So Tempting

by Jean Brashear

  "Justine, you're hurt. Let me help you."

  Justine. "No!" She backed away, stumbled again. "No—you're— Don't touch me."

  Dante Sabanne reached for her.

  She took another shaky step back.

  He halted. "What happened?"

  Jace fought to keep the pistol pointed at him, blinking repeatedly to clear the jittery images. "You—you know what happened."

  "How would I? Here—let me take the gun."

  "No. You...you were there." She struggled to keep her feet. "You— They followed me."

  He glanced around. "Who?"

  Jace's eyes closed; she forced them open. "Back—back there. On the road. Ran me off. Shot—"

  "Someone shot you? Is that blood on your shirt? Where are you hit?" He grabbed the weapon from her and tucked it into his waistband. Ran his hands over her.

  It happened again, the spinning, the starburst—but it was all jumbled up with her head wanting to explode and her stomach—

  Jace batted at him without strength. "Don't touch me. I'm not hit. Leave me alone. Got to get—" Her legs gave way.

  He swung her into his arms and turned toward the cabin. "Come. I must take a look at this."

  "Dark robes..." she whispered. "Was it—?"

  He leaned closer. "What?"

  "Can't—" Jace shut her eyes. Her stomach revolted with his every step. She'd eaten little all day, but she still felt nauseous. The spinning didn't help. "Stop."

  He kept walking. "I must get you inside to look at your injuries."

  "Gonna—" Weakly she pushed against him, trying to get down. "Gonna be sick."

  "Justine, I have to stop the bleeding."

  "Please..." She shoved at his shoulder, launched herself at the ground. Fell to her knees and emptied the meager contents of her stomach while he steadied her. Jace was mortified but too dizzy and muddled to do anything but remain where she was.

  "Let me take you inside now. There you can rinse out your mouth while I look you over." His voice was gentle.

  "But—" Jace's head spun. "It was you...in the robes..."

  "Robes?"

  "The ceremony..."

  "What are you talking about?"

  She couldn't think straight.

  He started to lift her into his arms again.

  She backed away. "No—please don't touch me."

  He halted, his gaze peering straight into her. "You feel it, too, don't you?"

  "No. No..." She was so tired, so dizzy. "I don't...it's insane. I'm not...am I crazy?"

  "You are not, but you make it worse when you fight it." He picked her up, and she stiffened. "Please...try to relax." Then he murmured words that made no sense but seemed oddly familiar. "Better?"

  The song drifted away. The lights receded. "It's because I hit my head, that's all."

  "Denying it will not help. We must discuss this, Justine. You cannot imagine its importance."

  She tensed again, shaking her head. "I don't want to."

  He sighed and looked ahead as he walked, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. "Then for now, please try to relax and simply let me take care of you."

  However much she wanted to argue, she didn't have the strength. Reeling and aching, Jace decided to bide her time and gratefully leaned against his solid frame. When they neared the cabin, he didn't knock but simply shoved the door open.

  "Whose place is this?" she asked, squinting at the modest interior.

  "Mine."

  The furnishings were plain and spare. "But you have a mansion."

  "Sometimes I need a retreat." He set her down by the kitchen sink, kept one hand on her waist to steady her. From a pot on the window sill, he pinched off mint leaves, squeezed them and dropped them into a glass he filled with water. "Here—this will help."

  She rinsed her mouth with the sweet, refreshing liquid. While she drank, he took the pistol from his waistband and set it on the counter, then carefully he probed at her hairline. "You are certain you're not bleeding anywhere else?"

  She shook her head, then moaned at the movement.

  "The gash is not deep," he said. "I can bandage it. Look at me first, though." He held up a hand. "How many fingers do you see?"

  "Twelve."

  A small smile curved his lips. It made him seem approachable, for a change. "Turn your head toward the light." He studied her intently. "Your pupils are even and reactive. Rest should help the dizziness. Sit, and I will clean you up." Settling her in the chair, he retrieved a dish cloth and folded it, then placed it against the cut. "Hold this firmly while I gather supplies."

  She winced but obeyed. "Those men..."

  He picked up a cordless phone from the counter and dialed, walking away as he issued rapid orders in another language.

  Then he returned. "Manolo will be checking on this. You need not worry, in the meantime. This cabin is secure."

  "I should call it in."

  "You are hurt. Manolo will handle it," he snapped.

  "There's...a girl. A man—two men—in robes. A woman. Candles. I think they might have drugged her. They were...it's a cult."

  "A...cult?"

  "There's a hidden building back..." She tried to rise. Sagged. "Not sure. Back in the trees, up the mountain road. I...how far did they chase me? Two miles? Three?"

  "I will send Manolo to look."

  "Call...Earl at PD headquarters. Earl Ramsey."

  "Fine." He picked up the phone, spoke again. She didn't relax until she heard Earl's name uttered.

  He returned to her. "Now, please let me help you."

  "No hospital."

  One brow rose. "No?"

  "Hate hospitals."

  "I am not fond of them myself. Fortunately for you, I am quite adept at healing all manner of injuries."

  "'Cause you studied all over—" She waved a hand airily. "Everywhere?"

  Another small smile. "Yes."

  "But you're...zillionaire."

  "Not quite. Why does that matter?" The eyes were a soft gray now, the warmest she'd ever seen them.

  "You could hire someone to do messy stuff like this."

  "I could. Some things I prefer to handle myself. Does your head hurt?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Let me get something for you." He left, then returned with another glass of water and two ordinary tablets.

  "No potions?"

  He chuckled. "I do know a good one. Would you prefer that?"

  "Guess not." Who was this man? Not the remote, forbidding lord of the manor...not the sorcerer who'd seduced her.

  With trembling fingers, she gave into impulse and touched his mouth. Were these the same lips that had driven her out of her mind—was it just last night?

  He stilled, one hand clasping the cloth to her wound.

  "Are you real?" she asked.

  A faint smile. "Very."

  "Did—did you kiss me last night?"

  His gaze dropped to her lips, and she could barely breathe, waiting for his answer, for how he would react. It was madness, but she wanted his mouth on hers, his weight pressed into her. His power and darkness unleashed, the storm of it crackling over her as lightning dances on the crest of a hill.

  His eyes ensnared hers with the focus of a raptor.

  She reached out again to test him. Test herself.

  And jostled the hand pressing the towel to her head. "Ow!" The spell snapped.

  He retreated. "Hold this. I will be right back."

  Jace complied, almost welcoming the sting as a wakeup call to reality.

  Soon he returned with bandages and ointment and arranged them on the table. Jace stared at his broad back and lean hips. Competent hands acted with an economy of motion, strong but graceful, power held under firm command.

  "Perhaps it will please you to know that the ointment is my own creation."

  She started to ask what was in it, but she was too worn out to care.

  "Only a few minutes more and you can lie down." He dressed the cut with a minimum of
pain to her. With care, he bathed the blood from her face, seeming younger, not so forbidding and glacial. "How is your head now?"

  "Better. Thank you."

  "You are welcome. I will loan you a shirt so you can take off that blouse. There is a great deal of blood on it." Standing up, he drew her with him and carried her to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

  Jace settled into the cushions. Her eyelids drooped. She was exhausted.

  "Rest now, Justine. I will check you in a little while, but sleep is best for you."

  She forced her eyes open. "Why do you call me Justine? No one else does. I don't allow it."

  "I know." He left the room.

  She thought about leaving, but thinking was all she could manage at the moment. With a deep sigh of relief as the pain receded further, she drifted off. A deep voice swirled from the mists. Surrender...open yourself to me. Fragments of last night, the madness, the ache of wanting.

  Then he returned, the soft golden light from the cabin walls painting his face less severe. He studied her in silence, his manner pensive...troubled.

  "What are you thinking about?" However much she didn't want to discuss the insanity that happened whenever they touched, she wanted to know what dwelled in those depths. So mysterious...so much that she didn't understand about him.

  Too much of it tugged at her.

  His face went blank. "Now is not the time. Sit up." He knelt beside the sofa, shirt in hand, and supported her back with his arm. "Are you able to manage this yourself or do you need help?"

  She tried to summon the energy but gave up. "Help."

  He slid her t-shirt over her head gently, then paused. Her bra was soaked, too. One quick flick opened the front clasp of her bra, and the brush of his skin singed hers. The vortex beckoned, and she shivered.

  His own gaze snapped to hers, and all she could see then was him. As he slid the straps from her shoulders, she focused on one deep breath, then another, trying to steady herself—but every hair on her body rose in response to his touch.

  All neutrality fled. His eyes never left hers; she couldn't have looked away if the end of the world threatened.

  His hand splayed across her midriff...so warm, his very touch sinking deep, whispering secrets into the cells of her body.

  Then his hand trembled. With that one tiny chink in his armor, everything changed.

  No glacial formality separated them now. Suddenly, Jace could see within his eyes something that spoke to the woman, not the cop. Called to the deepest part of her, the adventurer, the dreamer she'd thought long dead.

  A shiver danced across nerves strained with waiting...sensing the hand of fate.

  "Justine." His head lowered, his warm breath mingling with hers.

  She could save herself if she ran away now.

  She didn't want to. Fire beckoned...the flames called out her name. Every cell in her body cried out against restraint.

  He didn't force her.

  But he didn't back off, either.

  "I want to break open this shell behind which you hide." He leaned closer, swirling dark currents in his eyes. "There is an empty place within you, and it eats away at your soul. You want to trust, but you are afraid no one is strong enough."

  Trust. He had unerringly put his finger on her worst fear.

  For too long, she had relied only upon herself. Since the age of twelve that had been her only means to prevent her whole world from unraveling again. With the firing of one bullet, she'd been thrust from cherished child to head of family. Never trust anyone—it might have been engraved on her heart. No one will be there for you.

  "I— No—" She tore her gaze from his to rest on hands gone nerveless, pale thin fingers clenched. "You're wrong. I don't need that."

  "You do. Let me help you find respite."

  He wasn't wrong. She was so eternally tired of being the strong one. Of being alone.

  His expression said that he knew, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, with exquisite care, he slid the bra from beneath her and cast it to the floor. The cool night wind sifted through the open window nearby, caressing her skin like the breath of a lover.

  She waited for him to venture further into the seduction she craved, but he surprised her and simply slipped his shirt over first one arm, then the other. He lowered her to the pillows and began to button the shirt.

  His long fingers brushed her skin again and again. Tiny shocks raced through her body at each whisk of nails across tender flesh. Shimmering bursts of starlight flared around him, and her nipples hardened to points.

  Jace went still, for once not afraid of that midnight sky or the carpet of stars, tantalized by a sense of something extraordinary just out of her reach. Electrified by the challenge, galvanized by the thrill of fear, she allowed herself to relax and let it happen, this...whatever it was. He won't overtake me. I won't let him. I'm strong. Tough. Nothing has broken me, nothing will.

  He finished buttoning and paused, his eyes searching hers. "We are not done, Justine." He stood, and she desperately wanted to call him back to her. "But rest now, and I will keep you safe."

  Oddly, like the child she could barely remember being, she felt unafraid for the first time in forever. Protected.

  And she slept.

  * * *

  When she awoke sometime later, he was sitting across from her in a massive overstuffed chair, a silent presence as regal and unapproachable as if he occupied a throne.

  "You're still here," she said.

  A slight nod. "How do you feel?"

  She considered. "Better. How long have I slept?"

  "Two hours."

  "You sat here the whole time?"

  He shrugged. "You are pleasant to watch."

  "You always watch me. I don't know what to do with you."

  "What would you like to do?"

  "Besides figure you out?"

  "I am not complicated."

  A laugh burst from her. She had no words to express how complicated he was.

  "You didn't answer. What would you wish to do with me?" His eyes were molten steel on hers.

  She glanced away.

  "You are tempted, are you not? Would it help to know that I am as well?"

  "Why?"

  "You are not an uncomplicated creature yourself, Justine. There is more between us than you understand, but you must be willing to let go in a way you never have before. I will not force you. The choice is yours."

  The voice whispered from behind her in the darkness of The Club. Make your choice. Walk away and I will never touch you again.

  She wanted to know what it was like, his possession. To find out if he was that man, the same one who'd dominated her every thought for days. Jace yearned to give in...to take that leap.

  But what happened when they touched was overwhelming, and she had the sense that he would demand everything of her. Leave her nowhere to hide.

  Did she dare?

  Hell, yes, she realized. She never backed down from a challenge.

  Rising from the sofa, she watched his eyes go molten, his fingers clamped on the arms of the chair as he waited for her decision. She stood before him, the silk of his shirt rubbing her bare breasts, feeling a surge of power, not weakness.

  How much she wanted this was insane. For one night only, to let go. To fly free. She would handle him, handle this, she thought. Nothing had ever been able to destroy her.

  She unfastened her jeans and let them drop, stepping out when they pooled at her feet. She unbuttoned his shirt but left it on. Taking a pace toward him, she watched his eyes spark, his jaw go rigid.

  "I want more than your body, Justine."

  Jace hooked her thumbs into her panties, her eyes never leaving his face. "That's all you're going to get."

  He didn't speak, but a muscle flexed in his jaw, the fire in his eyes banked, the coals still hot with need.

  For an instant she wavered. He exposed too much in her—what if she was wrong that she could handle him? Her gaze darted tow
ard the door. A shudder ran through her. She forced her breathing to slow.

  Dante waited, his gaze palpable. This wasn't like playing games with Gabriel. With Gabriel, she controlled the boundaries.

  With this man, she never would.

  You'll always wonder if you don't see.

  She was playing dice with destruction, yet it drew her like a magnet. She'd never met a man like him.

  And he was different than before...open to her right now to a degree she couldn't resist. Jace took another step in his direction and saw the approval, the knowledge of what it had cost her in the nod he gave her, the hand he held out. When she placed her hand in his, he drew her onto his lap, spread her from one cushioned arm to the other.

  Her mostly naked.

  Him fully clothed.

  Fighting a last-ditch urge to hunch over, to protect, Jace forced herself to remain outstretched, her legs draped to his right, his left arm around her back.

  He made one long, stunning sweep from throat to ankles. "Watch as your body comes alive under my hands." He proceeded to do just that, to stir life hot and sweet in her belly, to draw forth such need that she threw back her head and gave him free rein.

  Joy...greed...hunger tore at her, sizzled down her spine, clawed into her mind. A strange melody trilled as she watched him play with her, his darker hands startling against her pale skin, his knowledge of her body shocking. Delicious. The edge of a stunning freedom beckoned, as frightening as it was exhilarating.

  His middle finger slid within her, hooked beneath her pubic bone while his thumb rubbed in circles against the exquisitely-sensitive bud.

  She came apart violently, bucking against him and whimpering low in her throat as tremors rocked and her mind went white. Her thighs locked around his hand, her body pulsed around his finger, the eddies of bliss spreading through her like waves crashing the shore.

  Then she fell back, boneless.

  His unblinking stare was a laser, searing away every last place she might hide.

  Too exposed, her dignity in shreds, she tensed.

  His hand held her fast. "No—do not. You honor me to let me be so intimate. A woman is never more beautiful than when she is transported by hunger...when she loses herself in desire." His hand still claimed her. Her inner muscles tightened, little shocks echoing the rapture. "This, Justine, is the beginning of surrender. Revel in it. Feel the power you wield."