by Brenda Huber
Behind the barn, the land sloped down to a meadow and, on the side of the meadow opposite where they stood, the thick wall of a wooded area rose up. Phoebe turned until her shoulder touched his chest. He kept her caged in the loose circle of his arms. And he watched her, absorbing her response to his home. He must have been pleased with what he saw, because a wide grin settled upon his face.
Nearby, at the bottom of the hill they stood upon, a large pond spread out before them. The grass was longer here, pushing out into the edges of the water where it mixed with arrowhead, spiked rush, water lily, and cattails. A rickety old dock stretched over the water, inviting visitors to stroll out, sit down, and dip their toes.
“I thought a swim might be just what you needed to relax. I know I could use one.”
“We don’t even have swimming suits.” She moved out of his arms, on her guard now. She had a gut feeling that him plus her plus water minus appropriate apparel equaled trouble.
She might not have a suit, but that didn’t keep her from venturing out on the dock. Oh, it was tempting. The water was smooth as glass and so clear, she could almost see the bottom.
“Why do we need suits?” Sebastian asked from behind her. His boots thudded on the weathered boards beneath their feet as he followed her to the end of the dock. “It isn’t like you haven’t seen everything already.”
Her cheeks burned at the reminder that he’d caught her checking him out…more than once.
“And I know I sure wouldn’t mind seeing it all again,” he added.
Yep. T-r-o-u-b-l-e.
“Be that as it may, someone could come along—”
“No, they won’t.”
She turned to frown up at him. “How can you be sure?”
“Well, I suppose I can’t be absolutely positive. But we’re miles from the nearest farm, and farther still from the closest town. And if anyone does show up, I can always conjure us dressed then. Or shimmer us away.”
“Then why don’t you just conjure suits for us?”
“Now where would be the fun in that?” His grin grew teasing, tempting. “Have you ever been skinny dipping?”
She blinked. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Her back went up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He just smiled. And then he began peeling off his clothing, one article at a time. When he was naked—all that sun kissed, velvet skin bare for her pleasure—he started walking toward her. Phoebe tensed, preparing for…she didn’t know what. Would he push her in? Take her in his arms? Would he kiss her?
Please, God, let him kiss me.
He stopped when there was little more than an inch separating them. Sebastian lowered his head until his lips hovered close to her ear, but he was careful not to touch her.
Sweet heaven, she wanted to do a hell of a lot more than touch him. She knew what he felt like, moving inside her, pressed against her. And she’d denied them both this morning, and last night. She shivered with hunger. She didn’t want to deny either of them anymore.
“Come in with me, Phoebe. You won’t regret it.”
And then, fast as a blink, he dove sideways, slicing cleanly into the water, barely making a splash. The glass surface of the water broke into waves and then went rolling outward in ever-widening circles. She lost track of him as the seconds ticked by.
Phoebe frowned, moved closer to the edge of the dock, and scanned the surface. Where’d he go?
“Come in, love,” he called from the water on the other side of the dock, and she spun around. She watched as he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Crystal droplets dripped from his eyelashes and streamed down his neck. “The water’s perfect.”
Phoebe licked her lips. She should object, should at least try to put up some kind of resistance. Shouldn’t she? The problem was, she didn’t even care if it was a bad idea anymore. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more right now than to dive in and let things play out as they would.
Emboldened by his expectant expression, Phoebe began stripping. His searing stare followed every move she made. She stood for a moment longer, gilded by the fading sun, savoring the look on his face. Then she took her glasses off, dropped them onto her clothing, and leaped off the dock.
She’d curled herself into a cannonball, but the moment the cool water touched her skin, she gasped and jolted straight. She managed to close her mouth a slim second before the water slipped over her head. As she knifed toward the surface, she savored the sensation. After the heat of the jungle, the cool water caressed her flesh in sensual, decadent strokes.
Oh, this feels so good.
As soon as she broke the surface, Phoebe pushed her hands over her head, slicking water from her face and hair. She searched for him, peering between the posts of the dock, but he’d disappeared again.
A strangled scream tangled in her throat and she jerked when she felt something brush past her legs. She spun, treading water, straining to see below the water. But she could catch nothing but shifting shadows from this angle. Another whisper of touch slicked along her bottom, and she darted forward, spinning in the water once more.
Just as she began to imagine all kinds of slimy, scaly monsters lurking beneath the rippling waters, Sebastian came up for air directly behind her. Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back into him. Their legs bumped and tangled as they tread water.
“Best thing I’ve ever caught in this pond,” he rumbled near her ear. He found her neck with his lips and she shivered. His hands scooped up, finding her breasts, and he rolled her puckered nipples, plucked and thrummed them between thumbs and fingertips as he continued to lick and nip the side of her throat.
Phoebe caught her breath, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back on his shoulder, savoring the sensation of being nibbled like the finest chocolate. Still, she couldn’t make it easy for him. Reaching back, trying not to groan in surrender when his erection pushed insistently between her thighs, Phoebe ran her hands up his sides. And when she found his ribs, she curled her fingers and tickled until he jerked back, laughing.
“Oh, you wanna play it like that, huh?”
But she darted away before he could snatch her back. She twisted in the water to face him. With the blade of her hand, she slapped a wave of water at him. And while he was blinking and sputtering and shaking the water from his face, Phoebe cut through the pond like a fish, swimming for the far shore.
She had a good, solid head start on him, and she swam like a pike, streamline and fast, but still, he caught her. A big hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked her to a halt. Before she knew what was happening, the water closed over her head in a rush. She came up, laughing and sputtering and swiping the water from her face.
He circled her like a shark, the lower half of his face submerged, his narrowed-eyed stare tracking her. Those electric blue eyes dared her to try to flee again. Giggling, she turned slow circles to follow him, never letting him behind her for a second. She risked a glance to the shore, then, when she saw him gathering himself in anticipation, she shot in the opposite direction.
This time, he waited until she was nearly to the dock before he snatched her round the waist.
“Okay, okay.” She laughed when he made to dunk her again. “You win.”
He rotated her in his arms until they bobbed in the water, facing each other. He kept his hands on her waist. Their knees bumped. It didn’t take long before he drew her closer and guided her legs around his waist. The playfulness had left him. The way he looked at her now took her breath away.
“Admit it.” His hands slid down from her waist and he cupped her bottom, drawing her closer still.
Frowning, distracted by his hard erection riding so close—but not close enough—to where she needed it, she glanced up. “Admit what?”
“You know what,” he insisted. And
she was afraid she did know, all too well, what he wanted to hear. What she didn’t know was if she was ready to say it, ready to admit it out loud. Not yet.
She thought about using their position to sidetrack him. A little wiggle, a tilted pelvis, and he’d forget all about pursuing this subject. As if he’d read her mind, he arched his back, making it difficult to play the oops-did-I-just-slip-onto-your-dick-my-bad card. Left with no option other than to give him what he wanted, she drew her knees in and shoved against his chest, pushing and twisting until she’d wiggled free like a slippery eel.
His expression darkened. He advanced, she retreated. He took another stroke forward. She glided back.
“Phoebe,” he warned.
“No,” she said, growing angry. How dare he ruin this? Why did he have to get all serious and demanding? Why couldn’t he have just enjoyed the moment? She lifted a hand from the water and pointed at him. “Stop it.”
Expression grim, he began breast stroking toward her, his head above the water, his determined stare zeroed in on her. She back stroked, watching him, matching him motion for motion until her heels met the slippery, sloped bottom of the pond.
She found her footing with all due haste and stood. The water lapped at her navel, and his eyes flickered black as his gaze dropped to her bare breasts. Swallowing, she waded backwards. The waterline dropped to her hips, mid-thighs, knees. And his smoldering stare followed.
Still she kept going.
And still he kept following.
Her breath came in shallow pants. Her heart raced. Phoebe jerked her focus to the dock, to the pile of her clothing. But before she could take two steps in that direction, every last stitch of her clothing disappeared. She drew up short, gasping in outrage.
“That’s not fair,” she snapped, whirling around to face him. “Bring them back.”
But they stayed gone.
He was climbing the bank, his head canted down, water sluicing down his beautiful body. Phoebe backpedalled, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder for sanctuary. There was none.
“Stop it,” she ordered once more, though she knew it would do no good. The look on his face was too determined, too angry. She thought about running, but where would she run to? The house? His house? Talk about walking into the lion’s den. Besides, he’d only follow. Hell, he’d probably catch her before she made it halfway across the meadow, just as he’d caught her before she’d made it across the pond.
“We have to go back to camp now, Sebastian.”
Nothing. He just kept right on coming.
“I have work to do.”
No response.
“Damn it, they could be finding the sword. Right now. We don’t have time for this.”
No verbal reply. But his brows drew together and his step faltered for a moment. Then he drew a resolved breath, and kept coming. The look on his face said she might as well be whistling in the wind. They weren’t going anywhere. Not until he’d gotten this out of his system.
Damn it, had he caught her slip? Was that why he’d paused?
Lord, he had her so flustered she didn’t know what she was saying anymore. She had to be more careful.
Okay. All right then. She’d put a stop to this now. Right now. Right here.
She planted her fists on her hips and stood her ground. “I am not your mate, Sebastian. So you need to just stop this nonsense.”
He froze in his tracks. His eyes went demon black. And they stayed that way. His nostrils flared, and his head dipped even more. And he began stalking her. Really stalking her. Adrenaline spike through her system making her tremble.
She could see his patience, his restraint, his self control going up in flames, burning like dry kindling in the depths of his black eyes. Phoebe licked her lips and scrambled backward again.
But he was done playing. Through letting her feel like she had any control whatsoever over this situation. She didn’t make it very far before he was upon her. He took her to the ground in an instant, crushing her into sweet smelling grass and delicate wildflower buds.
Sebastian straddled her hips. She wiggled and squirmed for all she was worth, but she couldn’t dislodge him. Her temper snapped. Phoebe flailed her arms, swinging a fist at his stubborn jaw. But he deflected the blow and captured her wrists. By the time he pinned them over her head, they were both panting.
“What are you doing?” Phoebe screeched at him. “Get off me.”
But he remained silent, staring down at her, burning her with those grim, black eyes. As though he were stamping his possession on her very soul. Damn his rotten hide.
His erection lay, hot and hard and heavy, between them. But he made no move to use it. Just taunted her with what she wanted and what he would not give. Not until he’d gotten his way. She made a fist, and prayed her claws and fangs would stay hidden away.
“Damn it, say something!”
He snapped his teeth at her. His nostrils were still flared in aggression, and his lips formed a tight line. The muscle on his jaw was bunched, hard as a rock. At least his eyes had turned blue again, but they still shot angry sparks at her.
“You are my mate. We aren’t leaving here until you admit it. Once and for all. We’re also going to get a few other things clear while we’re at it. First, you will stop hiding things from me.”
She sputtered, “I haven’t—”
“Bullshit,” he barked. Her mouth fell open, and she gaped up at him. “What happened to your hand that you wouldn’t show me earlier? And what did you mean when you said they might be finding the sword right now? Stolas already has the sword, or doesn’t he?”
Phoebe pressed her lips tight and scowled mutinously up at him.
“Exactly,” he growled. As if she’d just made his case for him. But he wasn’t done yet. “Never again will you rush headlong into danger without regard for the consequences. Like when you left the tent this morning without me. Or this afternoon when you left the dig site, again without me. Or when you go about scooping up snakes like they’re goddamned puppies. Or when you dangled face down off the side of that freakin’ crumbling ruin.” Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, but he snapped, “Be silent!”
Taken aback, Phoebe sucked in an offended breath. She clamped her lips together, and she seethed.
“And, above all, never again will you deny that you are my mate. Never will you so much as think those words. And you will stop testing me this way.”
“I wasn’t testing you!” she snapped, his order for silence be damned.
“You do. Over and over.” Keeping her wrists anchored above her head, he slid down her body, maneuvering until he settled himself between her squirming legs, just narrowly avoiding a well aimed knee. He growled, clamped a hand on her hip to hold her still, and deliberately stroked the length of his erection along her cleft, making her eyes all but cross. “And I thought I told you to be silent.”
Now her eyes wanted to cross for a completely different reason. The bossy jerk. She narrowed them instead and stewed, too angry to string two words together.
“I’ve fought my instincts where you are concerned. Time and time again, I have suppressed them. No more,” he said. She tried to insert a sentence, a word…an angry grunt, but he spoke right over her. “I will not allow you to put a damned relic above your own safety. Not anymore. And I will not allow you to withhold your trust. You will not question my orders when it comes to your safety. I will keep you safe at all cost.” He glared down, searching her face. “Am I understood?”
She was too angry to respond. But she was also stunned by the unshakable, furious resolve in his eyes.
“Damn it, Phoebe,” he snarled, giving her wrists a little thump against the ground. Not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to grab her attention. “You. Are. My. Mate. I’m not asking you anymore. Now I’m telling you. Qui et illisium speccaté. Now and forevermore. You are
mine.”
“You’ve said that before,” she stated quietly, some of the heat draining from her. Those words…they did funny things to her insides, every time he said them.
“I meant them then. And I mean them even more now.” He eased back just a bit, loosened his hold on her wrists. But he didn’t let go, and he didn’t relent. “I was created to be your protector, Phoebe. Your lover. Your champion. Your mate. I will not fail you. And I will never, ever leave you. You were meant to belong to me. As I belong to you. Never again will you deny my claim. Nor will you ignore your claim on me.”
Phoebe forced a swallow. Her unwilling stare fell to the marks on his shoulder. Her mark. Now she was afraid. Not of him. But of herself, and how much she wanted all he’d said to be true. Irrevocably true.
Say something, she told herself. Anything. Make him see reason. Make him see this will never work between us.
But the words, and the conviction behind them, eluded her.
“Say it,” he demanded, harsh and unbending. “Admit it, out loud. You belong to me.”
A sliver of defiance lanced through the panic. He wrapped her hair around his free hand, fisting it, tugging gently despite his forceful tone. “Say the words!”
She narrowed her eyes, just the slightest, refusing to relinquish her defiance, even now when she knew he spoke the truth. “Fine,” she snapped. Then she thrust her chin up and glared at him. “You belong to me.”
He blinked. She could see she’d caught him off guard. But the edges of his sculpted mouth twitched, a grin that almost escaped him. Almost, but not quite. He wouldn’t relent. Not this time. And she knew it.
“True. But not exactly what I’m wanting to hear, caro mita.” Little heart of mine, he’d called her. He rolled his hips against her, dragging a reluctant groan from her. “Before we leave this place”—he rolled his hips again—“and I don’t care how long it takes, you will admit it. You are mine. Now say it!”