feel better.
Cyrus stared at her as though he wanted to eat her up, and parts of her heated in blatant invitation of his perusal. But she couldn’t forget that she’d only met him a short time ago.
A squeak escaped her when she tripped over the leg of the bench, and she lost her balance and careened back, mentally preparing for the jarring impact of hitting the floor. Before her ass made contact with wood, strong arms came around her, and in the next instant, she was splayed across Cyrus’s hard body.
Damn, he was quick, considering how big he was. He had managed to grab her, then twist himself underneath her to take the brunt of the fall.
Their faces were an inch apart, and she got a close-up, personal view of his features. He was more than gorgeous, more than sexy. He was downright sinful. His gray eyes were outlined by thick, dark lashes, and the clear silver pools seared her. He could almost be considered pretty, if not for the small lump on his nose.
She wondered if the flaw was the result of being broken. Yet even that imperfection added character to his good looks. His straight jaw was covered in a light layer of black whiskers, his lips were full, and he had an almost indiscernible cleft in his chin. A nearly overwhelming urge to run her tongue along it overcame her.
Their breaths mingled, and hers came quicker in anticipation. He slowly licked his lips, and her heart skipped a beat. Before she had time to think any more about why she shouldn’t be doing this, his mouth was on hers.
It was no gentle, first time, shy, exploratory type kiss, but a deep, possessive, experienced kiss. He devoured her mouth thoroughly and dipped his tongue between her teeth, tangling it with her own, wringing a groan from her throat.
Her body became hotter, and she bunched the fabric of his shirt in her hand where it rested on his hard chest. He firmly held her with one hand on the back of her head, fingers threaded in her hair, as he ravished her mouth.
A short, animalistic growl vibrated through his chest, and her body instinctively responded, becoming slick and ready for his possession. They devoured one another for what seemed like hours, until his other hand cupped one of her breasts, and she froze.
* * * *
Cyrus was aware the instant he’d gone too far. But, damn, the woman could kiss, and he wanted to slide his cock into her heat right there on the floor more than anything he could remember for a long time. The desire to bury himself as deep in her body as he could get, take her over and over until they were both sated and too tired to move, screamed through his veins.
She’s not ready for that, you bastard.
But that wasn’t entirely true. Her body was ready for it. Her mind was a different matter.
Regardless of how horny he was, regardless of how much she turned him on, regardless of how much it would kill him to retreat, he was not one to coerce an unwilling partner. Hell, he had never had an unwilling partner. Little Izzy was introducing him to delayed gratification. He could think of a few things he’d like to introduce her to as well.
She was pulling awa
y from him even as he imagined pulling her tighter. She scrambled off him, and before he got up from the floor, he took a couple of deep breaths, praying he’d be able to walk without too much pain from the raging hard-on he’d developed.
She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Under normal circumstances, he’d probably find the horror painted across her pretty features amusing, but his sudden case of blue balls was interfering with his sense of humor.
She wanted him. He wasn’t being vain. It was the simple truth. But he’d have to watch his step with her. He was unprepared for the intense lust she had provoked in him, the need to protect, to possess.
He was fully aware of his attraction to her. He simply hadn’t been expecting the level to which that attraction skyrocketed.
“Look, Izzy, I—”
* * * *
“Cyrus, please just go.”
Isabelle hugged her arms around her middle. Her knees were weak, and he had the nerve to stand there looking sexy as hell, even after they’d just rolled around on the floor. He wasn’t even trying to look gorgeous. It came naturally to him, as did his apparent smug satisfaction over what they’d just done.
He started to speak, but she cut him off. “I can’t do this right now. Please leave, okay?”
What the hell is wrong with me? I just met the man, and I’m all over him like a horny teenager.
Maybe she should sleep with him, and get him out of her system.
She ran her gaze over his body and let out a shaky breath. Yeah, right. If he ever got inside her, he’d never be out of her system. He fueled intense feelings in her too fast and too easily. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get burned by this one.
“I’ll go,” he said, “but don’t think for one second that I’m going to ignore what’s happening between us.”
“There is nothing happening between us.”
Unfortunately.
He closed the distance between them, bent down, took her face between his hands, and brought his lips within an inch of her own. “Keep telling yourself that, Izzy.”
Her breath caught, as she waited for his lips to take hers once again.
Instead, he turned and slipped out the door.
Frustration and anger engulfed her. Frustration because he didn’t kiss her again, and anger because she wanted him to.
My name’s Isabelle, not Izzy. Although, she was finding that she was starting to like it when he called her by the nickname. The tone of his gravelly, deep voice curling around her name—the full-length version or shortened one, didn’t matter which—was enough to send butterflies of anticipation dancing in her tummy. He was overwhelming. What was wrong with her, reacting like that to someone she barely knew in such a wanton way?
She decided to take a quick shower and change clothes before heading down to dinner. Hopefully, the water would help cool her overactive hormones. She had planned to rest, but that was out of the question now. Thanks to Cyrus, her body was humming with energy.
* * * *
Cyrus stripped off his clothes and turned the knob marked Cold. He stepped under the freezing spray of the shower, barely flinching at the sting against his skin, and stood under the water for a long time, refusing to relieve himself of his horniness with his own hand.
He had gone too long without a body, and when he came for the first time in this one, it would be inside a woman, even if it killed him to wait.
Not just any woman. He wanted to come inside Izzy.
He gritted his teeth against the aching throb in his groin. In the end, despite the cold, his willpower was what finally succeeded in encouraging his erection to subside…for the time being.
Chapter Six
Dinner was an awkward event for Isabelle. By the time she’d made it to the dining room, Cyrus was already standing on the far side of the room, wine glass in hand, talking to Scarlet.
He took her breath away, dressed in all black—jeans that hugged his perfect thighs and ass, boots, and a silk shirt that showcased his wide shoulders and muscled chest. She imagined the six-pack-abs under that shirt. She hadn’t seen them, but she’d felt them when she’d been draped over him earlier.
She closed her eyes to calm her traitorous body, and when she opened them, his unsettling gaze rested upon her, watching her as if he could read every one of her thoughts.
Her cheeks flamed hot from embarrassment. If he were able to read her thoughts right now, she’d wither up and die. A part of her wished she could read his, though, or…
Maybe not. She was a jumbled, confused mess inside, and wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted at the moment.
Scarlett poured some dark wine into a glass and brought it to Isabelle. “This is the most delightful wine. You’ll love it. It is sweet, with just a pinch of spice for kick.”
“Thank you, Scarlett.”
Needing something to distract her attention away from Cyrus, Isabelle took the glass with shaky fingers and drank it down... Damn. It was the best wine she’d ever tasted.
“Oh! That is wonderful.”
What did you expect? A five-dollar bottle from the liquor store around the corner? The woman was loaded, and she could afford the best of everything.
But Scarlett didn’t strike her as one of those rich people who enjoyed rubbing their wealth under everyone else’s nose. She seemed like a warm, caring, genuine lovely person. Isabelle had had a lot of wealthy clients over the years, and while she could honestly say most of them had been pleasant, none had Scarlett’s personality. And none came close to wearing the amount of makeup Scarlett wore. Yet, that particular attribute—one that would appear gaudy on most—only added to her character.
Cyrus swaggered over to them with the wine and refilled Isabelle’s glass. She thanked him and went to stand by the sideboard—made of marble and wood, of course—to examine the picture that hung above it. Not normally much of a drinker, tonight she would make an exception. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she had every right to indulge on occasion.
She didn’t miss the way Cyrus’s gaze rested on her as she studied the painting on the wall. Nor did she miss the smirk on his beautiful lips, the one that told her he knew she was aware of him and trying hard to ignore him. He made her uncomfortable in a way that would be good if they were sleeping together. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, or that he made the room feel smaller simply by being in it.
His impressive frame towered over her. He intimidated her. Not in a frightening sort of way, but in a pushing-the-limits-of-her-control sort of way. Her body reacted to him whether she wanted it to or not. His presence commanded attention, and she wanted to give it to him. Even if it was in the form of straddling his thighs and sinking over his thickness.
She cleared her throat and hoped he’d magically disappear, but those cool, sexy eyes continued roaming over her as if she were the one on the menu tonight. Why did she have to wear the blue dress this evening? She’d been right about it. It made her feel feminine and sexy. That, along with the wine and Cyrus’s casual, flagrant perusal, made her lightheaded. Staring at the picture on the wall for five minutes now, if someone asked her to describe it, she wouldn’t be able to. Her brain was preoccupied with Cyrus.
The object of her frustration stepped up close behind her. His breath, spicy from the wine, fanned over her cheek and neck, warming her skin. “So, Izzy, tell me something. How are you able to allow spirits into your body and live to tell about it?”
She spun around to face him, startled by the question. He talked as though he was aware that it was something that shouldn’t be possible. Who in the hell was he exactly? She narrowed her eyes, her mind now more focused on the inner man than the outer. He knew a lot more than he was letting on.
Two could play this game. “How is it that you even know I shouldn’t live to tell about it?”
The sly grin that slowly tipped his lips up at the corners told her he’d meant to throw out the bait—bait that she’d willingly taken like a fish after
a worm on a hook. “I know about a lot of things, Izzy.”
She gritted her teeth, refusing to tell him to stop calling her Izzy anymore. He did it to get under her skin, and it was working, but there was no need to let him in on the secret.
He slowly swirled the remaining liquid around in his glass as he waited for her response.
Isabelle noticed their hostess was missing. “Where’s Scarlett?”
“She went to tell the chef we are ready for dinner. So you see, there’s no reason to avoid my question, since we are alone.”
How was it that she’d missed Scarlett’s retreat? “It’s just something I can do,” she mumbled.
“No. I don’t think it’s just something, but I agree that it is something only you can do.”
When she caught a hint of movement in his eyes, Isabelle’s breath left her with a whoosh. It was almost as if something—or someone—was inside his body with him, a shadow that, for a split second, blotted out the gray of his irises.
She stared for several moments and decided it had been her imagination. “Again, Cyrus, how would you know?”
“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you, Izzy?”
“Because you’ve been so easy on me? Besides,” she said with a shrug, “why should I? You haven’t exactly given me a reason why I should explain anything to you. In fact, if I remember correctly, you all but called me a scammer.”
He laughed, the rich, deep baritone curling her toes. “Let’s say I have studied souls and their existence extensively.”
“Why?”
“It is of great interest to me, and I know no human has ever been capable of doing what you did tonight.”
She raised a brow at him. What did he mean by human? “Oh, but there are other nonhuman things that can, I suppose?”
Now it was his turn to shrug. His broad shoulders gave way more emphasis to his gesture than her smaller ones had. “You have an ability that many people doubt. Most wouldn’t believe it even after witnessing you do it. Is it such a stretch of the imagination to believe there are things you don’t believe in that might actually exist?”
