Her throat tight with dread, she shook her head.
“Trust me, mo chroí.”
The deep timbre of his voice strummed through her. God, that was nice: the vibration, the sense of connection she felt with him, the endearment. Mo chroí. She liked the sound of it, giving the pet name more meaning than it deserved. But for some reason, she didn’t care and couldn’t fight it. Despite the craziness of the situation and all the dragon crap, it made her feel better to believe he cared for her. That she might be important to him somehow.
Tania blinked away tears. Oh, snap. Wasn’t that a beautiful piece of fiction? Special. What girl didn’t want to feel special? To be treated as precious and important. To be needed and cherished. To be front and center in her man’s world. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Heaven help her. She was a walking, talking cliché, one of those needy women who yearned for more than mere acceptance.
And as Mac clipped the first of her broken nails and she tried not to flinch, Tania wondered at herself. And when she’d become so incredibly weak-willed. Independence was a staple in her life. Like food and water, she needed it to survive. Depending on Mac to look after her wouldn’t do. Was so dangerous on so many levels, and it scared her. Autonomy—the ability to take care of herself—was the only thing she’d ever truly owned. Her mother had never possessed it. Her sister didn’t, either. She was the first in her family to go to school, to have a successful career, to make a life outside of poverty for herself.
No way should she be standing still while he cared for her. Giving it up without a fight. Or bowing to the will of a gorgeous man with a gentle touch and concern in his eyes.
As if attuned to her thoughts, Mac murmured, “Tania, honey. Everything is going to be all right. We’ll figure it out. Get you what you need.”
A lie. Boldly told and beautifully delivered.
Tania knew it the moment the words left his mouth. He could pretend all he wanted, but the dum-dum gene wasn’t a prominent one in her family tree. She wasn’t into lying to herself...and recognized the truth when she saw it. She was trapped in a cabin with a guy who could turn into a dragon. Nothing was going to be all right. It wasn’t now and wouldn’t be for a while.
Finished stacking logs in the fireplace, Mac clicked the lighter and set flame to paper. Fire curled, blackening the edges of year-old newspaper as the orange glow ate inward. A wave of heat pushed into the room, caressing his forearms and face, forcing the chill to recede. Tendrils of smoke rose, carrying the scent and sound of burning balsam into the damp air. Held by the hypnotic ripple, he stared at the flames, watching them leap upward toward the chimney flue, then pushed to his feet.
Check off job one. Now for task two.
One ear on the still-running shower and Tania, bare feet whispering across the wooden floor, Mac left the fire to its own devices and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t have far to go, just a hop, skip, and a jump away across the living room. The open plan suited him to a T, the great room living large with timber-beam ceilings, rustic wood floors, and a shitload of new furniture. His favorite part, though, was the antique dining table. Long and wide, the thing fit the space behind the sofa to perfection, looking good framed by a wall of shutter-clad windows. Ironic in a way considering he never sat at the eight-seater. No need. He always ass-planted himself at the kitchen island when he came home, so...
Yeah. Not much use for the thing.
Walking past the stools sitting beneath the countertop’s butcher-block overhang, he skirted the end of the kitchen peninsula and headed for the fridge. Not that there was anything in it. No fresh veggies or fruit, but true to his military roots, he always kept more on hand than he needed. Storms whipped up fast and died down slow around the island, and only a fool took Mother Nature for granted. So, yeah. Thanks to his solar panels, his freezer not only worked while he was away but was also well stocked. And his cupboards? Full of canned goods waiting to be used.
“No time like the present,” he murmured, all his senses tuned to the activity in the bathroom.
The rush of water told him all he needed to know. He had time. Tania was still in the shower.
His lips twitched. Jesus, she was adorable, hiding in there, avoiding the inevitable while she struggled to pull herself together. He understood her desire for control, so no problem. Tania could take all the time she needed. Could pucker into a prune in there if she wanted. The limitations of his system didn’t matter. His magic was up and running, feeding the warm water into the system to keep her well supplied.
And he refused to rush her. It wouldn’t get him anywhere but frustrated. She needed to come to terms with her new reality. Dragons...in her tidy little world, a mind-fuck of epic proportions. He should know. After a lifetime spent believing he was 100 percent human, he’d almost lost it when he woke up in dragon form the first time. So the whole lose your mind and freak out thing? Mac got it, was completely on board with her holy shit reaction.
What he didn’t like was her silence.
Frowning, Mac grabbed the freezer handle and pulled. The door opened with a hiss. He stared at the load of food inside, seeing the assortment but not really. He was an idiot. Pure. Simple. No denying the veracity of the claim. He’d scared the hell out of her underwater, then been forced to hurt her again with a pair of frickin’ nail clippers. His chest tight, he replayed her reaction: each flinch, every gasp, all the heart-wrenching whimpers. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but her hands...both were...
Jesus fucking Christ. So much for the brilliance of his air lock idea. And keeping her safe. He’d done more damage than good and—
No. That wasn’t true. Had Ivar gotten hold of her, things would be worse. For her. For him too. She’d be a prisoner at chez Razorback, being brutalized by bastards who considered rape a contact sport. The mere thought—the singular possibility—that Tania might be hurt that way put him into a tailspin. History wouldn’t repeat itself. Not with Tania. Not ever or to any other woman if he could help it.
Angela’s abduction and brutal treatment at the rogues’ hands had been bad enough. His partner had come through with Rikar’s help, but Mac knew she still struggled with what had happened. Having your will usurped, pride taken, and power rendered impotent—especially for a woman as strong as Ange—was no picnic. Healing took time. Rikar would help her with that, had already softened the impact of the emotional fallout, and yet Mac worried about her. Watched her closely. Waited for signs she needed him to step in and support her in the aftermath.
A big brother’s prerogative, he guessed. But even as he watched and waited for Ange to fall apart, a larger part of him had already shifted focus. Now he fixated on Tania, refusing to allow the same to happen to her. He’d vowed to protect her. And he would, even if that meant protecting her from himself, but...
Shit. It had almost killed him to walk away. To leave her alone in the shower after clipping her nails and using his body to warm hers. Hmm, that had felt good. To care for her. To provide what she needed the moment she required it. Okay, so it had been hell too...being that close to her without touching while she wore nothing but racy underwear.
His heart thumped harder, hammering the inside of his chest. God, what a picture she made. Dark hair flowing, her head tipped back under a steady stream of warm water. Beautiful curves on display under pink satin and black lace. So relaxed in his arms, she turned into him instead of away, soaking up the heat, accepting his nearness, letting him wash her tension away.
Grabbing a bag of tortellini, Mac slammed the freezer closed and tossed the load onto the countertop. The frozen pasta landed with a bang and slid, plastic laying down a crinkle-crinkle-zzzz sound track as Mac flipped a cabinet door open. With a quick hand, he snagged a bottle of Ragu’s finest and popped the sealed top. Tomato and the sweet scent of basil drifted. Usually the aroma was one of his favorites. Not tonight. He barely smelled the stuff. His focus was trained elsewhere...on a brainy brunette with burgundy-flecked eyes and a body to die for.
With a groan, Mac shifted, trying to ease the pressure behind his button-fly. It was a no go. He got aroused just thinking about her. Add one thought to another and—
Kaboom! Need and his libido went into orbit.
Mac swallowed. Shit on a stick. He was in so much trouble.
Rooting through the bottom cupboard, he found the right pot and set it on the front burner. Not that he needed the stove anymore. With a mental flick, he conjured water out of thin air. As the wet-and-wild hit the bottom of the pot, he brought the whole mess to a boil, ripped the bag open, and dumped the pasta in. Giving the contents a stir with nothing more than a thought, he leaned back against the edge of the countertop and stared across the cabin at the bathroom door. Jesus, he wanted to go back in there. She was probably naked by now, the lacy panties kicked into the corner of the shower stall while her bra hung over the—
“Stop thinking about it.”
Sound advice, if somewhat problematic. His dragon was out in full force, telling him to claim what his territorial side believed belonged to him. Belonged to him. Curling his hands into fists, Mac rocked back on his perch. Holy shit. Arrogant much? He clenched his teeth as possessiveness clawed at him, urging him to wrap Tania up and lay her down. He wanted his scent on her, hers all over him, to please her so well she surrendered and then begged for more.
Just like she had the first time he’d made love to her.
Ah, fuck. Watch out. The threat level had officially been raised. Now he existed inside the red zone, struggling to keep a leash on needs that Tania wasn’t ready to satisfy. ’Cause, yeah. Regardless of her compliance earlier, Mac didn’t expect it to last. She was too smart—too strong, too stubborn—to accept without knowing everything, and once the shock wore off, she’d come at him with both barrels. Guns blazing, Wild Wild West style.
And honestly? He couldn’t wait for it to happen.
He disliked the blank look she’d worn when he’d left her. Even though he understood it, her reaction worried him. Fear had no place between them. He wanted her back to her normal sassy self, to be hammered by questions and her anger. The quicker they got over that hump, the faster they could move on to the important stuff, like maybe...
Explaining the truth of his kind and the difference between good dragons and bad; about the war that raged between Nightfury and rogue; and that she was no longer safe in the human world.
Not with Ivar sniffing around.
The Razorback leader wouldn’t quit. The bastard had targeted Tania for a reason. The why wasn’t difficult to piece together. Hurt Tania, hurt Myst, and, by extension, the Nightfury commander. The strategy was poetry in motion, psychological warfare with flare. Myst would crumble if her best friend became entangled in the enemies’ web. And Bastian? Shit, the male would disappear down the I-can’t-stand-to-see-my-mate-suffer rabbit hole, then ramp into psycho mode. All to lessen her pain.
Not exactly a good place for the Nightfury commander to land. Bad tactical decisions always got made when a guy stuck his head up his ass. If that happened and B lost it, the fallout wouldn’t be pretty. More than rogue soldiers would die. His brothers-in-arms would give their lives to protect Bastian. So no matter how much he hated frightening Tania, the air lock had done its job...been a necessary play to keep her away from the fighting and out of Razorback claws. Not only to preserve his own sanity but ensure the safety of the entire Nightfury pack.
His only hope now was that she’d forgive him.
A tall order? Probably. More than he deserved? Certainly. But even as logic said no-way-in-hell, Mac prayed she’d give him a second chance. Which in turn made him wonder what the hell was wrong with him. Somewhere along the way, a switch had flipped inside his head. Now he was off course, miles away from his usual self, not to mention his typical MO.
He was the independent one, for fuck’s sake. The guy who thrived on the uncomplicated and a clear playing field. Angela accused him of being a commitment-phobe. Maybe he was...or at least had been until Tania tipped his radar in the wrong direction. Now all he could think about was her, and he didn’t like it.
He enjoyed his lifestyle. The women he slept with did too, never complained about the one-nighters. Like him, they were one part free and easy, the other part escape hatch. Tania, though, wasn’t his typical fare. She wasn’t a no-strings-attached kind of girl...would expect kisses and cuddling in the aftermath. Mac knew it like he was standing there, bare feet planted in the middle of his kitchen, gaze glued to the bathroom door, ears attuned to her movements and the quiet rush of water.
With a sigh, Mac shook his head. Every instinct he possessed told him not to do it...to hand her over, make her Rikar’s responsibility, then walk the hell away. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with his dragon fixated and the rest of him riveted on her. No way could he let her go. At least not without a fight. So screw talking himself out of it or denying what he felt for her. The bond they shared was simply too strong. Reason need not apply. Intellect could take a hike, ’cause now that she stood a mere room’s width away? Need tugged on his chain, the steady stream of connection amplifying, winding him up just to watch him go.
Zip. Bang. Gone.
He was toast in the same way Bastian and Rikar were for their females. But unlike his comrades, Mac knew he wouldn’t find relief anytime soon.
Rescuing the tortellini, Mac dumped the pasta into a strainer. As he grabbed a big bowl off an open shelf, the shower clicked off. Water slowed to a trickle. The glass door opened, then swung shut. He closed his eyes, keen senses picking up each minute sound, listening to the sound of Tania’s feet touch down on the bath mat. His mouth curved. He loved everything about his new abilities, but more than anything? The capacity to perceive what should be imperceptible.
Case in point? Tania was now drying off with the towel he’d taken out for her. Soon she would surround herself in his scent—become more his—and slip into his clothes. The sweats he’d left on the vanity for her. He couldn’t wait to see her in them. Strange, he knew, but providing for her nourished him somehow: having her wear his clothing, sleep in his bed, eat the food he’d prepared for her...man, he couldn’t get enough of it.
Drawing a deep breath, he heated the jar of sauce with a whispered command. After pocketing two sets of utensils, he prepared two bowls and beat feet for the dining room. Tania would be out any second now and—
Hinges creaked. The bathroom door swung open.
Mac slid the meal onto the tabletop and glanced toward her. As his gaze got stuck on her, his heart fisted up tight. God, she looked good enough to eat, so adorable with his wide-legged pants pooling around her small feet and the oversize sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin. He knew firsthand how soft she was...fit yet curvy, his favorite kind of female. The urge to close the distance between them hit him chest level. He wanted to touch her again. To take down her messy updo and run his fingers through her damp hair while he tasted her deep, tangled their tongues...made her crave him as much as he did her.
Grabbing on to the back of a chair, he clamped down on the need to move toward her. Proximity wouldn’t help things. What he needed was a distraction. He scanned her face and found what he needed. She was still too pale. Less freaked out, sure, but still shell-shocked. An apt description. Particularly since her life had just imploded. And he was about to drop a few more bombs.
Compassion poured through him. The problem? Feeling sorry for her—about the shitty circumstances—wouldn’t change a thing. The best he could do now was help her understand.
Holding her gaze, he murmured, “Hey.”
“Hi,” she whispered back, cradling her sore hands in front of her.
“You find everything you need in there?” When she nodded, he set the knife, fork, and spoon combo down next to each bowl, then pivoted and leaned back against the lip of the table. He kept his body relaxed and his posture unthreatening. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. Or push too hard before she was ready
. “You need anything else?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a rasp in her voice. “A lobotomy?”
His respect for her moved up a rung. Good for her. She was a drive-straight-to-the-basket kind of girl, direct and to the point. His kind of woman. “Don’t think you need one. Prozac might be the better bet.”
She huffed, the beginnings of a smile lighting her face. It lasted a second before she sobered. A furrow between her brows, she glanced away. Mac mourned the loss of her dark gaze and, heart aching for her, watched her curl her arms in front of her. The action was telling, a form of self-protection, a way to put up psychological barriers and shore up her defenses. He’d seen the same body language on countless victims—or as Angela liked to call them, survivors—as a homicide cop and...
He couldn’t stand it. Hated that she felt compelled to put distance between them even as he understood her need to do so.
“Honey, listen to me.” She flinched at the sound of his voice. He curled his hands around the table edge to keep from reaching for her. “I—”
“Your eyes are shimmering.”
He blinked, hesitated a second, then said, “They do that sometimes.”
“Are you going to turn into a dragon?”
“Only if you want me to.”
Her head snapped back in his direction. “Don’t be a jerk.”
The warning gave him direction. Message received...no making light of the situation or teasing allowed. With a nod, Mac backed down. She wanted him to respect her boundaries. No problem. He could do that.
“You’re safe with me, Tania. Despite what you saw tonight, I would sooner die than hurt you,” he said, hoping to reassure her. She blinked rapid-fire, as though fighting tears, but didn’t answer. He shifted course, traveling another route. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”
“How?” Her bioenergy flared, broadcasting her upset.
Fury of Seduction Page 14
