by Starla Night
Her brows drew together very slightly. “Young fry?”
“A son.” He brought her fingers to his mouth. They tasted sweet and savory, feminine and cool.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Mm.”
The quiet moan was more than enough answer. Hunger pounded in her heartbeat, in the hands grasping his, in the hitch of her breath. She needed a male.
He drew her arms around his shoulders and growled. “On behalf of the mer of Sireno, I claim you for my bride.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “What?”
He sought her lips.
She was hot and sweet. Candy of a flavor he had never known, but which curled deep in his belly and gave him a hard tug. He tilted her head to more fully mesh. She resisted and then melted. Her soft breath teased his taut cheek. She moaned.
His.
He pressed forward, urging the seam of her lips to part, to yield a deeper taste. With a soft, feminine moan, she gave in.
He almost groaned.
She tasted too good. Gentle, thoughtful, true. His tongue delved into her mouth, discovering her shape and matching it to his new ideal of female. At his insistent stroking, her tongue moved forth tentatively. He encouraged her. She slowly entangled him, heating his mouth to lava.
He stamped her as his bride. No other warrior would ever kiss her mouth. He demanded her acquiescence.
The brilliant glow in her chest flared even brighter. She sank into his domination.
Lucy was his.
He curved an arm around her generous hips and tugged her onto the bunk. He would claim his bride!
Chapter Three
One moment she was giving up her fight with the galley’s kettle to investigate a noise in the guest bunk, and the next moment, she was deliciously crushed by the most virile wall of masculinity ever to wash up to her trawler.
He tasted like sea salt and heat. The powerful biceps clenched with strength and he lifted her as though she weighed no more than a twig.
This was crazy. She tore her mouth free. “What are you doing?”
“Claiming you.” His aquamarine eyes glowed with ferocious possession. “You are mine.”
His? She was his?
A hard, gorgeous man took one look at her, Lucy, and was so swept away by passion that he had to have her this instant?
He pushed through her hesitation and crushed her once more in his kiss.
His embrace was passionate but oh so gentle. His iron forearm pillowed her head and he held her safely with a huge hand on her hip. He was careful to balance on his elbow so as not to crush her with his mass and careful to give her the most room on the narrow bunk. That wasn’t easy to do. She’d had her share of uncomfortable bunk encounters over the years.
His tongue pulsed into her mouth.
He was claiming her. Right now.
And she…
She was going to let him.
A sweet, pounding ache twisted between her legs. Her center slicked with readiness. This powerful wall of male was claiming her for his own. Every cell in her body screamed yes, more, now.
On cue, the engine shuddered and began to squeal.
Low oil.
She jerked back. The mystery shipwreck survivor stared down at her with a powerful intensity, consuming her with his dark aquamarine gaze. “Lucy. You draw back from our joining.”
“No.” She wiped the hot moisture from her lips. He lowered his head to continue, and she stopped him with her other hand. “Stay right here. I’ve got to check on something real fast.”
“But—”
Another shriek sent a shudder through the hull.
She bolted from the bunk, raced through the tiny galley, and splashed into the water-logged engine room.
Her old boss had called this trawler, once a gorgeous Selene 43, now a mystery salvage with “Missy B” on its cracked hull, an “opportunity” with some character, like a slow oil leak. Slow leak? More like an oil-redistribution-plan, redistributing oil from her waterlogged Costco bulk purchase to the surrounding environment. She ripped the seal from another quart and poured it into its well. Glug, glug, glug.
And that wasn’t counting the actual leak, gushing seawater into the hold.
Could the engine take two quarts and last long enough for her to enjoy the reward she had fished onto her ship?
She wasn’t normally the type to sleep with a guy before even knowing his name. What if he was a jerk? Or dangerous? Or married? But, something about him short-circuited her brain. His kiss promised their lovemaking would be hard, slow, and thorough. Ohh, it had been so long. Long since she’d desired a man and longer since she’d been held.
As the engine took in the oil, the unbalanced-washing-machine sound calmed to a rough growl. Lucy sucked in her gut and squeezed into the corner with the backup generator. Her white tankini top caught on an edge and tore.
The rip exposed her fat, pale, needle-scarred belly.
She stopped and pushed the two pieces of fabric together. As if the tear could heal itself. She’d paid her last six dollars to the street vendor for this grease-smeared tankini. She let go and exhaled. Her belly made an unfortunate shelf on the generator.
What was she doing?
She was too big, too desperate, and too busy driving a zombie trawler actively sinking in the middle of nowhere. A one-night stand with a guy who barely survived drowning was not her smartest plan.
Lucy focused on the big backup generator. The seawater leak had developed yesterday, and it was bad enough she ought to have turned back to Cancun, but how would she and Mel afford another tank of fuel?
A large shadow framed the engine door. “Lucy?”
Her shipwreck survivor’s voice was a deep, seductive bass, richer than the chocolate in her cocoa, and sent pleased shivers up her spine. Lucy could listen to him all night.
But the accent, she couldn’t place. It wasn’t Mexican, or French, or Asian, or the most common language of the dive shops, Dutch.
“I’m here.” She capped the empty bottle of oil and tossed it back in the mildewed Costco box. “Don’t worry. We should still be able to limp into port—”
He pitched in the doorway
She plunged forward and grabbed him. His shoulder wedged beneath her arm and his head thunked her chest. She set her feet. “I have you.”
He was faint. “It seems I am not fully prepared to stand upright.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
And yet another reason she shouldn’t jump the guy. He could barely stumble, even with her help, through the galley to the dining booth. He collapsed on a sagging booth bench. The blanket slid low on his hips.
She stepped back. “Let me check our position. Then, I’ll get you something to eat.”
He grunted.
Lucy raced up to the cockpit. The one system that had been easy to repair was radar, and since it was going on midnight, all sorts of marine hazards had to be watched for. Down the hatch again, she banged the unresponsive kettle against the dented wall.
Its light blinked on.
Good kettle.
She left it to boil on the counter, ripped open two packages of Swiss Miss, and poured the sweet powder into plastic mugs. The one thing her dad always made on their voyages was hot cocoa. She continued the tradition, swirling the mix with hot water and completing the meal with a couple of peanut butter chocolate chip Cliff Bars.
A gourmet cook she was not.
She ran up and down the stairs one more time to check the radar, and then she sat across from him and served the meal.
The shipwreck survivor opened his eyes and accepted the dinged mug with a frown. “This is?”
“Cocoa.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got fresh water too. Drink up. You’re probably dehydrated.”
She blew across her steaming mug.
He touched his and recoiled. “It is hot!” He knocked the mug from her hand.
Hot cocoa splashed the stained deck. Her plastic mug bounced.
“Wait. It is still dangerous.” He caught her arm. His grip was like steel. The loose blanket shifted, dislodging his modesty. “You will injure yourself.”
“Come on.” She couldn’t avoid his gloriously revealed cock. “I’m not that hopeless.”
“Burns are very painful.”
Gold swirled right to the tip. He was tattooed like an exotic island warrior from another time.
She wanted to touch his skin. Confirm it was real. Maybe lick the hard, flexing bicep and see how he tasted.
Mmm.
Okay. She reeled her fantasies in. “It wasn’t that hot. Try yours.”
“This?” He stared at the remaining mug. “It blows steam.”
“So? It gets cool in January with the wind. Here, put the blanket back on.”
He arranged the blanket once more, and the mesmerizing hold of his maleness released her so she could clean up and pour herself a second, somewhat cooler, mug.
He eyed his cocoa, skeptical.
“Have you never had cocoa before?” she asked.
“This is?”
“Cocoa,” she repeated. “Where are you from?”
“Sireno of the Ixotlana Plains.”
“Where’s that?”
He pointed at the stained floor. “Far.”
Huh. “It’s liquid chocolate. Try it.”
He watched her carefully, stuck out his gorgeous lips, and brought the mug close. Careful, as though he had also never drunk from a cup before. He slurped, frowned, and rubbed his tongue across the top of his mouth.
“Well?”
He took a more determined sip. “It is good.”
She laughed. Nothing beat a mug of hot cocoa after a long, cold workout. It brought tingling warmth back into her limbs.
He shared her smile, and his chest rumbled with a low laugh.
Nothing beat his laugh for raising delicious, chocolate-like tingling in her hardening nipples. She would love for that mouth to taste her the way he savored the cocoa.
Right.
“Um, it occurs to me that I don’t even know your name.”
He straightened proudly. “I am Torun. Warlord of Sireno. Keeper of a seed of the Life Tree.”
Wow, a warlord. It was funny to introduce themselves after being flat on his bunk making out, but she reached across the table to shake his hand. “Glad you made it. What happened to you out there?”
“A great battle. It is unimportant.” He set aside the mug and drew her hand to his lips again. “What matters now is that you, Lucy Shaw, are my bride.”
Battle? Bride?
Hold on. He had said something about claiming her right before his incredible kiss blasted away every thought in her brain.
Not only was she hitting on a naïve tribal warrior, a survivor who could barely stand upright, but they were from such different cultures that her moment of weakness had caused him to take their kiss seriously. She had to stop this right now before he took it too far.
“No. There’s been a mistake.” She tugged her hand back before her fingers disappeared into his hot mouth. “I’m nobody’s bride. I’m never getting married again.”
Chapter Four
“I can’t be your bride.” Lucy curled her fingers, so recently in his grasp, around her mug and hunched away. “Sorry.”
No. She could not escape from him. He had found her. This was destiny
Wasn’t it?
Torun slid around the booth until his leg was flush against hers. He cupped her firm jaw. “You are mine.”
She watched him with bright, fearless eyes. “No. Sorry.” Her lips quirked to the side and she smiled faintly.
Sorry? With that expression and sigh, it sounded as though she was sorry she wasn’t his.
He could rectify that. His thumb stroked the softness of her cheek. Her ample chest rose and fell. He tipped back her head. Her soul light flared. Her eyes began to close and she yielded to his kiss.
His claim.
Her lashes fluttered. A sweet, needy moan emerged from her lips. He encompassed her shoulder and drew her around the corner of the table, against his hard chest.
“Mm. Wait, no.” She pushed his mouth back and straightened. Her chest heaved and her light burned with their connection. “This is crazy. Let me think.”
“Do not think.”
She scooted out of his reach, to the edge of the booth, and licked her lips. “Thinking is good right now.”
“Not if it takes you away from me.”
She fixed on him. Her gaze traced his body, hot as a caress. She shook herself, gripped her volcanic cocoa mug, and sipped. “Just give me a minute.”
He leaned back in the seat. She felt their connection. Her soul light flared brighter with his touch. What more convincing did she need?
Ah. Of course.
He could not give her the mating jewel.
The end of the fight was hazy. Jolan had first sliced Torun’s pouch, spilling all but one mating jewel. Torun stole Malem’s trident, endured the bite of Jolan’s blade deep across his shoulder blades, and struck Jolan’s brow with the solid base. The turquoise prince’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Malem couldn’t leave Jolan vulnerable in the shallow water so near to humans. He screamed in rage as Torun escaped. Free flowing blood and other injuries weakened him, and he lost consciousness. That must be when the last remaining jewel had slipped out of his grasp.
Truly, Jolan’s strategy made him a worthy ruler. Without the sacred jewels, Torun’s quest was over. How could he convince the beautiful Lucy to join his world without his Life Tree’s offering? How bitter that question tasted. In front of a human woman who shone with the light of a queen, he had nothing to offer to make her his.
“It’s not you. I’m kind of a mess. This,” she indicated the two of them with her index finger, “seem like a good idea—“
“It is a great idea.”
“But it’s actually nuts. You’re lucky to be alive. Let’s not turn your miracle into regret.”
Her soul light dimmed.
Again. His true mate must not dim her soul light. She must be strong and bright to fight off the doubts of the Council. Once she joined with him, surely, she would glow steadily and never fade.
Yes. Once she joined with him.
“Lucy.” He rested his palm against her chest, where the injury of her soul looked more and more apparent. “You need a husband.”
She pushed his hand away. “No way. I’ve been there, done that, and burned the T-shirt.”
“Burned the T-shirt?”
“I’m divorced.” She rested her elbows on the table and eyed him sideways. “Do you have divorce in your tribe? It means I had a husband, and he’s long gone.”
She had a husband.
The blood in Torun’s veins turned to ice. “You have a husband.”
“Had. Past tense.”
Cold clawed into Torun’s spine. If a warrior touched another’s bride, even to save her life, her husband was justified in taking his revenge. Cutting off the flesh that had touched, banishment, execution.
His hands had touched Lucy’s skin, his arms had embraced her soft body, his lips had pressed against hers. She was his. And yet, she belonged to another male?
“It didn’t work out.” She scratched her bare ring finger. “I couldn’t give Blake what he wanted. He left me for a woman who could.”
Her husband left Lucy for another woman? Was that possible? No warrior would leave his mate. Humans were different.
Yes.
Humans were very different. Lucy did not belong to a warrior. Only marriage blessed by the Life Tree truly joined a bride to her husband. Therefore, it was fine. Lucy belonged to him.
“Hello?” She waved at him. “Are you still here?”
Torun captured her hand. “Yes. Here with you is where I will remain. Forever.”
“Ha.” She stroked the back of his hand. “
I don’t even know if ‘forever’ exists anymore.”
“Until death then.” He rested her hand on his chest so she could feel the warmth of his soul glowing with his promise. “I vow to defend, love, and protect you.”
She swallowed.
“Lucy—”
She stood abruptly. “Well, I better check our radar.” She stretched. Her beautiful breasts swelled the white covering. She glanced sideways at him and her cheeks pinked. “You’re staring.”
“You are female.”
She snorted and dropped her arms, adjusting her covering. “You noticed, huh?”
He had noticed. Her breasts were a good size for filling his hands, and her body was soft and good for squeezing. Her pleasure-filled moans sounded sweeter than any ocean song. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she was the one who had claimed him first by pulling him from the water. No matter what anyone said, Lucy was clearly his by the work of destiny.
Except for the problem of her light…
Her shoulders hunched. “Okay. Seriously. What are you looking at?”
“Your body.”
She started to cover herself. “Don’t judge by what you see right—”
“It is beautiful.”
She hesitated. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it is true.”
She started to shake her head. Disbelief challenged him. “You can’t be serious.”
That was a challenge he accepted. He scooted free of the booth, stood, and drew her into his arms. “You are my bride.”
“Is this how your tribe proposes marriage?” She rested a palm on his chest. Her light fluctuated wildly. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”
“We know enough.” Their souls and bodies communicated everything they needed to know.
She softened. “What are you doing to me?”
“Claiming you.” He nuzzled her softness.
She moaned. “It’s crazy how unbelievably tempted I am to say yes.”
“Say yes.”
“No.” She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. Hers were so clear and vibrant. “The last marriage I started out here went terribly wrong. If nothing else, I don’t want to jinx us.” She stroked his pectoral. “Try me again when we reach the mainland.”