Atlantis Rising wop-1

by Alyssa Day

  Damn, suddenly he was a poet. He was losing his mind.

  Maybe another step closer wasn't such a good idea. He stopped walking.

  She shook her head, then nodded. "I don't think—yes, no, aargh! Why is it so hard to think around you?"

  Conlan folded his arms over his chest, reason suddenly returning. "That's a good question," he said, eyes narrowing. "Why do you have such an effect on me? What are you? How can you access the Atlantean mental paths and—more to the point—how can you feel our emotions? How can I feel yours? Are you a weapon sent to test my defenses?"

  "Weapon, yeah, right, you idiot. I'm not a weapon, I'm a social worker." Stepping sideways, Riley began to edge around the bed. "And I see we're back to the Atlantis thing. You're from the lost continent. The figment of Plato's imagination that supposedly disappeared more than eleven thousand years ago. That Atlantis?"

  He unfolded his arms and took another step toward her. He couldn't help himself.

  He didn't want to help himself.

  "Plato was disciplined for his talkativeness in the Critias and Timaeus. The poet Solon knew no better than to share with Plato the secrets he'd gained from that Egyptian priest. But our descendants know to keep the secrets of Atlantis."

  Another step. Her tantalizing scent reached him. Fresh. Slightly floral, with a touch of green. Ocean ferns, perhaps.

  He inhaled deeply, knowing he could find her by scent alone from that moment. Loving her scent in his nostrils.

  Wanting her taste in his mouth. His hands actually ached to feel her skin.

  She was looking at him. Oh, right. Something about continents. "Not so much a lost continent. We always knew where we were," he said. "We've simply developed shields to hide the Seven Isles from your technology."

  He smiled. "Your invention of submarines was almost a problem for a while."

  She backed clear around to the other side of the bed. "Okay, show me your gills."

  Completely caught off guard, Conlan stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  Riley looked at him as if he were insane.

  Of course, she wasn't that far off. He probably was insane.

  Catching his breath, he shook his head. "Thank you for that, aknasha. I needed to laugh, after the events of this evening."

  His smile disappeared. "After the past seven years, in fact."

  Making a decision, he backed away from her and dropped into the chair in the corner of the room. "If I sit here, far away from you, would you feel safe enough with me to listen to what I have to say?"

  Trembling, seemingly poised for flight, Riley stood for the space of several heartbeats looking at him. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision of her own. She nodded and sat, cross-legged, on the bed. "Yes, I'll listen. It's the strangest thing, but I already feel safe with you. Or maybe it's not strange, considering what happened on the beach earlier."

  Conlan wanted truth between them. "You've been inside my mind, Riley. Unwanted or not, you know me now on a deeper level than most people do. Maybe on a deeper level than anyone, barring our healer."

  She stared at him, hesitating, then nodded.

  "You must realize by now that I've been inside your mind as well," he said, almost afraid to admit it. "I've seen your goodness and your self-sacrifice. I know you."

  Unless her deception was hidden behind some mental trickery, his mind mocked him. Who knew what a true empath was capable of?

  Jumping up off the bed, Riley began to pace back and forth in front of him. "Yon don't know anything," she said bitterly. "Goodness? Yeah, right I'm just somebody who tries to do her job the best she can. And usually fails miserably at it."

  She stopped in frost of him, so close he could reach out and touch her. He had to clench his hands on the arms of the chair to keep from doing so.

  To keep from touching her. Damn, he wanted to touch her.

  "Tell me," he said, instead.

  "Right. You're from mythical Atlantis, and you want to hear about a day in the fife of a social worker?"

  "Tell me," he repealed, opening his mind to her so she could feel the trail of «. Feel how he wanted to know all about her.

  A look of wonder came over her face. "You really do want to know, don't you?"

  "I do."

  She paused for a moment, then sank down onto the carpet near him and—almost in a trance—recounted the events of her day. As she related the story of the girl with the gun, Conlan had to fight with every ounce of his self-control to keep her from seeing his rage. He wanted to kill. He wanted to rend, tear, and put his fist through the wall.

  He did none of those things, but sat with a mask of calm on his face, reaching desperately for his training, for his objectivity. How could he be affected so much by this woman?

  He looked at her, sitting on the floor in front of him, anguish on her face as she told of the children she tried so hard to rescue. Babies having babies. The hopeless struggle against poverty and a society that didn't have time for the lost ones.

  As she talked, as he felt the emotions underlying her words, the question in his mind changed.

  How could he not be affected so much by this woman?

  Her words trailed off. "So that's when you showed up, and I guess you know the rest. Maybe now you can tell me exactly who and what you are, and why you followed me to my house."

  She looked around, blinking, at the room, then scrambled to her feet, wary again. "While you're at it, you can let me know where the hell I am."

  He stood, slowly, so as not to startle her. "You humble me, Riley. I must match your honesty with my own. I am chief among the Warriors of Poseidon, sworn to safeguard humankind."

  Grasping the edge of his shirt, he pulled it aside to show the mark of Poseidon he bore. High on the right side of his chest, where the sea god himself had burned the symbol of the Warriors of Poseidon into Conlan's flesh.

  The circle representing all the peoples of the world, intersected by the pyramid of knowledge deeded to them by the ancients. The silhouette of Poseidon's Trident bisecting them both.

  "This mark I wear offers testimony to my vow. And yet, from what I hear between the words in your retelling, this night you deserve to wear it more than do I."

  She lifted her hand, almost as if to trace the symbol with her fingertips. Then she pulled her hand back and grinned. "You're doing that formal talking thing again," she said. "Somehow, it reminds me of my mother, yelling for me when I was in trouble. Riley Elisabeth Dawson meant I was in big trouble."

  "Riley Elisabeth," he repeated, savoring the sound of it. "It fits you. Strong and feminine, both."

  Somehow, unknowing, he'd moved closer to her. The heat of her, the seduction in the curves of her body, in the line of her neck, drew him in. She looked up at him, flickers of alarm changing to awareness in her eyes.

  He could still feel her inside him. Her thoughts, her emotions.

  He wanted to feel himself inside her.

  Conlan lifted his hands to her arms, pulling her forward. Slowly. Gently. Giving her time to deny him.

  Praying she wouldn't.

  He stepped forward to meet her halfway. Drinking in her scent. Wanting to bury his face in the silky hair that tumbled past her shoulders.

  Wanting to bury his body in her heat.

  By Poseidon's balls, he needed to touch her again. Needed to kiss her again. "Riley," he groaned. "Please."

  She knew exactly what he meant. He could see it as the awareness in her eyes changed to expectation.

  Anticipation.

  She lifted her face and touched her lips gently to his. And he was lost.

  Lost in the sensation, in the colors sparkling in her mind—in his mind—in their minds together. Lost in the feel of her softness pressed against his hardness. The kiss deepened.

  He deepened it. He swept his tongue inside of her warmth, her sweet, welcoming mouth, and his knees nearly buckled when she put her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer
to her.

  Heat, colors, and a torrent of need. Caught in a maelstrom, a cyclone, a full-on, balls-to-the-wall ocean gale of wanting, he tightened his arms around her and lifted her until her feet were off the floor. Her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. He groaned deep in his throat, in her throat, in the space trapped between their mouths.

  She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, wiggling to gain purchase on his body, and the heat between her legs was suddenly right up against his cock. Impossibly, he hardened even further, sure he was going to split his pants—rip her shirt open—tear her jeans off. Find out if the colors in his head would intensify into a starburst when he drove into her.

  The passion swallowing his senses rocketed through him with a bang.

  Or no, damnit. That was the door slamming open.

  Conlan whirled around to face the threat, snarling, pushing Riley down and behind him as he did so.

  Mine. Mine to protect. Mine!

  Ven stood at the door, mouth hanging open for the second time that night. "Er, yeah. Well. Ah, sorry to interrupt, but Alaric figures you need your rest and you're, well, you're broadcasting a sex vibe that is so slamming loud you're making every man in the house horn—ah, uncomfortable."

  From behind him, Riley made a choked sound. Conlan felt the waves of embarrassment pulsing from her. He fought for rationality, sucking in a deep breath.

  Ven. My brother. Not a threat.

  "I—yeah. Rest." He took another deep, steadying breath. Alaric. The Trident. "Has he been able to scry the location of the Trident?"

  Ven shook his head, amusement stamped on his face. "No, he needs to recuperate from the healing. But he used a few unflattering words to describe how you're, ah, keeping him from his rest."

  Conlan could imagine how his brother was editing Alaric's language. If Riley were broadcasting this furnace of sexual desire to every warrior in the house—and to the priest, who'd taken a vow of celibacy—well, damn.

  Damn.

  "Point taken," he said, still breathing hard. "Riley also needs to rest." He waited for his brother to take the hint and leave, but Ven wasn't much for subtlety.

  "Aren't you going to introduce me, brother?" Ven stood there, no sign of movement, grinning at him like a fool.

  Conlan opened his mouth to smack him down, but Riley surprised him by stepping out from behind his back. "Look, Tarzan, I may be embarrassed, but it's not like you need to protect me from your own brother, right?"

  She walked toward Ven, who'd snorted out a laugh at "Tarzan." She walked to him, shoulders squared, as if trying to act nonchalant. "I'm Riley."

  When she held out her hand toward his brother, Conlan took an involuntary step forward, a growl starting low in his throat, before he caught himself.

  He snapped his head up and stared at Ven, shocked by his own reaction. From the look on Ven's face, Conlan had surprised his brother, too.

  Conlan dug his fingers into his thighs, fighting for control. What was happening to him?

  Expression wary, Ven glanced away from Conlan and took Riley's hand and gently shook it. "You can call me Ven."

  Then Ven did something that surprised the hell out of Conlan. He bowed deeply, unsheathing his daggers in a flowing motion and crossing them over his chest. "My service and my honor are yours, Lady Sunlight, for your defense of my brother and prince."

  Riley snapped her head around to stare at Conlan, horror in her eyes. "Prince? Did he say prince!"

  Ven straightened. "Oops. I thought you told her, Conlan, since we're taking her home to study."

  The sparkle of Riley's emotions sharpened and then snapped shut inside of Conlan's head.

  She fisted her hands on her hips. "Prince?" she repeated, voice going dangerously low. "Taking who home to Atlantis? And study what, exactly?"

  Ven's lips quivered, as he evidently tried to keep from laughing. Conlan grimly vowed to make him pay, in a large and serious way. The King's Vengeance wasn't above getting his ass kicked by his brother, even now.

  "Oops again," Ven repeated. "Later, dude. I can see you two have things to talk about."

  As Ven backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, Conlan sighed with real regret. "Any chance we can go back to the kissing part?" he asked, trying for his best innocent expression.

  She narrowed her eyes. "Start. Talking."

  He sighed again. "Yeah. I didn't think so."

  Chapter 14

  Riley backed around the bed again, needing to put space between herself and Conlan. Or, should she say, Prince Conlan.

  Prince Conlan. Holy Atlantean royalty. What had she gotten herself into this time? And why did he have to smell so good? Like spices and ocean and pure, unadulterated man?

  Between his delicious scent, that unbelievable body, and his sensual voice, she should have known he was too good to be human. Heck, her last date had been a lawyer who had way more brains than muscles.

  Not that she didn't think Conlan had brains. She'd been inside his mind and caught a glimpse of fierce intelligence. Most of what he said demonstrated logic and an analytical aptitude. But when he touched her, well, logic went right out the window. Right out both of their windows, to stretch a metaphor clear out of shape.

  "After a decade of living with shape-shifters and vampires who pretty much walked right out of the myths and legends and into me streets—heck, into Congress—the idea of Atlantis isn't as hard to believe as it might have been," she admitted. "Plus, there's that nifty trick you did with the water. Makes sense that an Atlantean would have power over water, right?"

  He smiled that slow, dangerous smile, and she rushed on before she could get distracted. "So, do you talk to fish? And what about the gills? Got 'em? If yes, where? I mean, are you… um, do you have… normal parts?"

  He blinked, then started laughing again as the burn climbed up her chest to her face. "You never say the expected, do you?" he asked.

  Then he smiled and raised his hands, palms up. A glowy blue-green light emanated from both of them and sparkled up and out, around and around, spiraling in a cascade of light around the room and then through the door into the bathroom.

  In seconds, the leading edge of the spiral of light returned to the bedroom, but with one startling difference. The light swirled in a whirling tunnel of water. The tube of liquid—maybe three or four inches thick—curved and swooped around the room. Around her, where she stood, frozen, her mouth hanging open.

  Then it returned to Conlan and surrounded him, seeming to caress his body for a moment and then vanish into his skin.

  Except he wasn't wet at all.

  She snapped her mouth shut, sure she looked like an idiot, especially when his smile turned into a laugh.

  Damn, but he was seriously hot when he laughed. Her nerves, frayed already from the overdose of testosterone and, okay, the sheer sexual tension in the room, shredded even further.

  She leaned back against the wall and rubbed her arms with her hands, trying to get rid of the goose bumps. "No, I don't usually do the expected," she said, trying to return to the normality of their previous conversation. "You should hear the things my sister used to do to me to keep me from blurting out her secrets in front of boys. Neat trick with the water, by the way."

  He eased himself back down in the chair, keeping his distance, clearly trying to put her at ease. "Thanks. I can do balloon animals, too."

  "I just bet you can."

  He grinned at her. "I never had a sister. It was just me and Ven. Do you have any other sisters? Or brothers?"

  "No, just the two of us. Mom and Dad died when we were young, and we developed an 'us against the world' mentality. The foster homes…" She bit her lip. "We learned not to love people. You love somebody and they leave."

  She shook off the melancholy. It's not like he wanted to hear this stuff. Except, he looked interested. He felt like he was interested.

  "Quinn is—well, she's kind of fragile. I always took care of her, even though she was a little old
er." It didn't really make sense to share her family history while backed against the wall, so she cautiously took a step forward and perched on the edge of the bed.

  Ready to jump away from him if he came near her.

  Or was that ready to jump on him if he came near her?

  She ruthlessly shoved the thought out of her mind. No thinking about sex, no thinking about sex, no—

  "Thinking about sex," he said.

  "What?" she gasped, stunned to hear him speak her thoughts. Except maybe she shouldn't be surprised, given how they'd shared each other's emotions. Still, she could feel her face flaming again. One of the joys of being a redhead was the tendency to blush like a house on fire. Didn't exactly make for a poker face.

  He clasped his hands, resting them on his lap, then looked up to meet her gaze. "We need to talk about this. The intensity. Of the attraction between us, which is intense. It's really…" He paused, cleared his throat. "Intense."

  She laughed a little. "Yeah. I get that you think it's intense. Well, it's not like I go around jumping every hunky foreign prince who comes my way. Not that any royalty hangs around my neighborhood, but you know what I mean. Intense."

  That smug, all-male smile returned to his face, which, in spite of every feminist principle she'd ever known, somehow made her want to put her mouth on him.

  All over him.

  A wave of heat washed over her, and she groaned. "Conlan, I don't know what this is about. Could it be—could it be some kind of side effect of reading your emotions? Maybe I'll react this way to every Atlantean I meet."

  He immediately tensed in his chair, leaning forward, the hands clasped in his lap going white-knuckled. "For whatever reason, Riley," he ground out through gritted teeth, "I don't seem to be able to handle the thought of you reacting this way to any other male, Atlantean or otherwise."

  She watched him as he visibly fought for control, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply, white lines deepening at the corners of his mouth. The thought that she did that to him—made him lose control, even a little—was, oddly enough, turning her on.

  A lot.

  Especially since she had the feeling he wasn't the type to lose control all that much. She'd seen inside his mind, after all. Rigid control, duty, and honor. Not a lot of spontaneity or footloose happiness.