"I'm Grace Carlyle. I'm looking for my brother and wondered if he'd contacted you recently."
Melva's wrinkled gaze studied her. "Sister, eh? That sly boots never mentioned a sister. I'll have to see some ID."
Grace slid a photo ID from her wallet and allowed Melva to glance at the picture. The old woman nodded in satisfaction. "I haven't seen Alex for a while now. I have his mail, though. It's been piling up in his box. He asked me to collect it for him, but I was under the impression he would return last week."
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to take his mail with me."
"Give me a second. I'm still recovering from hip surgery and it takes me a bit longer to get around." She slowly turned, her diamonds twinkling in the light, and disappeared beyond the foyer. When she returned, she wore a fanny pack stuffed with different sized and colored envelopes. "Here you go." She braced one hand on the walker and handed Grace the letters with the other.
"Thank you so much." Grace quickly riffled through the contents. When nothing jumped out at her, she crammed them in her backpack. She'd go through them more thoroughly when she returned home. "Do you need help getting back inside?"
"Oh, no." Melva waved her off. "I'll be fine."
Spirits buoyed, Grace bounded outside. Within seconds she felt an ominous gaze slicing into her back, observant, penetrating. The sensation unnerved her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. After everything that had happened with Alex, however, she didn't try to convince herself that her imagination was playing games. She increased her pace and slipped one hand inside her backpack, wrapping her fingers around her Mace.
Instead of going straight home, she stopped in a coffee shop, a souvenir shop and a bakery, trying to lose herself in the crowds. By the time she felt safe, the sun was beginning its descent. She reached her apartment building as darkness fell completely. She gathered her own mail, then bolted herself inside her little efficiency. What have I gotten myself into ? she wondered, securing all of the window locks. A thirst for danger seemed so silly now.
Exhausted both mentally and physically, she tossed her backpack onto her nightstand and sank into the chair at her desk. She booted up her computer and checked her e-mail. When she saw one was from Alex's return address, dated yesterday morning, she broke into a huge smile and eagerly pressed Open.
Hey Grace,
I'm fine. I've got a lead elsewhere and had to follow it. Sorry for the note, but there wasn't time to call.
Love,
Alex
As she read, her smile faded. She should have been relieved by the note. This was, after all, what she'd wanted. Contact with Alex. But if there'd been no time to call, how had there been time to type a note?
With that question floating in her mind, she stripped to her tank and panties, poured herself a glass of wine and sprawled across her bed. She meticulously sorted through Alex's mail. Junk mostly, with a few cards and bills thrown into the mix. She checked her own. Her eyes widened then subsequently narrowed when she came to a postcard from her dad. Her dad ! A man who had died five years ago after a long battle with lymphoma. Confused, she shook her head and read it again.
Gracie Lacie,
Can't come to see you as planned. I've been detained. I'll contact you. Don't worry. I'll be fine. Yours,
Dad
This was Alex's handwriting and had to be some sort of code. But what did it mean, other than someone had sent her a false e-mail? Perhaps the same person who had "detained" Alex. Why had he been detained? And for how long?
Where was he now?
She studied the postmark. Sent from Brazil, three weeks ago. A lot could have happened in three weeks. Alex said not to worry about him, but she couldn't help herself. She was worried. None of this made sense.
A wave of fatigue overtook her. Moonlight had settled comfortably inside her bedroom, and the scent of unlit apple cinnamon candles filled the air. Grace drew in a shaky breath and set the mail aside. She closed her eyes and leaned against the mountain of pillows behind her, wondering what to do next If only Darius were here…
He's not real , she reminded herself. Unbidden, his image floated to the forefront of her mind. With his harshly angled face, he radiated rawness and sheer male virility.
She should have known the moment she first saw him that he was a figment of her deepest fantasies. Real men were nothing like him. Real men lacked the savageness, the fierceness and didn't taste like fire, passion and excitement when they kissed her.
Real men didn't chase her down and threaten to hurt her, then tenderly caress her in the next heartbeat of time.
A shiver of remembrance swept through her, until she recalled one last fact about him. Real men didn't blithely admit to being an assassin.
His confession had startled her, made her feel unexpected sorrow for him because even though he'd claimed he made his own choices, that he was never forced to kill, she'd glimpsed flickers of agonizing despair in his eyes. She'd glimpsed endless torment. And at that moment, his eyes had been without any shred of hope.
No man should be without hope.
Grace rolled to her side, taking a pillow with her. Forget about Darius and get some rest . Nothing mattered but Alex. Perhaps the key to finding him would come to her after a good night's sleep.
But how could she have known that key would come in a six foot five, two hundred pound package?
CHAPTER 10
Darius stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at Grace.
She was surrounded by a multitude of colors. A pink satin sheet beneath her, a waterfall of red curls around her shoulders and an emerald blanket draped over her. The sight was intoxicating. She looked more relaxed than she had in his vision. Sleeping peacefully, languidly, her expression was soft and innocent. The moment he'd first seen her, his only thoughts had been of joining her. How he longed to reach out and stroke the pale delicacy of her skin. How he longed to comb his fingers into the silky cloud of her hair.
Perhaps he should fulfill his oath here and now, he mused, simply to end this strange fascination he had with her. But he knew he wouldn't. He was too much a man of strategy. He liked all facts before him, and much still remained a mystery. He needed to know more about these surface dwellers and their weapons. Only then would his army storm Javar's palace and conquer everyone inside.
Darius had spent several hours searching for Grace, following magical wafts from the spell of understanding. Since no Atlantean could survive outside of Atlantis for long, he should have been filled with a sense of urgency now that he'd found her.
He wasn't.
He lingered.
His breath ragged, Darius continued to drink in the sight of his tormentor. She wore a thin white shirt, leaving her shoulders bare and glistening in the moonlight Leaving her full breasts clearly outlined. Her nipples formed shadowed circles he longed to trace with his tongue. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, watched the life that radiated from her. The longer he studied her, the more starved and desperate he felt for her. What would her heartbeat feel like under his palms? Steady and gentle? Or hurried and erratic? His blood sang with vitality, rushing to his cock and hardening him painfully.
I do not want to hurt this woman , he thought. I want to relish every moment in her presence . He shook his head against such dishonorable thoughts.
He had lived so long by his oath of death and destruction that he knew not what to make of these newly acquired desires-desires that had not muted with the distance between them.
Desires such as these could drive a man from his chosen path, push him and beat him down until he collapsed from regret. He frowned as something occurred to him. Perhaps the gods had created Grace merely to punish him. He'd often thought he could endure any punishment stricken upon him. If he'd only known how cruel the gods could be…
Grace muttered something under her breath, then gently, delightfully moaned. What did she dream of? He would be lying if he denied that he wi
shed her to dream of him. She fascinated him in so many ways. Her resourcefulness. Her bravery in challenging him as few men had ever dared. Her defiance.
What would she do if he lay down beside her on the bed? If he stripped the clothes from her body and tasted every inch of her honey-smooth skin-lingering, savoring, sinking deeply into the hot moistness between her thighs? Sliding, slipping, slowly pumping?
He tore his gaze from her. Gird yourself against her. Distance yourself from the situation . Stay sane. Sure. This woman posed a greater threat than any army. She had plunged through the mist and completely destroyed his sense of order. She had violated his innermost thoughts, ignored his commands and lured him to dishonor with her beauty.
And yet she still lived.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd had a woman, but knew it had been primitive, savage and quick, as were all his sexual encounters. With this woman, Darius desired something slow and easy. Something gentle. Like their kiss.
As he observed the rest of the room, he saw floral curtains hanging over both windows, each a symphony of colors. Pink, yellow, blue, purple… Colors more beautiful than he remembered. A mirror consumed one wall, while flowers and vines were painted on another. Green leaves and purple grapes bloomed in feigned sunlight. Grace was a woman who enjoyed the sensuality of life. Things he, too, enjoyed of late.
Grace, Grace, Grace . His mind chanted her name. If he could have one more taste of her, he could forget her. Just one more . He found himself approaching the side of the bed. Compelled by a force greater than himself, he leaned down and inhaled her exotic fragrance. His eyes closed as he relished the carnal sweetness of her. He gently caressed his lips against hers. Lost in her dreams, she instinctively tried to mold herself against him.
He knew, though, that if she'd awoken just then she would have fought him. He knew it as surely as he knew his will to resist her could not survive any more bodily contact. Not knowing what else to do, he uttered a temporary peace spell that would keep her relaxed for the first few moments after she woke.
When he finished, he straightened. "Grace," he said softly. "Awaken."
"Hmm," she muttered. Her eyes remained blissfully closed as she shifted, causing the pale pink and emerald linens enfolding her to wrinkle and bunch.
"Grace," he said again. "We must talk."
Slowly her eyelids fluttered open. She offered him a drowsy sweet smile. "Darius?" she asked breathlessly.
At the sound of his name on her lips, his mouth went dry, and he found himself unable to reply.
"You're here." Her smile widening, she stretched her arms over her head and purred low in her throat. "Am I dreaming?" She considered her words, and her brow wrinkled. "This doesn't feel like a dream."
"No dream," he said, the words ragged. The color of her eyes was far more beautiful than any other color he'd ever encountered.
"So you're real?" she asked, not the least afraid of him.
He nodded, knowing the peace spell was responsible for her languor. It was irrational, he knew, but he wished he himself had caused such a reception, not his powers.
"What are you doing here?"
"I have more questions for you."
"I'm glad you came," she said.
"I need the medallion, Grace. Where is it?"
She watched him for a long, slumberous moment, then eased up and wound her arms around his neck, crashing her breasts into his chest. She tugged him closer until they were nose to nose. "Questions later," she said. "Kiss now."
His nostrils flared at her demand-but not in anger. A traitorous fire licked through him. He'd meant to relax her, not arouse her. Gods, he'd cast the peace spell to avoid touching her, yet here she was demanding that he do so! "Release me," he said softly, knowing he could pull himself away if only he could find the will.
"I don't want to." Her fingers toyed with the hair at the base of his neck, and her eyes beseeched him. "Every night I've dreamt of our kiss. It's the only thing I've ever done that made me feel complete, and I want more." She frowned slightly. "I don't know why I just told you that. I-Why am I not afraid of you?"
I deserve a beating , he berated himself, but he lowered his head anyway. Her admission lured him as surely as a beckoning finger. He was helpless against her allure. Any moment the aura of peace around her would wither, and she would jerk away from him. Until then… "Open," he told her. And he didn't care what type of man this made him. Dishonorable, so be it.
She immediately obeyed. His tongue swept inside, swirling and searching. His rough moan blended with her airy sigh. She was a mélange of flavors: warm, delicious, mesmerizing. It was a taste he'd experienced only once before, the first time they kissed. He wanted to experience that sweetness again and again.
She clutched at his shirt, then kneaded his neck, opening herself up, silently demanding he hold nothing back. He was humbled that she responded to him so openly, so uninhibitedly and so quickly. A deep-seated yearning to let her goodness seep into him blossomed and heightened. How desperately he wanted to press deeply inside her, over and over, and take her in every position imaginable until this hunger for her vanished.
He eased himself on top of her, allowing them both to lie in her bed as he'd imagined doing moments before. He gently rolled them to their sides. Had she been coaxing him to his death, he gladly would have followed. The full lushness of her breasts cushioned his chest. Besides the thin shirt, she wore a small patch of lace between her thighs. She was the most erotic little creature, and he deeply resented the menial barriers preventing complete skin to skin contact.
She settled one leg over his waist, cradling him intimately, and he sank deeper into the apex of her legs. He hissed in a breath at the exquisite pleasure. He knew he should shove her away, knew he should begin the questioning. He did not have much time, for he already felt the weakening effects of leaving Atlantis.
But he could not stop. Was helpless. Desperate for her.
He had to have this woman.
His lust for her was dangerous, forbidden, but time slipped outside of reality, and Darius allowed himself to feel instead of think. As he did so, the very things he'd always despised became his greatest allies. Tenderness. Passion. Greed. Warm, female flesh tantalized him. Her sweet, feminine scent drugged him. Smooth and perfect A sheen of sweat covered his brow.
As if she read his mind and discerned his needs, she sucked on his tongue, nibbled on his lips, and slanted her mouth for deeper penetration. She taught him the way of it, consuming him bit by enticing bit. And he let her do it. He would have begged her to continue if necessary.
He trailed one hand over her body, tracing the velvety texture of her skin, first along the column of her spine, then over the roundness of her bottom. She moaned, and he slid his fingers between her legs, allowing them to travel up and over her panties, her moist heat, then under her shirt.
"I love the feel of your hands," she gasped when his fingertips grazed her nipple. He circled the hard bud with the tip of his finger. "So good."
She'd said as much to him before and still he relished the words. They made his every nerve dance and clamor to please her. He licked her neck and rubbed against her, nestling his erection in the pulsing heart of her desire. Their gasps blended, his strained, hers hoarse. Which only made it clear they both needed more.
"I want you naked," he said raggedly.
"Yes, yes."
Impatient to see her, he tore the folds of her shirt in two. She didn't flinch from his action; instead she arched her back, offering herself to him. Silently telling him to do with her what he would. Her breasts sprang free, revealing two rosy nipples, both pebbled and wanting. In the moonlight, her slightly rounded stomach glowed like fresh cream, and a small, silver jewel winked from her navel. He paused and fingered the stone.
"What is this?" he asked.
She wet her lips. "A belly-button ring."
He'd never heard of such a thing, but praise be the gods for its creation. The eroticism of seeing
a jewel nestled in the hollow of her stomach nearly felled him. His muscles taut, he bent his head and flicked his tongue over the little bud. She gasped and shivered. His body jerked in response.
"I shouldn't have done it," she said, gripping his shoulders, urging him on with the sting of her nails. "I'm not skinny enough."
"You are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld."
Her heavy-lidded gaze met his. She opened her mouth to protest, then cupped his jaw and compelled his lips to hers. He slanted his chin, taking more of her, sinking into her. As his fingertips continued to caress the jewel, he trailed kisses along her shoulder and neck, then moved to her breasts. Biting her lip, moaning, she bowed toward him, letting him suck her nipples deeply, hungrily. He wanted to taste all of her at the same time: her stomach, her nipples, the core of her.
"Darius?" she said, her tone thick and drugged with arousal.
"Hmm?" Though his body urged him to finish what they'd started, he continued to savor. Continued to feast on her.
"I want my hands all over you."
He stilled, gazing down at her and thinking he must have misheard. No woman had ever said such a thing to him before. Perhaps he'd left them too quickly. Or perhaps they'd been as unconcerned with him as he was with them. "Tell me what you wish to do to me." His voice emerged hoarse, choked.
"I want to give you pleasure." Her eyes were like turquoise flames. "So much pleasure."
"How?"
"By kissing you like you're kissing me. By touching you like you're touching me."
"Where?" He couldn't stop the questions. He needed the words.
"Everywhere."
"Here?" He skimmed his hand inside her panties, felt the softness of her hair, and dove two fingers inside her silky wetness.
"God, yes!" she screamed. Her eyes closed, and she moved her hips with his fingers. She moaned, "That feels… that makes me… Ohmygod."
"Do you want to touch me like this, sweet Grace. Between my legs?"
"Yes. Oh, yes." Grace uttered a ragged exhalation and coasted her hands under his shirt and across the bold, black tattoos on his chest. The tips of his nipples speared into her palms as a deep thrum of pleasure rocked her entire body.
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