Archangel's Kiss (Guild Hunter #2)(8)

“I think Illium can take care of himself.”

“Not if he keeps flirting with you.” A fine, almost elegant tendril of heat, champagne and sunshine, decadence in the light. “Raphael’s not the sharing kind.”

She pinned him with her eyes, attempting to ignore the twisting warmth in her stomach, a warmth he was fanning very deliberately. “Maybe you’re just jealous.”

Illium snorted with laughter as Dmitri’s own eyes narrowed. “I prefer to f*ck women who aren’t covered in prickles.”

“I’m so brokenhearted about that that I can’t put it into words.”

The force of Illium’s laughter almost tumbled him into the water. “Nazarach’s arrived,” he finally managed to say to Dmitri—even as he ran a strand of Elena’s hair through his fingertips. “He wants to talk to you about the extension of a Contract as punishment for an escape attempt.”

Dmitri’s face betrayed nothing as he rose from the water with an inherently sensual grace. This time, Elena kept her eyes open, refusing to lose the silent battle of wills. His body was a sweep of smooth sun-kissed skin over pure muscle, muscle that flexed with power as he began to pull on his pants.

His eyes met hers as he zipped them up, diamonds and fur and the unmistakable musk of raw sex wrapping around her throat like a necklace . . . or a noose. “Until next we meet.” The scent faded. “Let’s go.” It was directed at Illium, the tone one of command.

Elena wasn’t the least surprised when Illium rose to his feet and left with a simple good-bye. The blue-winged angel might mess with Dmitri, but it was clear that he—like the rest of the Seven, the members she’d met at least—would follow him without question. And for Raphael, each and every one would lay down his life in the blink of an eye.

The water rippled away from her in the wash of wind caused by an angel’s landing.

The scent of the sea, the rain, clean and wild on her tongue.

She felt her skin go taut, as if it was suddenly too small to contain the fever within. “Come to tease me, Archangel?” His scent had always spoken to her hunter senses, even before they became lovers. Now . . .

“Of course.”

But when she turned her head to meet his gaze as he came to crouch on the rim, what she saw made her breath catch in her throat. “What?”

Reaching forward, he pulled out the plain silver hoops in her ears. “These are now a lie.” He closed his hand and when it opened it again, silver dust fell to sparkle on the steaming water.

“Oh.” Unadorned silver was for the unattached—male or female. “I hope you have replacements,” she said, turning—her wings wonderfully waterlogged—so she could brace her arms on the ledge and face him. “Those were from a market in Marrakesh.”

He opened his other hand and a different pair of hoops shimmered back at her. Still as small, still as practical for a hunter, but a beautiful, wild amber. “You are now,” he said, putting them in her ears, “well and truly entangled.”

She stared at the ring finger of his hand, possessiveness a raging storm inside of her. “Where’s your amber?”

“You haven’t made a gift of it yet.”

“Find a piece to wear until I can get you something.” Because he wasn’t free, wasn’t open to invitation from those who would sleep with an archangel. He belonged to her, to a hunter. “I wouldn’t want to get blood on the carpet killing all those simpering vampire floozies.”

“So very romantic, Elena.” His tone was clear, his expression unchanged, but she knew he was laughing at her.

So she splashed him. Or tried to. The water froze between them, a sculpture of iridescent droplets. It was an unexpected gift, a glimpse into the heart of the boy Raphael must’ve once been. Reaching out, she touched the frozen water . . . only to find it wasn’t frozen. Wonder bloomed. “How’re you keeping it like this?”

“It’s a child’s trick.” The breeze flirted with his hair as the water settled. “You’ll be able to control such small things when you’re a little older.”

“Precisely how old am I in angel-speak?”

“Well, our twenty-nine-year-olds tend to be considered infants.”

Lifting her hand, she ran her fingers down the rigid line of his thigh, her stomach tight with expectation. “I don’t think you see me as an infant.”

“Correct.” His voice had dropped, his cock brutally hard against the tough black material of his pants. “But I do think you’re still recovering.”

She looked up, her body slick with welcome. “Sex is relaxing.”

“Not the kind of sex I want.” Calm words, white lightning in those eyes, a reminder that this was the Archangel of New York she was trying to tempt into wickedness.

But she hadn’t survived him the first time by giving in. “Come in with me.”

He rose to his feet and circled around until he was at her back. “If you watch me, Elena, I might break my promises to both of us.”

She would’ve turned anyway, unable to resist the temptation that was the gut-wrenching masculine beauty of him, but then he said, “It would be so easy for me to hurt you.”

For the first time, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was dealing with something new, something unexpected. Staying in place, she listened to the dull thud of his boots hitting the snow, the intimate whisper of his clothes sliding off his body. She could see the corded strength of his arms and shoulders in her mind, her fingers aching to stroke the ridged plane of his abdomen, the muscular length of his thighs.