His fingers were stretching her, but oh, Lord, the pleasure. Darius's thumb found and circled her clitoris.
Lost in the magic of sensation, she gripped his forearms and let herself be swept away. So close… almost there.
"Seeing you like this," he whispered, "touching you like this gives me more pleasure than I deserve."
He crushed his lips to hers in a deep, openmouthed kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. He was kissing her the way a man kissed a woman right before sinking into her body. Kissing her the way she needed to be kissed. Her knees squeezed his waist, and she gripped his butt in her hands. His fingers never stopped working her.
"I want so badly to make you mine," he said through gritted teeth.
Something hot and wild exploded inside her just then, not allowing either of them to go slowly. He wanted to make her his woman, but she needed him to do it. She fisted her hands in his hair, holding him captive while she deepened the kiss. Other men had kissed her, but this was the first time she ever experienced a kiss with her entire body. This was the first time a man had ever made her feel as if she were his entire world.
His thick erection pulsed against her thigh and the need to have it inside her, a part of her, consumed her heart and soul. "You're so thick and hard. I want you, Darius," she told him, the words coming from a secret place within her. The most honest part of herself, a part she couldn't deny, though she knew she should. "I do. Make love to me."
"I-" A hint of reason swept into Darius's consciousness. He couldn't make love to this woman. To do so and then to destroy her would be more vile than anything he'd ever done in the past.
She ran the tip of her tongue over his neck, up his chin, and placed little nips along the column of his jaw. "I want to do this with you every night. Just… " Kiss. "Like… " Nibble. "This."
Every night. The one thing he couldn't give her. He had a duty to fulfill. Touching and tasting this woman was not part of it, much as he wished otherwise. Mired in guilt, he broke all contact, tearing himself away from her and jumping off the bed. He stood, staring down at her, fighting for control. And losing. Her taste was still in his mouth.
Her cheeks were flushed like the barest rose. Moonlight caught the moisture on her lips, making them glisten, beckoning him to sample them once more. Getting near her again was pure folly, he thought with self-disgust. Yet every instinct he possessed screamed that she was his. That she belonged to him and was his sole reason for living. Her conquest-no, her surrender -would be his greatest victory.
But even as he entertained the wild thoughts, he denied them.
Javar had fallen to a woman. Many years ago, his former tutor had taken a female dragon as his bride. She had softened Javar, made him lax in his duties. He became less cautious with the mist, no longer so quick to kill. That laxness had most likely earned him death. Or worse. Even now Javar might be imprisoned somewhere, being tortured for his knowledge and authority over the mist.
Darius could not allow the same for himself. Softening would mean the destruction of Atlantis.
Irritation raged through him-for what he couldn't have, for what he shouldn't want. How could the merest touch of Grace's lips and body reduce him to a fire-lizard focused solely on sensation? And how did just being with her let him glimpse everything missing from his life? Warmth. Love. An escape from the darkness.
Allowing himself to know the sweet joy of being in her arms, in her body, could destroy everything he'd striven so adamantly to build. She was life and light, and he was death and shadows. Joining their bodies would be more folly than simply allowing her to live with knowledge of the mist.
"We must stop," he said, the words ripped from him. He summoned all of his strength, all of his resolve.
"No. No stopping." She sat up slowly, a frown marring her features. Her eyes were still heavy-lidded from sleep, still relaxed from the peace spell, and she blinked. "I want you to make love to me. I need you to make love to me. I'm close. So close to climax."
"Cover yourself," he said, the words even harsher than before. If she didn't, he might beg her to strip completely.
The front of her shirt gaped open, revealing those perfect curves. When she didn't rush to obey, he leaned down and gripped her shirt, careful not to brush her skin. He was pushed past his endurance already, and one more touch… Whether his will was weakened because of his distance with Atlantis or because of Grace herself, he didn't know. Sweat ran down his brow as he tied the ripped hem together, partially covering her breasts, yet leaving a tempting amount of cleavage.
"What are you doing?" she asked, staring down at his hands, seeing the same image he saw. His darkness against her paleness. His strength against her femininity.
He pulled away, not responding.
Grace blinked. Shook her head. Heady passion still held her in its wondrous fog. She ached. God, she ached. At first she'd told herself Darius was nothing more than another figment of her imagination, but she'd known the truth. She knew it now. He was real, and he was here.
He promised he'd come after her and he had.
A shiver raked her spine. How she'd ever convinced herself those few hours with him in Atlantis had been nothing more than her water-deprived imagination, she didn't know. And it didn't matter now. It didn't matter why he'd come. All that mattered was that he was here and he wanted her, too.
Grace's gaze traveled the length of Darius's body. He wore the same black leather pants as before. Instead of being shirtless, however, he wore a black T-shirt that showcased every muscle, every ridge of sinew.
As she watched him, the peaceful lassitude woven so delightfully into her blood began to fade. The corners of her lips turned down as a lone beam of moonlight struck Darius's face, making the golden-brown of his eyes gleam. She paused. Golden? Before, in Atlantis, his eyes had been blue. Ice-blue and as cold as the color implied. Now they were a warm, golden-brown and hinted at untold pleasure, but also an inner pain so staggering she was amazed he hadn't buckled under the burden of it.
His features tightened, and his eyes lightened. Lightened until that cold, crystalline gaze was back in place. How odd, she thought, shaking her head.
"There is much we need to discuss, Grace," he said. The rough edge of his voice sliced through her musings. "When you finish covering yourself, we will begin."
Here she was, offering herself to him despite everything, yet he didn't want any part of her. The rejection hurt deeply.
She must have hesitated too long, because he added, "Do it. Now." His jaw clenched.
Unease dripped past every other emotion working through her, withering her relaxation a bit more. This was the man who had threatened to hurt her. This was the man who had chased her and locked her away. This was not the man who'd held her tenderly, who'd kissed her so passionately.
"Darius?" she said with a wisp of uncertainty.
"Use the sheet," he said.
"Darius," she repeated, ignoring his dictate.
He flicked his gaze to the ceiling, as if praying for divine intervention. "Yes, Grace?"
"What's going on?" It was a silly question, yet she could think of nothing else to say.
"I told you I would come for you, and so I have."
She swallowed. "Why?"
Before she had time to blink, he unsheathed a small blade from the waist of his pants and held the razor-sharp tip at her neck. The contact was light, not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting ail the same. She gasped and whimpered, the sounds blending and echoing off the walls.
Darius arched a brow. "We are going to have a chat, you and I."
"You didn't travel all this way to talk," she said. And he hadn't traveled here to make love to her, either. She gulped. What exactly did he want from her?
"For now conversation is all I require of you." His blade stayed suspended in the air for another fraction of a second before he slid it back into its sheath. "Do not forget how dangerous I am."
Yes, he was dangerous. And if now was for c
onversation, what was later for?
Fighting a cold sweat and a timorous shake, Grace scrambled up. Her sheet and comforter whisked to the floor in a tangle at her feet. Darius remained in place, as if he feared nothing she could do. Determined, she reached into the backpack on her nightstand, knocking down the empty wineglass in her haste.
She withdrew her Mace and without any hesitation, sprayed him in the eyes. While his roar reverberated in her ears, she bolted out the bedroom door.
CHAPTER 11
Everything happened within seconds.
One moment she was racing through her living room, the next Darius tackled her from behind. He slammed into her, propelling her facedown. They landed on top of her couch, and the impact squeezed every molecule of oxygen from her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, he flipped her over and locked her wrists above her head. A favorite position of his, obviously. She didn't have time to panic.
"My soul belongs to you, and yours belongs to me," he chanted, his voice strange, hypnotic. His gaze clashed with hers, ice-blue calculation with turquoise uncertainty. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen, but as she watched, all hint of the toxic spray vanished.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, growing increasingly light-headed.
"Bound we shall be," he continued, "from this moon to another, then set free."
Her blood whirled inside her veins as a strange, dark and oddly compelling essence invaded her. Dark, so dark. Scattered thoughts flashed through her, motionless images in black-and-white-images of a child's terror, hurt, and search for a love never found. Images of desolation and an ultimate withdrawal from emotion.
The child was Darius.
She was poised on the periphery of a vision, gazing down at a bloody massacre. Men, women and children were lying motionless in pools of their own blood. The boy-Darius-knelt over one of the children. A little girl. Long black hair formed an inky river around her face and shoulders, blending with the blood dripping from her neck. She wore a sapphire-colored dress that was bunched around her waist. Her eyes were closed, but there was a promise of beauty in every line of her softly rounded features.
Gently Darius fitted the hem of the dress around her ankles, covering her exposed flesh. He remained kneeling and gazed up to the crystal dome. He slammed a fist into the dirt and howled, the sound more animal than human, more tortured than any child should ever have to endure.
Grace wanted to sob. She found herself reaching out, hoping to wrap the boy in her arms. But even as she moved, she was whisked back to reality. Darius still hovered above her.
"What did you do to me?" she cried.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes were closed, as if he were lost in a vision of his own. When he finally opened his eyelids, he said, "I have bound us together." He looked smug. "For one day, you must remain in my presence. There will be no more escaping."
"That isn't possible."
"Isn't it? Can you not speak my language? Did I not travel here-Gracie Lacie?" he added softly.
She gasped. "How do you know that name?"
"Your father called you that."
"Yes, but how do you know?"
"I saw inside your mind," he said simply. He pushed to his feet, and she scooted backward to the edge of the couch. "Go to your room and dress," he said. "Wear something that covers you from neck to toe. We have much to discuss and not a lot of time."
"I'm not moving."
His gaze slitted. "Then I will change you myself."
With that threat ringing in her ears, Grace jumped up and scurried around him. When she reached her bedroom, she quickly shut and locked the door, then raced to the nearest window. She unlatched the fastener, raised the glass and attempted to throw one leg over.
An invisible wall stopped any movement outside.
Nearly screeching with frustration, she kicked and pounded at the wall but couldn't break past it. Finally, panting, she gave up. How dare Darius do this! she seethed. What had he said? A binding spell. How dare he cast a binding spell, locking her within his grasp.
A hard knock sounded at her door. "You have five minutes to dress, and then I am coming in."
He'd do it, too, she thought. Even if he had to kick in the door. Even if he had to take the apartment building apart brick by brick. With a humorless chuckle, she leaned against the ledge and rested her head on the wooden frame.
How had such a lost little boy grown into such an uncompromising man?
She didn't want to believe those flashes of his life were real, but he'd known her father's nickname for her. And she hadn't shared that information with anyone. Darius's childhood, those things she'd seen, had happened. She didn't like knowing he'd once had a family. She didn't like knowing about the pain he had endured at their deaths. Knowing made her long to comfort him, to protect him. To stay with him.
"I don't want to change while you're inside my house," she called. "I don't trust you."
"That matters not. You will do as I have commanded."
Or he'd do it for her , she mentally finished. Grace dragged her feet to her dresser and tore off her ripped tank. She quickly jerked on her largest, plainest turtle-neck sweater and a pair of plain gray sweatpants. He didn't want to see her skin, and she didn't want to show it to him. Glowering, she donned socks and tennis shoes-better to kick him with.
When she was completely dressed, she paused. What do I do now ? She would go out there, Grace decided, and she would be civilized. She would answer his questions honestly. Afterward, he would leave her, just as he'd found her. The boy he'd been would allow nothing less. She hoped. He'd certainly had the opportunity to hurt her: while she slept, while they kissed. A shiver of remembrance trickled through her, and she scowled. How could she still desire him?
Gathering her scattered wits, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Darius towered a few feet away, his shoulder propped on the opposite wall. His expression was as cold and merciless as ever; his eyes could have been chipped from an Alaskan glacier.
"Much better," he said, eyeing her clothing.
"Let's go into the living room," she said. She didn't want a bed anywhere near them. Without waiting for his reply, she swept around him. She settled on the recliner-so he couldn't sit next to her-and said the first thing that popped into her mind. "Are you going to eat me?"
"What?" he half growled, half gasped. He settled onto the couch, as far away from her as possible.
Was he just as leery of her as she was of him? The thought shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. She had done nothing, by word or deed, to earn his dislike.
"Your friends," she said. "They're cannibals and wanted to eat me." She shuddered at the memory.
His lips curled in what could either have been amusement or fury. "They will never do so. That I can promise you." He schooled his features until they were as blank as a brand-new chalkboard. "Where is the medallion, Grace?"
Confession time. "I, uh, lost it."
"What?" he roared, jolting to his feet.
"I lost it?" she offered more as a question than a statement.
He sank back into his seat and rubbed a hand down his face. "Explain."
"While I was inside the mist the second time, it ripped from my neck." She shrugged. "I tried to get it back, but failed."
His gaze pierced her with its intensity. "If you are saying this in an attempt to keep the medallion for yourself, I will-"
"Search my home if you want," she interjected defensively.
He massaged his temple with two fingers and continued to stare over at her. Then he nodded as though he'd just come to a monumental decision. "We are going to take a small trip, Grace."
"I don't think so."
"We're going to the cave. We will not stay long."
Heat drained from her face and hands, leaving her cold and pale. Did he hope to send her back into Atlantis? To lock her up? To either kill/torture/molest her-okay, the last one appealed to her in a way it shouldn't have-in his own surroundings?
"Do not think to protest," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "I must go, therefore you must go. We are bound together."
"Atlantis is-"
"Not where I'm taking you. I wish only to visit the cave."
She relaxed, soothed by the ring of truth in his tone. Another trip to Brazil might actually be beneficial, she realized, remembering the postcard Alex had sent her. She could take his picture with her, something she hadn't had last time, and walk through town, asking people if they had seen him.
"If I go with you," she said, purposefully omitting her change of desires, "will you help me find my brother?"
"You do not know where he is?"
"No. And I've looked. His co-workers haven't seen him. He hasn't been home. He hasn't even called our mother, and he usually does. Someone sent me an e-mail supposedly from him, but I know it wasn't because I found a postcard Alex had written telling me he was in trouble."
A flash of guilt stole through Darius's eyes. "I cannot stay here long, but you have my word of honor that while I am here, I will help you find him."
"Thank you," she told him softly.
He stood and held out his hand, palm up.
"We're leaving now ?"
"Now."
"But I need to call the airline. I need to-"
"You need only take my hand."
Blinking up at him in confusion, she swallowed, then forced herself to stand. "Give me just… " She rushed to her storage closet. "One… " She withdrew a photo album. "Second." She peeled Alex's picture from the slot, folded it and shoved it into her pocket. She raced back to Darius and, with a half smile, placed her hand in his. "I'm ready."
"Close your eyes." The deep baritone of his voice was hypnotic.
"Why?"
"Just do what I say."
"First tell me why."
He frowned. "What I'm about to do can be jolting."
"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" She closed her eyelids, total darkness encompassing her. A full minute ticked by and nothing happened. What was going on? "Can I look now?"
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