The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(32)

Her teeth ground together, causing her jaw to ache. "What about that warrior? Joachim?"

"We will deal with him when he awakens." The words growled from low in Valerian's chest.

Her fingers tightened over the ivory fabric; it was cool and soft against her fingertips. Do not think about Joachim. You'll only drive yourself to panic. The dresses, she'd think about the dresses. Once more, her gaze slid over the one she held. She had never worn anything so feminine. Never owned anything so feminine, for that matter. This was something an ancient Greek or Roman queen would have worn. Luscious and exquisite. Not a stitch out of place or a flaw to be seen.

"Whose room is this?" she asked. Valerian had said it was his - hadn't he? - but surely he would not own this many gowns.

"The room is mine," was his answer.

She faced the door. His silhouette paced back and forth, a large slash of black. A phantom. "Do you often wear women's clothing, Valerian?"

"Gods, no!"

She grinned at the affront in his voice. "Then why do you have all these robes?" The answer slammed into her, and she lost her grin. They were for his women. His too-numerous-to-count conquests.

"Shaye," he said warily.

To wear the gowns was to imply she was one of his women. "I do not belong to you, and I will not dress as if I do." She turned away from the closet, from the lovely ivory silk she wanted so badly to slip over her head. She'd suffer in her shells and grass skirt, thank you very much, rather than proclaim herself Valerian's lover. Even in so small a way.

Tiny allowances like that one could open the door to other, more severe allowances. Like giving in to his expert touch.

"We could bargain," he cajoled.

What was with the man and his bargaining? "I wear one of the gowns and you'll... what?"

"Kiss you?"

She gulped and had to blank her mind against the passionate images trying to force their way inside. "You really need to work on your bargaining skills. They suck." Had her voice shaken?

"I would like to," he muttered. "Suck you, that is."

Her cheeks fused with heat, and a tremor stole over her. "I don't want your kisses." There. Finally, at long last, she knew she sounded convincing.

"A fake protest, if I've ever heard one."

"Offer something else!" she demanded, before she pounded out of the room and slapped him.

"Such as? And do not mention taking you to the surface, for you know I will not negotiate on that point."

"I don't know why I'm even talking to you." She huffed out a hot breath. "Stubborn, that's what you are."

"Do not change if that is your desire. I am not forcing you, moon. I like seeing your skin. I see it, and I imagine myself licking it."

O-kay. So. She couldn't stay dressed in the shells and grass, after all.

Shivering, with molten lava running through her veins, she gazed around the room. Valerian's room, he'd said. She remembered seeing male clothing when she'd searched the place last night. Where... where... the vanity! She grinned as she raced to the thick, intricately carved marble beauty. The drawers slid out easily. Inside the top one lay stack upon stack of shirts. They were huge and would swim on her, but at least they would cover her (apparently lickable) skin.

With a quick glance at the doorway, she tore off the hated shells and tossed them on the floor with relief. She tugged on a shirt, and the black, buttery-soft material made her sigh in delight. The second drawer held pants, all leather, all black. The fact that they were folded so neatly struck her as... odd. Domestic.

These nymphs were anything but domesticated.

She wouldn't have doubted if the women she'd seen leaving the room last night were responsible. Caring for all of Valerian's needs, even his laundry.

A spark of jealousy burned inside of her. "No, that's not true. I am not jealous," she muttered in a futile attempt to convince herself. Motions clipped, she unwound the grass from her waist, letting it pool on the ground, then tugged on the pants. She had long legs, but even so the panels of material dwarfed her. She had to roll the hem numerous times and belt the waist with a scarf from one of the gowns in the closet. She slipped on her sandals.

There were no mirrors (unless she counted the ones above the bed), so she had to guess how she looked. Ridiculous, she was sure. Sloppy. And that, to her way of thinking, was perfect. She wanted that too-intense Joachim guy to find her completely unattractive.

Valerian, too, she reminded herself.

As she stood there, deciding what to do next, Valerian's masculine scent wafted to her, filling her nostrils. Strong, spicy. So arousing her nipples hardened, abrading the shirt she now wore. Why was she smelling him? She wasn't by the door, wasn't even close.

She twisted and turned, only then realizing the heady fragrance curled from the clothes. Her eyes widened. Wretched clothes! Wonderful clothes. Had he worn them? Had they touched his body? An ache throbbed between her legs.

She'd never been a sexual creature, and these new, continued sensations rocked her. How long could she deny them? How long could she resist? She'd wondered before, but the answer suddenly seemed imminent. She almost ripped the shirt and pants off. She did moan, the sound raw and needy.

"What are you doing in there?" Valerian asked, his voice tight, drawn.