The Nymph King (Atlantis #3)(46)

"I am injured," he repeated. "Sex strengthens me. I will heal faster once I have penetrated you."

A hot gasp bubbled in her throat, nearly choking her. "Uh, you can die for all I care. I'm not letting you - " she weaved a hand through the air " - penetrate me."

"You will find my lovemaking exquisite." The corners of his mouth edged into a deep frown. "I assure you."

"No."

"Shaye," he cajoled. "Sweet moonbeam."

"Valerian," she snapped. "Whoremonger."

A muscle twitched beside his eye. "I have turned away all other women for you. I have publicly vowed to make you my queen."

"I'm going on record right now saying I don't give a shit and my answer is no."

If she'd thought his expression hard before, she was now shown the error of such an assumption. His gaze became frosted with turquoise ice; his nostrils flared. His cheekbones looked cut from glass. "I can make you beg for it."

She quivered with trepidation but said, "I don't beg for anything."

He regarded her silently for a long while, then pushed a hand through his hair, causing several blond locks to fall over his eyes. A foreign part of her - a part that revealed itself more and more lately - urged her to reach up and caress those errant strands from his beautiful face. Yes, he could make her beg for it. There. She'd admitted it. His decadent flavor was still in her mouth, the press of his lips imprinted on her memory. But she had to resist him. She had to fight him.

And she had to, at last, escape him.

Before she could take a step, however, he moved toward her and licked his lips, as if he knew - knew, damn him - exactly what naughty memory played through her mind and planned to exploit it by whatever means necessary. All thoughts of escape vanished.

"I need you, Shaye. More than I've ever needed another."

Only Valerian spoke to her in that tone. Husky rich, honey warm. As if the thought of her ravishment was an exquisite bliss. As if, in his mind, she was already naked and he was already inside her. She had no response for him - not one she was comfortable giving.

Silence once again encompassed them; this time it was a knowing silence, a heavy silence. A tempting silence. He waited, letting her mind and body battle for supremacy. Stay strong. Be cold. If he touched her... Wait. He was touching her, and it felt good.

She ripped free from his clasp and inched backward, not caring if the action was cowardly. "I'll clean your wound, but that's it. Nothing more. Do you understand?"

He considered her words as he stared into her eyes, gauging her inner resolve. "Are you resistant to me because I almost killed a man?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then why? Some women abhor violence. Some are titillated by it." Closer, closer he came to her. "Which are you?"

"Neither," she said, and backed herself straight into the wall. She gasped. "I just don't - " say it, hurt him " - like you."

He stilled, popped his jaw. Maybe she had hurt him, maybe she hadn't. She'd definitely hurt herself. Lying like that caused her stomach to clench painfully and her throat to constrict.

"Very well, then," he said, toneless. "I will allow you to care for my wounds. Both of my arms need tending."

Be casual, unaffected. "Gee, thanks. You will allow me." She snorted, hoping she appeared properly unimpressed. While she administered aid, would he "accidentally" touch her? Would he purr his warm breath into her ears, over her skin, and let his white-hot gaze devour her? "But there will be no... petting."

Because here was a better question: Would she be able to resist him?

Already her resolve teetered on precarious ground. Perhaps playing doctor wasn't so smart, after all. She would have to be on full alert. Being with Valerian, she suspected, would be like shooting herself full of heroin. Addictive, lethal and absolutely stupid. If she could resist taking that first, experimental taste, she wouldn't have to deal with withdrawal. And after she patched him up, she could leave him with a clear conscience.

You've already had a taste. Remember that white-hot kiss? Shut up!

"While you help me," he said, "I will not pet you. If, however, you change your mind and wish me to do so, you have only to say."

Not giving her time to respond, he grabbed her hand, pivoted and kicked back into motion. With his final words ringing in her ears, she was aware of every point of contact between them. Smoothness against rough calluses.

"Do you have any Neosporin?" she asked, hoping to get her mind off everything related to sex.

"I have no idea, as I do not know what that is."

When his hair was damp, it had a little curl to it, she realized. Then she scowled. Why did she care about his stupid hair? "It's medicine for your arms."

"I will gather everything that you need." They came to the room's entrance, and with his free hand, he swished aside the white lace.

He stepped inside; she followed on his heels. Though the room was located in the same corridor as the one she had slept in, it was more masculine than hers, a combination of battleground and leisure. A large bed occupied the far section, with rumpled violet-and-gold sheets and the imprint of a large male body. Gold armor and an arsenal of weapons hung on ruby hooks. Rainbow lights glistened from the walls, like diamonds trapped in glass.