by Sue Wilder
Christan doubted she would come out again, which meant she wouldn’t eat. Meals were prepared by a warrior named Paulo and served at the main lodge. Marge thought it fostered a sense of family unwinding at the end of the day. Christan avoided the large dining table, knew Lexi did, too. While she might have essentials in the tiny cottage kitchen, she needed real food on a wet night, hot enough to chase the chill.
He prowled around beneath the pines, claws digging deep into the dirt. He drew on the well of anger, the steadfast belief that he knew her at the core. Throughout his long life Christan had been the master of war. Fighting and tactics came as easily to him as love and sex came to others. And yet, in that one small encounter, in the middle of a forest, she’d cast doubt over everything he believed.
It was as simple as that. No bells. No whistles. Just damn… simple.
Christan turned and walked toward the lodge, changed back into his human form as he reached the steps. No one asked why he gathered a bowl of hot soup, a salad, another bowl of stew, an apple, some candy bars and warm bread and slammed them all down on a rectangular tray. When he noticed he’d squashed the bread he threw it away, took another piece.
No one offered to help as he tipped his head and stared down at the selections, wondering what he’d missed. She thought she’d taught him how to cook, and she had—a long time ago, and he didn’t remember much about the cooking. His mouth tightened and as he covered the tray and stalked back out into the rain, he never noticed how Arsen and Marge stepped out of his way and watched him leave.
Lexi loved the log cabin. Crafted by local artisans, the design blended with the forest environment. There were high vaulted ceilings with open rafters, warm golden light from the lamps and chandeliers. River rock surrounded two fireplaces, one in the living area, the other tucked into the bedroom. The nights could get cold, and while there was modern heating, fireplaces were nice for sudden chills and relaxing ambiance.
On the day she arrived Arsen pointed out the supply of split logs and the kindling, then handed her a box of long matches. He’d taken her though a kitchen with stainless steel appliances, past warm Navajo rugs on a planked wood floor. The butter-soft leather furniture invited conversations while the bedroom was private. It was a cabin that protected her and it would be difficult to leave.
The bathroom was her favorite space. The hammered brass tub was authentic, judging by the patina, and fitted with modern faucets. There was a shower tiled with stone and a sink, carved from a massive boulder. The surface had been smoothed until it dropped into a natural basin crafted in ceramic, large enough to bathe a small child. It was so realistic she expected to see ferns growing close to the edge. Little jars with pink bath salts sat on a transparent shelf beside a pitcher that reminded her of aqua-colored sea glass.
Those details went unobserved, though, as Lexi walked through the cabin. Her pulse was racing. Nerves beneath her skin were still zinging. How insane did a person have to be to confront a wild animal where no one could hear a cry for help? But she thought the predator was Christan, hoped it was him. And she’d needed to make peace.
Now she wasn’t sure. She hurried into the bathroom, slid out of her wet clothes and tossed them in the corner before turning on the water in the brass tub. She didn’t know if Christan was back, didn’t know what animal forms he liked to use, and confronting a mountain lion was pretty freaky when you thought about it. Not a rational experience in the normal world.
The entire situation was not part of a normal world, and Lexi slid into the warm water. The man demolished her. Turning at night, the scrape of the sheet became the touch of his hand. With her face against the pillow, she recalled the scent of his skin. The warmth of his mouth, a male caress, drifting until her pulse raced. She would stare into the flames in the fireplace and see his face, reach out to pull him back as if she knew he was slipping over an edge she couldn’t see. That he’d slipped once before and she’d watched him fall.
Lexi pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes. Stupid, she was so stupid and now he’d gotten beneath her skin. He was the most aggressive man she’d ever met, so physical that even when he was raging, part of her ached for tenderness. She liked that he towered over her, that his shoulders could blot out the sky if she ever found herself beneath him. She didn’t understand it, couldn’t, unless it was lust left over from a past life.
Which was what it was, she reminded herself ruthlessly. An old dynamic, nothing more than imprints centuries old. Those experiences had not happened to her. She was not Gaia, or any of the other G names associated with past lives. And yet her body softened, opened and made her wonder how he would taste with the taste of her on his lips. How his fingers would feel deep inside, or if his hands would tangle in her hair and hold her while she…
Water splashed as Lexi jerked upright, listened hard for sounds from the next room. Christan wasn’t there, couldn’t possibly be there. He hated her in this life, and maybe that was the most insane part when you cut right down to the center, that her own damn imagination was spinning fantasies about a man who hated her.
Her phone chimed. It was in the pocket of her jeans, which she’d tossed onto the floor. Lexi slid from the bath, one foot out, the other in as she retrieved the cell phone and glanced at the caller identification.
“Marge? Everything okay?”
“Just checking in, making sure you were safe.”
“I’m fine.” Lexi had been hiding out these past two weeks and knew Marge was concerned. But it was too cold to go up to the main lodge. Lexi explained that she preferred to fix something light to eat, and then she would head off to bed.
“Well… call if you have trouble getting to sleep. I’m always here.” It was the tone Marge used when she needed someone to nurture.
“Isn’t Robbie around?” It was the best way to send Marge in another direction, and Lexi heard the soft laugh, then a male voice in the background, the rustle of clothing. “Uh, Marge, we can catch up in the morning.”
And it was as easy as that when Lexi wanted privacy.
But the bath was cold and she was halfway out. Lexi wrapped herself in one of the white towels from the towel warmer. The heat caressed her skin while rain beat steadily against the skylight above the sink. Exhaustion claimed her, physically, emotionally. Normally Lexi slept in the nude, but it was cold and she’d had enough restless nights with the sheets against her raw skin. She needed the tee shirt she preferred, and underwear. They were in the bureau in the bedroom. Wrapping the towel tighter, Lexi opened the bathroom door.
And discovered she was not alone.
Christan was crouched in front of the fireplace, shoving the last few twigs beneath a stack of split logs. At the sound of the door he straightened to his full height. His massive presence held the whispers of the night, warm and passionate and so natural Lexi felt her heart kick.
He remained partially obscured by shadow. Deliberately. Lexi caught the faintest scent of his skin, clean and male and filled with wild power. He was every bit as dangerous as the lion on the path; she saw it the way he stared at her fingers where she gripped the edges of the towel.
She shivered and said the first thing that came to mind.
“I need my clothes.” Her throat was tight with strain. “They’re in the bureau.”
She watched as Christan leaned back against the piece of furniture. He braced both palms on either side of his hips, his gaze drifting down her body, following the trickle of bath water over her calf toward her ankle.
“This bureau?” His voice sounded casual as if she’d asked about the weather. But Lexi heard something dangerous and crystalline beneath the surface. She grew annoyed, which seemed to amuse him.
“Yes, that bureau.” Her chin lifted. “Why are you here?”
“There’s a storm.” He glanced at a small table in a darkened corner. “I brought you dinner.”
Lexi looked at the tray covered with a variety of bowls and dishes, tried to hide her shock at th
e amount of food. Perhaps he hadn’t known what she liked to eat.
“I brought too much, didn’t I?”
He sounded irritated. Lexi shook her head to let him know the food was fine. Her hair was still wet. Water dripped down her throat and she shoved the heavy mass back, keeping her attention on the way his eyes darkened. He was studying her right hand, the two faint lines curling beneath the skin.
The room grew colder. Lexi couldn’t suppress the shivers across her shoulders. Goosebumps pebbled her arms, and he was studying those, too. With a subtle movement, he gestured toward the fireplace. Flames blossomed around the logs, spreading out the first hint of warmth.
“So,” she said, feeling drawn to the steady pulse in his throat.
“So,” he mimicked, a hardness in his voice that she would always associate with him. Firelight disappeared in strands of his hair, rimmed the edge of his chiseled face with copper and gold. He was looking at the beads of water on her thigh as if he wanted to lick them from her skin. Drawing in a deep breath, Lexi forced herself to remind him of her clothes.
“In this bureau.” He pushed his hips away, a sensual movement that hitched her breath. He had no intention of moving aside and she had no intention of getting that close.
“Yes, in that bureau.”
“And you want them.” He flicked that dangerous hand and the top drawer slid open. He reached inside, and the thought of those hard, male fingers resting on her panties made the muscles in her thighs cramp.
“I didn’t give you permission to touch my clothes.” Lexi’s voice was hoarse. His was just as deep.
“Not in this life, perhaps. But in others.”
“This is the life that requires permission.”
An abrupt indifference as he withdrew his hand. A fierceness in those dark eyes. He moved closer. It took an extreme effort for Lexi not to step back.
“Did you enjoy your bath?” he asked, and she watched as he took another step, then another, as if he couldn’t halt the progress.
“I was wet and cold,” she said.
“Then you were wet and warm.”
“And now I’m cold again.” Her voice became strangled, her breasts beneath the towel growing sensitive to the nubby weave. Christan reached out and lifted a strand of her hair, held it up to the light.
“You’re still covered in soap.”
“I’ll wash it off.” Lexi shied away from the midnight glint in his eyes, turned, ran to the bathroom—ran like a frightened rabbit while he padded after her on silent lion feet.
“Let me help.” His hands landed heavy on the curved edge of the boulder built into the wall, preventing escape. The heat of him reached the most responsive part of her.
“I’m not a child,” Lexi protested, but his hands brushed against her breasts before he lifted her and the protest died an early death.
“Tip your head,” he ordered, settling her hips on the flat surface surrounding the sink. The large carved basin was behind her. Christan turned on the taps. A moment later, he’d filled the sea-glass pitcher with warm water and was tipping it over her hair.
“You’re pouring water down my back,” she pointed out.
“Then don’t struggle.” He reached down and spread her thighs, stepped closer. Then he tipped her head. Water ran down the length of her hair and into the sink. “Better?”
“No.”
“Then don’t make it worse by wiggling. You’re already wet as a dog.” His touch was familiar, their banter easy, intimate, and she knew they’d spoken to each other this way many times before.
“Should I take comfort in being compared to a dog?”
“You should take comfort in being warm and wet.” He was using his thumbs to push the trickling water back from her temples, pressing closer, moving those hands through her hair, stroking her scalp.
Lexi leaned into the caress. She turned her head, let him pour more water, shivered beneath the sensuality of the moment. “I shouldn’t be letting you do this,” she said.
“It’s being done now, so stop thinking about it.”
“I like thinking.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“And maybe I remember more about you than you think.” Her eyes closed, but one hand had lifted to press against his chest when he leaned too close. “I recall a certain ability for manipulation.”
“Never with you, cara,” he said as he squeezed the water from her hair. He settled her on her feet and pushed her into the bedroom, the now drenched towel still clutched around her breasts. It was cold and heavy against the back of her thighs.
“I’m still wet,” she said without realizing the way he took it until she heard him laugh.
“Go stand by the fire.”
“Orders.”
“We’re not dealing like adults?”
Lexi grew wary. This man could put her on the floor, get into her mind and give her dreams worse than the nightmares if he wanted. She’d flung some power he’d given her back into his face and he’d been writhing on the floor. They shared lifetimes together, lifetimes she couldn’t remember. And they hated each other. Lexi shouldn’t forget that part. They hated with a fire that lasted centuries. He was immortal and not completely human and she shouldn’t forget any of it.
Christan relaxed against the wall, giving her plenty of space. Lexi shivered. He moved his hand again and flames in the fireplace leapt higher.
“That’s a pretty handy talent you have.” Christan raised an arrogant eyebrow and Lexi wanted to scream. “Can you do anything else beyond lighting fires, opening drawers, and face planting innocent people on the ground?”
It was meant as an insult, but he smiled with such slow devastation she knew he was equal to her taunts.
“Maybe.” His eyes held a wicked glint of silver. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“You’re not going to face plant me on the floor again, are you?”
“What do you think?”
Christan widened his stance, crossed his arms. The muscles flexed, light catching the dark tattoos. He was still leaning against the shadowed wall, a deceptive predator waiting on higher ground, holding her poised on the edge of a blade. One wrong move and she’d be sliced to ribbons. Lexi’s hand fisted deeper into the towel. When she turned away, her legs were trembling. She pretended the weakness was due to the cold.
“I think I don’t trust you,” she said, keeping her back to him.
“Well, only one way to find out if you do.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Do you want to find out, or don’t you?”
She hesitated, staring into the fire. “Maybe you could just tell me.”
“A demonstration is more effective.” His voice was low and seemed to trace down her spine. The wet towel draped and exposed the small of her back. Lexi’s throat tightened.
“Turn around and look at me,” he said.
Lexi glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t take orders well.”
“Please.”
She turned.
“Close your eyes.”
Lexi did, hating her cooperation because he’d asked nicely. She flinched when the first light touch moved across her forehead. Her eyes flew open. She recognized the disembodied touch. She’d been on the edge of sleep, listening to the meditation app Wallace put on her phone. The touch had pulled her back, the warmth so real it unnerved her—she’d been alone.
“Was it you outside my office that day?” she demanded. “Using that—that hand flicky thing to touch my arm?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You needed to wake up.”
Lexi scowled. Now that she understood what that meditation app was meant to do, she realized he was right. “So, I guess I should thank you?”
“Yes, you should.” The amusement had returned in his voice. “Say thank you, cara,” he added softly. “It’s not that hard.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
Christan didn’t like the r
equest; Lexi felt the predator rise in him and wanted to sooth him back into a relaxed calm. She wasn’t sure why.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then added his name. It felt… warm.
He was completely silent. Lexi closed her eyes, waited until the sensation of a calloused male finger traced along her eyebrow, down the curve of her cheek, over her nose to follow the angle of her jaw. The touch explored the soft skin beneath her chin until it dragged upward again and hesitated at the corner of her mouth. It took immense control not to part her lips and taste what wasn’t even a real.
The startling sensation moved down her throat and pressed against the sensitive dip between her collarbones. Beads of moisture were on her skin despite the warmth pervading the room. Lightly, the male touch slid into the pooled moisture and circled around, spread it in an intimate caress.
Lexi took a small, jerky step back.
“No moving.” His voice deepened. She cracked her eyelids and peeked. He was still leaning against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest, a witchy look in his eyes.
Lexi read the expression and snapped her own eyes shut, holding her breath until the slow sensation of movement resumed, tracing the curve of her shoulder, down her arm. Soft flesh of her inner elbow tingled. The length of her forearm. Hesitation, where the first faint tracings of memory lines curled on her wrist. He traced one to the tip of her finger, then back over her hand to her wrist. Lexi felt something like electricity and then flooding heat. An ache between pleasure and pain. She realized sensation was transmitted through the memory lines and he knew it—well of course he knew it.
“I think you can stop now.” But her eyes remained closed.
“You’re not ticklish, are you?”
She felt the caress resume at the top of her thigh, slide along the curve of sleek muscle, toward her inner knee. There it circled once, twice, before sliding along her calf, then her ankle, the arch of her foot to the tip of her toes. The touch began the return journey. Nerves burned until a wave of pure lust swept through her.
