The Volatile Amazon

by Sandy James

  Did she know she moved her lips as she read? Each bat of her impossibly long lashes mesmerized him. Smiles formed from the story she savored.

  As it did each time he saw her, his cock rose to attention, pitching a tent in the fabric of his black kilt. Ian adjusted the pleats to try to hide his arousal. Damn, but Artair didn’t deserve a woman so devastatingly beautiful.

  “Who gave you permission to come here?” he snapped. Perhaps one day he would learn not to take his frustration out on her. She hadn’t set out to tempt him, but tempt him she did—as much as the devil himself.

  She flinched, catching the book before it tumbled to the floor. “I didn’t ask for permission.”

  “Ye should have.”

  “Why? Didn’t you tell me I could come and go as I pleased?”

  “Not in my library.” He stomped over to one of the shelves lining the walls and snatched a book, not caring which one he took.

  Slamming her book shut, she put it on the small table that sat beside her chair. “You made me lose my place.”

  “Donnae expect an apology. You trespass here.”

  “Sile brought me.”

  Not a surprise. The meddling old woman had been poking her nose into his business from the time he’d been a child. Once he became laird, Ian’d had to fend off Sile’s numerous attempts at finding him a bride. She knew his habits well and had led Rebecca here. The servant had probably chosen the dress as well, knowing that shade of blue was his favorite color.

  “She should know better,” he mumbled.

  Rebecca rose, the length of her dress swirling around her bare feet. Then she crossed the room to stand in front of him. That thought made a smile cross his lips.

  “Your moods are like the wind,” she said.

  Her voice could charm Eden’s snake to eat the apple himself. He wanted to hear that sexy voice cry out his name as passion held her in its talons—passion for him and him alone.

  He frowned.

  “See? Goddess, you’re smiling one second and scowling the next.” Wrapping her arms around her waist, she took a deep breath then blew it. “I need a bath.”

  “Does Sile not bring you water to wash?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  Ian leaned forward to sniff at her, hoping to tease her, but he ended up breathing in her seductive smell. “You smell fine to me. Not too offensive, at least.”

  He had to will himself not to grin at her indignant gasp.

  She wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the air. Then she coughed. “You could use a bath.”

  “What say you?” Damn it if he didn’t almost lift his arm to give himself a quick sniff. He narrowed his eyes. “I bathed last eve.”

  “Bathed? You mean there’s a tub in this pile of rocks? Where?”

  “Pile of rocks? ’tis my home you insult, lass.”

  “Dorcha àite.”

  The Gaelic from her lips was music to his ears. “Who told you those words?”

  “Sile. She said that’s what this place is called. A dark place. Right?”

  How easily he could drop his guard around her. “You know enough now. Sile shouldn’t be telling tales of the old times.” He rose and walked to the archway before he took Rebecca in his arms and kissed the frown right off her lips.

  She hurried after him, grabbing his upper arm. “Wait. Please.”

  “Yes?”

  “You said you had a bath.”

  “Aye.”

  “Where’s the tub?”

  “No tub.”

  Her eyes searched his. “If there’s not tub, then where—”

  “The pond.”

  She scrunched up her forehead. “You don’t mean the pond at the end of the courtyard?”

  “Aye. The very same.”

  “Isn’t it muddy?”

  “Nay. ’tis lined with rocks.”

  She dropped her hand. “You’re pulling my leg. No way. Not in front of your entire clan. Where did you used to bathe, back when your clan lived here?”

  Ian tweaked her nose. “You’re a bundle of nosiness this fine day. We had a bathhouse. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Where is it now?”

  “Gone long ago.” Done answering her questions, he tried to walk away.

  She stopped him again. “Can I swim in your pond?”

  His first inclination was to deny her impertinent request. The woman had somehow gotten it into her mind that she was no longer a captive. Hell, from the moment she’d arrived, she’d refused to cower to him. If she wanted something, she got it. Sile added more and more vegetables to their meals, knowing that, despite Ian’s repeated orders, Rebecca wouldn’t eat a single bite of meat.

  He’d gone soft. In the old days, he’d have told her to go hungry if she wouldn’t eat the mutton or venison he’d provided. Damn it all if he wasn’t eating more of the funny vegetables that Sile produced. He envied the ghost’s freedom to roam.

  Then he saw something in Rebecca’s eyes—some sadness. God forbid she learned just how easily she made him want to give her anything she desired.

  He gave her an exaggerated sigh to make her think her request was exorbitant. “Fine. Ye may use the pond.”

  Happiness radiated from her face. “Thank you, Ian.” She rose on tiptoes to brush a kiss over his cheek, hardly able to reach until he bent a little to help her span the distance.

  “That’s the only thanks I get?” he teased with an indignant huff. “Hardly worth the bother of the favor.”

  * * *

  Ian had deliberately made something simple seem as if it had cost him a great amount of money or effort.

  Figuring she could be every bit as aggravating, Sarita frowned. “It was a big way to say thanks. It’s not like I want to kiss you.” She swallowed hard. “Makes me nauseous just to think about it.”

  His scorching frown could have set a green tree aflame. “You love kissing me!”

  Biting back a smile, she shook her head. “I’d sooner kiss a pig.” She whirled to walk away.

  Ian grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her waist and raising her off the stone floor until he could look her in the eye. “When I kiss you, you melt.”

  When she tried to shake her head, he stopped her by slamming his mouth against hers.

  The ruse ended the moment his lips touched hers. The chemistry was instant. Consuming. His tongue swept in her mouth, and she grasped it between her teeth to give it a tug. He moaned and squeezed her tighter against him.

  Sarita stroked his shoulders, marveling at the strength of the muscles rolling beneath his skin. Should he ever turn his anger on her, despite her Amazon skills, she’d be hard-pressed to defend herself. That strength didn’t frighten her. Instead, it made her want to touch every part of him, to explore each hard plane, to run her tongue over every inch of his body.

  He carried her to the settee in the corner and laid her out, following her until his body blanketed hers. Without his encouragement, she spread her legs wide enough he could rest between them, only her gown and his kilt between them. Had those barriers not been there, she would have welcomed him inside her body. As it was, she kept only a tenuous hold on her self-control.

  Ian fumbled with her bodice, unlacing it before jerking it down to bare her breasts. She had no will to stop him as his head moved lower and the velvet surface of his tongue stroked across her nipple.

  Sarita arched her back and dug her fingers into his shirt. Only her teeth biting into her lower lip kept her from crying out. He shifted to her other breast, licking and sucking until she laced her fingers through his hair, demanding he keep up the blissful torture.

  “So verra beautiful,” he whispered against her flesh before he took a nipple between his teeth and tugged.

  She
gave him a moan then, especially when his hands tugged at the skirts of her gown. It dawned on her that once he lifted her dress, there was nothing left to protect her. No panties. Sile didn’t know what Sarita had been talking about when she’d tried to explain.

  And weren’t Scotsmen naked under their kilts?

  This was quickly getting out of hand, and her body warred with her mind over what to do. Every touch was so familiar and so arousing, she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him. Her core throbbed for completion, wanting him to press deep inside her and fill her the way she’d dreamed about for so long.

  Yet if she surrendered to him, he’d be winning some kind of victory over her.

  The truth slammed into her.

  Ian didn’t want her.

  He wanted to seduce Artair’s wife.

  How could she have forgotten? Ian thought she was Rebecca MacKay, that she was Earth. Sarita had been so lost in the sensual web he’d spun in her dreams and continued with each kiss, each caress since he’d taken her prisoner, she’d completely forgotten her ruse and his ultimate goal.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Sarita wiggled her hands between them and pushed with all her might.

  Ian stopped to stare into her eyes. “What’s wrong, loving?”

  “Get off me! Get the hell off me!” She thrashed, trying to bring her leg up between his so she could land a blow that would get him to move.

  “Nay.” His hands framed her face as he used his thighs to trap hers. “Stop. Stop struggling and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Get off me!”

  “Nay! You wanted me, lass. Don’t deny it. You were as ready as I was to make love.”

  She refused to answer him and tried to move him again. She might as well have been trying to move the Himalayas.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said as his thumbs stroked her cheeks.

  “You want Artair’s wife.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh yes, you do. You don’t want me. You’ve never wanted me!”

  * * *

  The despair in Rebecca’s voice sliced through Ian’s sexual haze. While they’d acknowledged she was Artair’s wife, he thought he’d made it clear that what flared was about them, not about cuckolding her husband. That was Helen’s game. Somewhere in the time he’d spent with Rebecca, Ian had separated his goal from Helen’s. Now, he wanted her because of who she was, not what she was. “Lass, listen. Please.”

  For a small woman, she was damned strong. Despite his heavier weight and taller body, he had a hard time holding her down. Fearing she’d hurt herself, he pushed himself away and jumped off the settee.

  She refused the hand he offered to help her to her feet. Eyes angry and wild, she faced him. “You won’t touch me again.”

  When Ian reached out to caress her face, she jerked her head away. His hand fell to his side. “We’ll speak again at dinner. Perhaps you’ll have a grip on this irrational anger by then.”

  “I hate you, Ian.” Sarita gathered her skirts in her hands, hiked them to her knees and ran from the library.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarita wanted to grab a sword and run it straight through Ian.

  “Damn him.”

  She’d been a fool. An utter fool. How easy to forget that she was supposed to be Rebecca MacKay—Artair’s wife. Sarita had lost herself in the way Ian made her body sing. She hadn’t thought about how Rebecca should have been reacting to Ian’s attempts to sleep with her. Instead, she’d acted like a teenager in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car.

  She’d been seduced by her own dreams.

  “Goddess, damn him.”

  The blue dress only reminded her of Ian, so she yanked it from her body. Sile took care of the clothing or else Sarita would have either stomped on it or picked it up and tried to shred the material just to vent her anger. She considered stuffing it through the tiny window so she’d never have to see it again and be reminded of what had happened in the library.

  Dressed only in the silk shift, she closed her eyes, wishing Ganga could hear her and pop her back to Avalon. Her sisters had to be searching everywhere for her, trying to reach out to sense her.

  What if they needed her help? What if Marbas wasn’t the only demon that had been unleashed? What if someone had let a bunyip loose? One of those could crawl out of a swamp and swallow a person whole. Only she could bring the evil creature back in check.

  What if the Children of the Earth were stirring up trouble? While there were reports of arsons and disappearances in several large cities, police never seemed to find anything tangible to arrest any of the cult members. Priceless antiquities around the world were being targeted for vandalism—always some piece that honored one of the Ancients. As though destroying the painting or sculpture would steal away some of that Ancient’s power. The Louvre in Paris. The National Gallery in London. The Uffizi in Florence. There was a plot to blow up the Parthenon—although that was blamed on terrorists, the Amazons knew better.

  Families protested when their relatives joined the cult and handed over all their assets to Helen, but no one could find anything criminal in nature. It wasn’t as if the Amazons could announce that magicks were involved. To the world, the Children of the Earth were just another cult bilking members of their money. Yet there were at least ten Congressmen and a couple of generals who sang Helen’s praises.

  Sarita felt as dry as she had back in the desert when she, Gina and Zach had faced Sekhmet. Dry to Water wasn’t only uncomfortable but dangerous. Drinking the spring water and washing didn’t cut it anymore. This ordeal had taken too much out of her. She needed to immerse herself in water.

  That left her only one choice.

  She opened the door to her room and stuck her head out to check the corridor. The torches had all been extinguished, which meant the servants weren’t around. With any luck, Ian was sound asleep.

  The coast was clear.

  Stepping into the hall, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Once she could see well enough not to bounce off the walls, she worked her way down the long corridors to the exit leading to the enclosed courtyard—and the pond.

  The full moon showered the grassy area with plenty of light. Seeing it made her homesick to see Avalon and the other Amazons. Gina was her closest sister, and a full moon meant Air was at her peak strength. Gina would always go a bit...wild those three days, and she usually needed Sarita to keep her grounded.

  Of course now Gina had her husband, Zach. He would help her through. Gina didn’t need Sarita. Honestly, none of the Amazons really needed her anymore.

  And Ian only needed her for bait.

  She felt about as useful as a rotary dial telephone.

  Although the night was chilly, the water was warm enough to raise a light fog over its surface. The temperature didn’t matter. It was water.

  A quick look around declared the courtyard empty. Not that she’d expected to see anyone. Judging from the moon’s rise, midnight had come and gone. How depressing to know she’d allowed herself to sulk for that long after she’d fled the library.

  The rumbling in her stomach wasn’t bothering her. Yet. But it reminded her she’d skipped dinner, choosing not to face Ian again. Better to be hungry than to let him gloat. Hell, she’d almost made love to a man who only wanted to use her.

  She’d never felt so humiliated in her whole life. Nor so stupid. He didn’t want her, despite what he’d said. Oh, he wanted sex. Didn’t all men?

  No, Ian wanted to make Artair’s wife betray him.

  Tired of the endless circles of her thoughts, Sarita pulled her shift over her head and tossed it on the grass before she ran to the water.

  The pond’s water was crystal clear. Now, the water beckoned her, its irresistible pull holding her fast. Taking a co
uple of long breaths, she inhaled once more and held the air in her lungs while she dove below the surface.

  Every cell in her body sprang to life, loving the weightlessness of being in the life-giving water. Curling into a ball and holding her knees to her chest, Sarita sank until she bumped against the cold stones of the pond’s deepest point.

  Not as deep as she would’ve liked. Maybe ten feet, judging from the darkness and how long it had taken her to touch bottom. She planned on resting on the pond’s floor as long as she could. This Water power seemed not to be affected by the castle’s enchantment.

  Eleven minutes was her best time underwater. By human standards, phenomenal. By Amazon standards, nothing but average. According to Ganga, one of her past Waters could stay underwater for a good thirty minutes.

  Sarita wanted to give that record a try. The water worked its magic, and she never wanted to crawl out of it.

  Stretching out, she explored the pond’s floor, gliding her fingers along the rocks. There were no fish for her to play with—no creatures who loved and needed the water as much as she did—but at least she was free and calm for the first time since she’d arrived at dorcha àite.

  * * *

  After hours of tossing and turning, Ian finally tossed the blanket aside and threw himself out of bed. Sleep was impossible.

  Rebecca haunted him. He could still see her eyes, dark with passion as he’d touched her. Then those eyes filled with hatred. The memory made him scowl and stomp around the room.

  She had things all wrong in that wee female mind of hers. Oh, this might have started out as a way to please Helen. He would have seduced Rebecca to humiliate Artair. Stealing her love away would only have added to the sweetness of the victory.

  Then the rules had changed when he wasn’t paying attention.

  This wasn’t about Artair anymore. It had ceased to be about him the moment Ian opened himself up to the tiny, exotic woman who held him spellbound.

  She’d captured his dreams, and that had been torture enough. Now that he was with her and had the chance to not only get to know her but also to touch her, to kiss the real woman, she haunted every minute of his existence. He could taste her against his lips. He could feel the weight of her breasts in the palms of his hands. He could sense her writhing beneath him, her passion running every bit as hot as his own. She’d become a fever in his blood.