Scorched (Rulers of the Sky Book 1)

by Paula Quinn

  “Stop thinking.” He smiled down at her, then covered her mouth again to aid his request.

  He fought to control the passion in his kiss, the desire to release her and then himself from the confines of their jeans and guide his throbbing erection deep into her. He wanted to tell her, while she straddled his taut body and rode him hard and fast, that she wasn’t unexciting, that she fired his blood like no other female before her. But she would not be satisfied with lust alone. She wanted romance, and he wanted to give it to her.

  So, he kissed her slowly and feathered his fingers over the pulse beat of her throat. He struggled to think, to find his reason, but he felt dizzy with a want that seemed nothing like the animal urge so easily satisfied as a Drakkon.

  “I’ve missed you,” he told her, withdrawing to look into her eyes.

  She looked surprised but then smiled. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He smiled, flashing his teeth. “I’m glad.”

  The scent of her purity devoured him, fed his hunger like oxygen to fire.

  Bending to the small table to his right, he plucked a small book up in his fingers and handed it to her.

  “I like the part where Patrice throws a rock at Tristan’s head and then realizes that he loves her. Read it to me.”

  She took the book and her smile widened into a grin that made him forget what they were talking about. “You want me to read my book to you?”

  “Aye.”

  Smiling back at her like a merry dimwit, she found the scene he meant and began reading.

  “Patrice’s laughter faded gazing up into the cool, beautiful eyes of the only man she had ever loved. He took her breath away. He was staring at her the way he used to, as if his very life depended on drinking in the sight of her face. There was no lust in the eyes that swept over her features, but a hunger, a longing need for something neither of them understood.”

  She stopped reading and glanced up at him. “That is a pivotal scene for them. They began to trust each other after that.”

  “I know.”

  He wanted to kiss her adorable mouth and stare into her eyes for the next century.

  “Why did you leave?” She dropped the book and stared at him. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

  She thought he was exactly who she suspected.

  “I was angry.” No reason to tell her she’d hurt him. “And conflicted.” Aye, that was better. “I thought a lot about being a man and being a Drakkon. And I thought about you.” All the time. Every waking moment, he thought to himself.

  When she slid closer and pressed her cheek to his chest, he closed his arms around her.

  “I’m glad you came back.”

  Just one more kiss. One more touch. He could resist her, couldn’t he? Should he? Why was he denying himself? She felt so damned good in his arms, like she’d always belonged there. Should he kiss her again?

  What would the blasted Sir Tristan do?

  She lifted her head and laughed softly. “What?”

  “What?”

  “Are you trying to behave like Tristan?”

  He looked at her like another head just popped out of her shoulder. “Absolutely not!”

  “It’s very endearing.”

  “It is?” he asked, his good mood restored.

  “Yes, but I’ll help.” She rose up off him, kissed his nose, and stepped away. “I like the romantic Marcus.”

  He looked at her rather broodingly. “I hate his guts.” He looked at her standing there dressed in her baggy pajamas with her bunny slippers and slapped his hands on his thighs. “I need to rebuild a wall or something.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, as he left. “You kiss extremely well if it’s any consolation.”

  “It is,” he told her, laughing softly as he went. “Up until a few months ago, I didn’t even have lips.”

  *

  Sam spent the rest of the afternoon at her computer catching up on chapters that should have been completed weeks ago. She was thrilled to be writing again and had the man hammering away at the ruins of the roof above her to thank for her newfound dedication to Sir Robert’s plight. Marcus’ dark, wounded soul provided hours of inspiration, though he insisted, breaking through her thoughts, that little could wound a Drakkon’s soul. His unabashed arrogance was also quite helpful in shaping the lord of Glastonbury.

  Why did Lady Isobelle send him away?

  Sam stared at her monitor for a few seconds before answering him, not sure she really wanted to. Because she is beginning to care for him.

  She heard what sounded like a chuckle in her head and scowled at the ceiling.

  So, she sends him off to find another damsel?

  He won’t look for anyone else. It’s Isobelle he loves.

  I see. So, it takes all that bickering between them before they can win each other’s love? Is that the way of it then? Because if it is, I don’t care for it.

  Sam smiled at the gruff pitch of his voice. It’s called conflict, and it’s vital to the story. Having the characters jump right into bed is boring. A reader wants to share in their emotions. The sexual tension needs to build.

  Why?

  Because it’s more satisfying that way. She rubbed her head. This was one conversation she did not want to have with him. Words like sexual and satisfying conjured too many mental images that chipped away at her defenses.

  Do we have a conflict, Sam?

  Yes, she sighed a bit miserably. You used to be a dragon for starters. You hate being a man, and you call making love mating. It should be more than that, Marcus.

  Very well, then. In order to please you, I shall call it making love.

  To please me?

  Aye.

  You mean to get me into bed, she accused mildly.

  I’m offering you what you want, Sam. Love.

  She almost laughed out loud. You don’t even know what love is! You admitted it yourself. Sex is just a small part of it. There’s so much more to it than that.

  Like what?

  Like… commitment, she told him. A bond two people make with their hearts that can never be broken.

  He grew silent, finally, and Sam was thankful. Not even Raymond had tempted her to cast away all, including her irrational fears of abandonment—which proved to be not so irrational, after all.

  She could feel Marcus probing her thoughts so she quieted them, for now. If he knew how close he’d come to having her, he would proceed at full throttle, and she would eventually give in. And then what? He’d already told her he that he had every intention on being changed back into a Drakkon. He wanted his old life back, and Sam really couldn’t blame him. How powerful he must have been. How frightening a sight, billowing flames from his jaws, tearing up the heavens like a typhoon. His soul longed to be what he was before—what he was born to be. He wasn’t going to stay here, and she was going to miss the hell out of him when he left.

  Sam?

  Her face paled realizing that he probably just heard every thought she had about him. Damn it! Marcus, you really have to stop listening when I’m not speaking to you. I’m not used to having to control my thoughts. They’re private, and I need them to be.

  Forgive me.

  She nodded and stared blankly at her monitor, trying to force herself to get back to writing.

  Sam?

  What?

  I’m going to miss you the hell out of you, too.

  The sudden sting of tears made her curse under her breath. Why did he have to say that? And why did it wreak such havoc on her heart? It was tragic really. To find a man who seemed so enthralled with her that he’d read her book to try to know her better, a man who not only cared what she thought, but who poked about in her head, constantly interested.

  It didn’t matter why he did it; it made her feel important to him, wanted…really wanted for the first time in her life. But he was going to leave. Enough, she admonished herself, wiped her eyes, and clicked save on her computer. There was no use trying to write anymor
e today. What she needed was to get away from Marcus and think…alone.

  I’m going to the market. You’re eating me out of house and home.

  Sam.

  Don’t, she stopped him. He’d listened again and she was too afraid of what he was going to say.

  I was just going to ask you to purchase some of that pop you had in your icebox. I like the feel of the bubbles on my tongue.

  Leaving her study, Sam couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything else, she was glad he’d crashed into her stable and not someone else’s.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam wasn’t used to buying so much food, but as she loaded up her car with groceries, she realized she liked that there was a man in her castle with a big appetite. An instant later, she shivered, imagining how many pigpens he’d emptied as a Drakkon. When and why had she begun to feel safe around him? His every waking thought was to devour her, and a part of her was still afraid of him succeeding.

  At least he wouldn’t force himself upon her. He’d already proven that much when she turned him away on her sofa and left him panting. She felt terrible for causing him the kind of frustration that only hard, heavy masonry work could subdue. She would make it up to him tonight with a delicious meal.

  She missed cooking for someone other than herself or Ellie. Eric was a picky eater, too concerned with his cholesterol to enjoy the kind of meal she intended to prepare for Marcus. Of course, she had to mask her scent before his dragon’s instincts, and her own, took over. A thought occurred to her and she raced back inside the market. Once she’d purchased her first weapon, she ducked into a small vintage clothing shop and picked out her second.

  On the way back to her car, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she turned around slowly to look behind her. There was no one there but another woman carrying two bags to her car and an older man with white hair close by. Odd, since she left the castle she’d felt like someone was watching her.

  And once, while she was pushing her cart along the dairy isle, she would have sworn she felt someone probing her thoughts the way that Marcus had. But it wasn’t him. In fact, the feeling had made her so ill for a few seconds afterward, she thought she would be sick. She fumbled for her keys now and hurried toward her car.

  On her drive home, she pondered her life and how easily Marcus could change it if she let him. She had to be more careful, more guarded against the way he moved—all power and grace combined like a panther on the prowl. She had to resist the undeniable male dominance he exuded in every word, every action, and the desire that tangled in his throat when he spoke her name. She could do it, she convinced herself. She was strong. She had control of herself. She was from New York. But by the time she reached the castle, she was aching to see him again.

  From the drawbridge, she spotted him still working high above her, repairing the wall along the battlements. When he saw her, he stood and smiled. She waved, taking in the sight of his muscular thighs encased in snug-fitting shorts. He was shirtless again, despite the chill in the air, and Sam closed her eyes in defense of his pure masculine perfection. Why had he bothered buying clothes when he wore so little of them?

  A short while after she entered the kitchen with her packages, she heard him behind her. “You know,” she said without turning. “It’s about fifty-five degrees outside and you’re wearing shorts. I think you’re nuts.”

  He laughed, coming up close behind her and peeked over her shoulder into one of the shopping bags. “I have cold blood.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said. She bit her lower lip when she felt him bend his head and inhale her hair. She definitely had to do something about the way she smelled.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, hoping to get both their minds off the heat that threatened to make her turn around and offer him whatever he wanted.

  “Starving.” The tickle of his breath along her ear sent shivers down her spine.

  “Good.” She ducked and skittered away from him. “I’m going to make you a nice dinner tonight. Ellie’s not the only one who can cook around here.”

  “What did I do to deserve this?” he asked, watching her put a box of cereal in the cupboard.

  She turned to look over her shoulder. Thinking it was probably better not to bring up their kisses on her sofa and how he fought to emulate a knight from her books, she dropped her gaze and smiled at his long, shapely legs. “You have nice legs.”

  He looked down at them, quirking his brow, then shrugged his shoulders. “Tomorrow I will show you my feet and maybe I can work another kiss out of you.” Sam laughed and his eyes softened on her. “They are quite remarkable you know.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a heart-wrenching smile. “I never thought they could hold me up and I’m quite proud of them for it.”

  “I’m sure they’re wonderfully strong feet.” She reached up to put a can of beans on a shelf that was too high.

  Marcus was behind her again in an instant, taking the can from her fingers and the thoughts from her head. Save one. “You’re not afraid of me anymore then?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Nay, you shouldn’t.” Pressing his body up against hers, he turned her around to face him. “I will take nothing from you that you do not want to give.”

  Sam put her palms on the counter behind her. Oh, she was afraid. Afraid to touch him, afraid of what she might offer him if she did. When he slipped his hands around her waist, she arched her back, putting more distance between them.

  He leaned forward, over her. “The sight of you—the scent of you is driving me mad, Sam. Shall I beg you for a kiss the way Sir Tristan did with Lady Patrice?” He looked down into her eyes and smiled.

  That smile was Sam’s undoing. So much for her control. How easily she yielded when he swooped down upon her to claim her mouth with merciless ease. She felt him against her teeth, soft, thrilling, probing. She couldn’t fight him. She didn’t want to, not when his touch was so possessive, his lips so masterful. She opened her mouth to his plunging tongue and surrendered to his massive strength.

  Every nerve in her body shook and trembled at the size of him over her, the hunger of his mouth as it plundered hers over and over again, giving and taking until she went weak against him.

  He lifted her and set her rump down on the countertop, then pushed her legs apart with his and stepped between her thighs, pressing the need that drove him hard against her warm niche. His strained, husky groan along her neck revealed the restraint he used not to take her there on her kitchen counter.

  Weightless in his arms, her mind clouded and fevered with want, she struggled to resist him. But when he slipped his hands under her buttocks, holding her up effortlessly, she clutched his shoulders and ran her hands down the smooth, sleek muscles of his arms. His erection between her legs maddened her and incredibly, she wanted him to rip away the barriers of clothing between them and make love to her.

  She melted down to her very bones and felt more alive than ever before, every nerve ending on fire for him. What was he doing to her? Whatever Drakkon lure he’d used on her had worked. His power over her was complete and she could do nothing more about it. But she felt no pull from his thoughts. There were no hot, heaving images to enthrall her, save the ones her own mind created.

  He used only his body to drive her deeper into a hopeless chasm of desire and decadence. All the years of holding back, of coming so close with Raymond, then stopping, seemed so wasteful now. But they weren’t. She’d saved herself for this—for Marcus.

  No! Her mind cried from someplace within. This wasn’t how she wanted it to be! This was lust in its most basic form. She wanted more. Oh, she needed more.

  She realized he must have heard her thoughts, for his body went rigid. He withdrew a hair’s breath away and stared into her eyes. Something dark and entirely savage passed across his features before he released her.

  “Marcus,” she breathed softly, feeling responsible for the anguish she had caused his body yet again. She reached out a
nd touched his parted lips and his body snapped, tightening until he felt like solid rock beneath her hand. He licked his lips and took a deep breath then stepped further away from her.

  “I’m going to work on the drawbridge. The wood arrived while you were gone,” he practically growled at her and then left her, still panting after him.

  *

  Marcus stood staring at the aged planks of the drawbridge, his muscles bunched and pained with the effects of his restraint. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d had a ripe and ready virgin in his hands and he’d left her. He was glad there were no other Drakkons left to mock him and the emotions, too foreign for him to name, that weakened him. Emotions that told him he wanted to possess her completely, protect her as he did his hoard. By the stars, he didn’t need her heart to surrender to him. He only needed her mind, and body, and she had just offered both.

  But she wanted more. And madly enough, so did he. He’d stopped because he wanted to hear her tell him…what? That she loved him? That she felt as lost without him as he had felt without her these last two weeks? He’d come back to win her but for the wrong reason! Damn him for letting Ellie read Sam’s blasted tales to him. Damn him for being curious about things he was not born to be a part of. What did he care of love, of honor, or loyalty? He was no knight and he cursed himself for wanting to be one to please a woman!

  “Marcus?”

  Sam’s voice and the touch of her hand on his arm shattered his brooding thoughts and he turned to face her. He knew he was in more trouble than even before, even more than his fiercest battle with a Red, when she offered him a can of pop and a smile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam chewed her fingernail while she eyed the three pairs of jeans laid out on her bed. Two were European cut and were more form-fitting than the stonewash she’d brought with her from the States. If she were having a casual dinner with Eric, picking which pair to wear would not be a problem. But with Marcus, the less attention she brought to her figure, the better.