The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(28)

She struggled to harden herself against him, to retain the wall of ice around her emotions. If she ever decided to - God forbid - enter into a relationship, it would not be with a nymph (aka male whore). No matter how irresistible. Shaye knew herself well enough to know she despised sharing. She'd shared her parents with their ever-changing lovers. She'd shared her childhood with sometimes cruel, rarely caring stepsisters and brothers, with loneliness and disappointment.

If ever she gave herself to someone, it would be to a man who wanted her and only her. A man who would give up his life to make her happy. She, in turn, would do the same.

Was she asking and offering too much? Absolutely. But it was what she wanted, and she wouldn't settle for less - even though she knew it was an impossible dream. Perhaps that was why she wanted it in the first place. If she couldn't have it, she didn't have to worry about heartbreak.

Valerian talked a good talk, and God knows he could probably walk a delectable, mind-shattering walk all over her body, but he'd do the same for any and every woman who caught his fancy. He wanted "now" from her, a momentary dalliance, no ties afterward.

No, thank you.

She could have had that on the surface.

Silently she worked the room for two hours, feeling every ounce of wall and floor she could reach. To her vast disappointment, frustration and fury, she found no hidden latch. She was stuck here. If she were home, she would be peacefully tucked in bed right now. Alone. And lonely, her mind piped up.

"Shut up, you stupid brain," she muttered. Lonely was good. Besides, she had a fulfilling life. She would have woken up in the morning, had coffee with her assistant and discussed the day's events. She would have presented a new card idea, probably something along the lines of Congratulations on your new promotion. Before you go, would you mind taking the knife out of my back? You'll probably need it again. Her assistant would have laughed, the rest of the staff would have laughed, and she would have felt like a smart, appreciated person. Not like a confused, horny teenager.

"Go to sleep, moon," Valerian said, cutting into her thoughts. "I sense you're upset. Since I cannot comfort you as I would like... "

"Well, you're responsible for it." She tangled a hand through her hair, nearly ripping out the strands. "Please, Valerian. Take me back to the beach."

A pause. Heavy. Thick. "What is so important there that you must return to it?"

"My home." Paid in full. "My job." Her only real source of accomplishment.

"What was your job?"

He'd used past tense. She made sure to use present. "I make anti-greeting cards," she said proudly.

"Tell me of these anti-cards," he beseeched.

It was a subject she embraced. "There are many companies that produce sappy I love you, I miss you type salutations. Not mine. They say just the opposite."

"I am not surprised," he said, chuckling. "Can you not make such cards here?"

She could, but she didn't want to, so she ignored his question. God, how was she going to get out of here?

"I notice you do not mention friends and family," he said a short while later.

Knowing exactly where this conversation was headed, she should have stopped it then. Should have told him to get lost and leave her alone. But for some reason, she didn't. Couldn't. "That's right," she found herself saying.

"Why?"

She leaned her forehead against the cool wall and squeezed her eyes closed. Lie. Make him feel guilty. "I don't have many friends," she admitted instead, the truth a tangible entity that refused to be denied, "and I don't get along with my family."

"Why?" he repeated.

Why, indeed. "You might have noticed I don't have the sweetest of personalities."

He barked a quick laugh. "Yes, perhaps I did notice."

"That tends to drive people away." The way she intended. Her hands slid up the glittering stone and anchored beside her head. Telling him about her life was dangerous, giving him ammunition against her, but she couldn't seem to end it. He called to something deep inside her. Something... primitive.

"You have not driven me away," he said quietly.

"No, I haven't." She sighed. Why hadn't she? Why hadn't he run from her? Run as fast as his feet could carry him?

"What is so important about your home and job that you cannot stay here with me? I can be your family. I can be your friend. You can sell the cards to me."

"I worked hard for my home. It's mine. I worked hard to make my job a success. I have nothing here."

"But you could." He was still speaking in that soft, tender voice. Let me give you everything, his words implied.

A hot ache squeezed at her chest. She needed to fortify herself against this man, she reminded herself. "Why are you doing this to me? You could have any of the other women. They would eagerly come to you and do anything you asked of them."

"They are not you."

A simple sentence, yes, but it rocked her to the core. Scowling, she straightened. "What's so special about me, hmm? I defy you to name one thing."

For a long while he didn't reply, and that both elated and defeated her. Stupid, she chastised herself, to crave praise from him. The goal was to convince him he didn't want her. Right? "Well?"