The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(10)

He chuckled, disappointment forgotten. She had a sweet face and a bloodthirsty nature. What a delicious contradiction. "Why are you not begging for me to pleasure you?"

"Are you kidding me?" she gasped out. "Someone needs to check into Egos Anonymous, I see. Now put me down!"

"You did not answer my question."

"And I'm not going to. For God's sake, put me down!"

"I want to hold you. Forever."

A muscle ticked in her jaw, but this time she didn't reply.

"I wish I could give you what you ask," he said, "but too well do I like where you are." The side of her body was pressed into his chest, and everywhere their skin touched, he burned. "Perhaps, though, I would be willing to bargain with you. Perhaps you could convince me to grant your request."

Finally she cast her glance in his direction. When their gazes met, blue against golden brown, he sucked in a breath. Awareness sizzled inside him, stronger than before. Such beauty. His nostrils flared, and he knew his pupils dilated. His body hardened painfully.

She gulped, and her already pale skin became pallid. "No bargaining. Just put me down. Or do you and your steroid goon squad plan to rape us?"

"Rape?" he asked, unfamiliar with the word. Judging by her tone, it was not favorable. "Explain this rape to me."

She did. And in the most disgusted voice he'd ever heard.

He chuckled again. Unconcerned male pig? Unwilling female? "Sweet moonbeam, how you amuse me. I've never forced a woman in my life, and I will never have to. No, when I get you into my bed, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me."

WHEN I GET YOU INTO BED, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me.

To Shaye, the utter confidence in his voice was more frightening than if he'd screamed the words. As it was, a delicious heat wove through her blood. A heat that begged her to stop resisting and enjoy every stolen touch, every caress of the man's breath on her skin.

Never mind that the other women in the tent were petting the warrior as if he were an innocent house cat. Make that an innocent blow-up doll. They were begging - yes, begging - him to make love with them. Moaning, even, and groaning. Sounds of rapture continually wafted to her ears.

Give in, her body beseeched. Taste him. One taste won't hurt you.

Panicked by her weakening will, Shaye slammed her palm into her captor's nose. His head whipped backward, and blood trickled onto his lip. "Why did you do that?" he demanded after a shocked pause.

Thankfully, his hold on her had loosened. Shaye bowed her back, and he struggled to maintain his grip on her. She managed to squirm free and tumble to her feet. Get out of here! common sense shouted, drowning out her body's ever-growing wails for her to stay. She stepped forward, dragging her wild gaze in every direction, scanning for her mom. Her breath emerged in shallow, ragged pants.

She saw Preston, lying unconscious on the floor. When he'd protested the warrior's actions, one of them had hit him. She saw Conner, her mom's new husband, frantically searching the crowd. But there was no sign of her mom. Damn it! Where was she? They might have a rocky relationship, but Shaye couldn't - wouldn't - leave her behind.

Shaye stepped forward, intending to follow Conner's lead and push through the masses, but the warrior behind her seized her wrist in a viselike clamp. Her blood ran hot from the sensual touch, then cold from fear.

He'd asked her if she smelled him, and she'd said no. Well, she'd lied. She inhaled his erotic, virile fragrance every time he was near, and it fired her hormones into a frenzy. Now was no different.

"You hit me," he said. Undiluted shock layered his words, as if no one had ever dared raise a hand to him before. "Why did you do that?"

Silent, Shaye turned around and kneed him in the balls. Just lifted her leg and boom. Contact. He doubled over, a strained wheeze gasping from his throat.

"Not so hot for my body now, are you?" she mumbled, never stopping her search.

"That... hurt," he gritted out.

"Of course it did, and there's more where that came from if you grab me again."

Without another word, she darted away, still looking... looking... There! Finally. In the corner, her new stepdad had his arms wrapped around her mom, locking a struggling Tamara in place.

Shaye jumped over fallen chairs and skirted around upturned tables, slipping and sliding along a river of red punch. Someone snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her against a stone wall of a chest - and it wasn't her warrior. This man's scent was different, not quite as exotic. Even his skin felt different, not quite as hot. His arms possessed a faint dusting of dark hair.

She screamed and slammed her head backward, hitting him in the chin. Her entire body vibrated with the force of the blow. He growled something, and she didn't have to know his language to know he was cursing. His arms fell away; she whirled on him, ready to fight.

She never should have come here, never should have gotten on the plane. Nothing good ever came of her mom's weddings. Only pain and suffering, and this was the worst of all.

The he-man regarded her through wide blue eyes. "I only meant to kiss you," he said, in English this time, his voice so heavily accented she had trouble deciphering the words. When her frantic mind finally deduced his meaning, she slapped him.

"Ow!"

"No kissing." What was it with the Steroid Squad and their carnal obsessions? Let me pleasure you. You'll be desperate for me. No, no and no! Except for the leader. Or the one she assumed was the leader. Earlier, when they'd first entered the tent, he'd spoken in that strange language and all the men had rushed into action. Him, she foolishly desired.