She ran through her plan of action.
First, send Kyan back to wherever he came from.
Second, eat breakfast.
Third, convince Mike to come to the bike shop with her, so the sales guys wouldn’t be tempted to fall over themselves laughing when she announced she needed a bike suitable for a triathlon.
Fourth, ditch Mike for a couple of hours in order to purchase running shoes and—oh God!—a swimsuit.
Fifth, compose herself over a cappuccino.
By “compose herself” she meant sniffle pathetically into her coffee due to humiliation suffered during her quest to buy the swimsuit, before meeting up with Mike again. With any luck she’d be home in time for dinner.
Sweet.
Now for the first hurdle: Mr. Dreamy, aka Kyanite, who preferred to be called Kyan. Mmm. Kyan sounded softer and more approachable. Less sharp. She could totally understand why he preferred that to Kyanite.
She opened the bedroom door. Her nose twitched as the aroma of frying bacon smacked her. Yum! She might have to switch numbers one and two around.
As she made a beeline toward the source of the gorgeous aroma, she noted the lounge was neat and tidy. No half-empty glasses, no platters sporting shriveled remains of canapés. She continued through into her beautifully clean and tidy kitchen and stopped dead. Seemed her guests had cleaned up everything before they left. Thoughtful of them. If it got her out of washing heaps of dirty platters, she’d consider fainting at parties more often—maybe just not quite so early on in the evening next time.
Mike and Kyan were perched on stools at the breakfast bar, scoffing down huge servings of bacon, eggs and hash browns.
Ruby was mildly disappointed to see both of them were dressed. Well, not disappointed about Mike, of course. Even privately admitting that her brother had a great physique made her want to grab the Yellow Pages and search for a therapist. Kyan, though, was a whole different story. One in which rippling abs, delectable pecs, and bulging biceps took a starring role.
“Do make yourselves at home,” she said, her tone curt and snippy to cover the instant lust she’d experienced at the mere thought of Kyan sitting half naked in her kitchen. “Don’t feel you have to hold back when it comes to raiding my freezer and eating all my food. By the way, how long are you planning on staying, Mike?”
“A week, if that’s okay with you,” Mike mumbled over a mouthful of bacon. “Annie’s in Melbourne visiting her parents at the mo’ so I’m at a loose end. Needed a break from work, so here I am.”
Annie was Mike’s fiancée and one of the sweetest women Ruby had ever met. “Course it’s fine. You know you can crash here anytime.”
“Cheers, Rubes. Coffee’s ready for plunging and your breakfast’s in the warmer drawer.”
“Thanks.” She wandered over to the bench to deal with the coffee plunger. “Anyone else for a cup?”
Kyan paused with his bacon buttie halfway to his mouth.
A man after her own heart. Why use a knife and fork when you can slap the bacon between two slices of bread, and demolish it that way? Ruby liked to do the same with hot chips.
Kyan sniffed the air then inhaled deeply and sighed. “What do you call that beverage, Garnet Ruby?”
Mike choked on his mouthful of food. “Garnet Ruby?”
Sheesh. Kyan really did sound like a foreigner from a far off land. “Just Ruby will do. And this is coffee. I’m sure you’ve heard of coffee before, haven’t you?”
“Nay. Never have I heard of such a beverage. The aroma is familiar to me, though.”
She raised her eyebrows. “What would you call this stuff, then?”
“If I am not deceived by the aroma, then I would call it gahvay. And I would very much like a cup.” He turned his attention back to his breakfast and took another bite of his bacon buttie.
“What language is that, Kyan?” Mike wanted to know. “Arabic or something?”
“I do not know this Arabic. Surely my language is the same as that we are now speaking? How else would I understand you? Or you, me?”
“He’s got a point there, Mike,” Ruby said, trying not to laugh at her very smart brother frowning over Kyan’s impeccable logic. It wasn’t often anyone got the better of Mike.
She placed a mug of black coffee in front of Kyan, along with a carton of milk, a sugar bowl and a teaspoon. “Help yourself.”
Kyan eyed the milk doubtfully then stuck his finger in the sugar and licked the granules from his finger. His gesture was so sexy her breath caught in her throat.
Mike threw her an odd look that she made a point of ignoring. Now was not the time to discuss the lamentable fact that she was lusting after Kyan in the worst way.
“Sweetener!” Kyan put a couple of heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar into his mug and stirred it vigorously.
“Sugar,” Mike confirmed for him. “Want some milk, too?”
At Kyan’s doubtful expression, he hastened to elaborate. “It’s cow’s milk. Many people think it makes the coffee more palatable. More—”
“Milky?” Ruby couldn’t help smirking at her brother.
“Nay,” Kyan decided. “I will drink this coffee as nature intended.”
“You mean you’ll take it black,” Mike corrected.
“As you say then, black.”
Mmm. It was tempting to ask all about Kyan’s origins, but she resisted. What was the point? He was leaving straight after breakfast. And speaking of breakfast—
She took hers from the warming drawer and, juggling both the plate and her own mug of coffee, clambered onto the breakfast bar stool next to Mike.
“Hey, where’s mine?”
“Do I have ‘slave’ tattooed across my forehead? You’ve got legs. Get your own coffee. Consider it your punishment for helping yourself to my bed last night.”
Grumbling, he got himself a coffee. “With an attitude like that there’s no bloody way you’ll be getting a birthday present out of me.”
She glared at him. “Ha ha. Already got your present. And to be completely honest, it sucked. So forgive me if I don’t fall all over you to convey my thanks, okay?”
“Whaddya mean you already got my present? I haven’t even given it to you, yet.”
“Oh. Right. That would be the present the courier didn’t deliver yesterday morning.” She hopped down from her stool to fish the cookbook from the cupboard, and waved it under his nose. “What’s this then, huh? A figment of my imagination?”
He grabbed her hand and snagged the book. “Oh, that. Listen, numnit, it’s not what you’re thinking, okay? That’s not a birthday present, it’s a chance to do a little bit of boasting.”
She gaped at him. “Boasting? What the hell? Boasting?”
“Yeah. If you turn to the inside cover, you’ll see Annie’s name listed with all those who collaborated with the publisher, the drug company and the chef to put this book together. I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing her name in print.”
She scanned the front cover and there it was in black and white: Annie Michaels, Registered Dietician.
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed that.” Oh.
Mike threw her the kind of sympathy-drenched gaze that told her he got it—understood exactly how betrayed she’d felt when she opened the parcel. “Geez. I’m sorry, Rubes. I should have put a note with it or something. I just didn’t think.”
She bit back a hiccupping sob of relief that Mike was still on her side, still not judging her, still accepting her and loving her for who she was inside. “’S all right. Just me being overly sensitive.” She shoved the book back into the cupboard and when she straightened, it hit her. He still owed her a present. The day was looking up. “So what are you getting me for my birthday?”
He grinned at the avaricious gleam in her eyes. “Well, after I got your email about the triathlon, I thought we’d head down to bike shop and I’ll buy you a bike. Am I the best brother ever, or what?”
She leaned over to hug him. “You’re the best broth
er ever.”
“I know,” he said, smirking and basking in the glory.
“So hurry up with breakfast and let’s get going. Places to go, bikes and other assorted stuff to buy.” She was eager to get started. And all-too-conscious she needed every single bit of help she could get to train for this triathlon. The sooner they bought the darn bike, the sooner Mike could start teaching her to ride the darn thing. Unfortunately she couldn’t just ditch her “guest”.
“Kyan, is there any place we can drop you? We’re heading for Takapuna shops but I don’t mind driving you wherever. Where do you live?”
It was an innocent enough question but Kyan didn’t react as she expected. A gamut of emotions skittered across his chiseled features. Anger. Confusion. And finally, panic. And not your normal everyday panic—like being late for work again, or realizing she’d gone out and forgotten to put on any knickers under her pantyhose. She opened her mouth to ask what on earth was making him look so spooked, but Mike smoothly took charge.
“I’ll sort Kyan out, Ruby. Why don’t you go out and buy the other things you need and I’ll meet you,” he glanced at his watch, “say at one, at the bike shop? I’ll just go move my car so you can get out of the driveway.”
“Oh. Okay, whatever.” She was both relieved and disappointed to have the disturbing problem of Kyan taken out of her hands. Relieved, because the longer he spent in her house, the more he looked as though he belonged there. And the more she wished she was the sort of woman who might make a man like him want to stay.
Her disappointment stemmed from knowing she wasn’t that woman—could never be that woman. And the moment she walked out her door would be the last time she ever saw him again.
Her hangover-like symptoms revisited with a vengeance. She had no idea her head could hurt so damn much. But if she was completely honest, her heart ached even more.
~~~
Kyan stood at the window, watching Ruby—as he’d been watching her ever since he’d awoken to the stream of heated water hitting him in the face. He knew she was attracted to him—those glances she shot at him beneath her lashes when she thought he was unaware of his regard licked him like silken whips, stoking his desire to take her for his own. The naked hunger that darkened her eyes was akin to a soft feminine hand down his trousers, gently stroking his cock and squeezing his stones.
She was pure contradiction, this lush, full-bodied female who oozed sexuality, and had the power to make his cock throb with nothing but a hot, longing glance. Until, inevitably, she abruptly became conscious she was staring, her sweet face flushed rosy pink and her gaze skittered away from his… giving Kyan some small respite to compose himself before that heated gaze smote him anew.
He’d learned she could be vocal as any Elder stating her case before the priests at one of the monthly gatherings, and then she would make some self-deprecating comment that told him she was unsure of herself, expected to be jeered at and told her opinions didn’t matter. It irked him mightily. If he had his way….
Nay. His current position was too precarious. Until he could confirm absolutely that the old sorcerer had no means of imprisoning him once more, he must look out for himself.
Gods willing, Ruby’s desire for him would make her amenable to giving him a roof over his head. And, once he’d found his way in this world, he would decide whether to stay and indulge in a pleasurable interlude with her, or move on.
Use her, in other words—as he had used so many females. He banished the self-disgust that gripped his belly. He was a warrior. He could not afford to let a woman worm her way into his heart. Not even a woman as tempting as this one.
He was torn from his brooding introspection when Ruby and her brother climbed into a pair of strange contraptions that roared to life.
“Aiee!” He reared back from the window. What manner of ungodly things were these? His heart pounded and his hand sought a phantom sword that had vanished along with his mount when he’d been taken by the sorcerer’s spell. He stumbled backward, his mind reeling, and his confidence that he could tame this world, and use it as he saw fit, plummeting.
When he reached for his cup of gahvay, his hand shook.
Harden up, boy, a familiar voice hissed in his mind. The Crystal Warriors will never accept a sniveling coward into their ranks.
His mother’s voice—the voice that dogged his nightmares even now, after all this time.
He’d been a sickly infant—the result of a difficult pregnancy. And he’d been slow to master the normal childhood milestones. His father had thought him too frail to be a warrior, and pledged him to the priesthood. With hard work and years of diligent study, he might become a scholar of magic—a worthy calling, according to his father.
But not good enough for her. He had never been good enough for her. He had tried to please her, but he couldn’t help that he was clumsy and uncoordinated, and preferred music and books and drawing to swordplay. And she had berated him day in and day out because of his “womanly” ways.
His mother had been stolen from a world where the women were fiercely independent. Those such as she, who had proven themselves worthy of joining the warrior caste, fought alongside their men and were treated as equals. The shame of being captured, and taken from her homeland, had eaten away at her. Not even a high-status mate, or the son she had borne him, could expunge that. It was her belief that for her son to eschew the warrior way would bring eternal shame down upon both her and her ancestors. She had not accepted her mate’s decree. She had badgered him, and pleaded her case until she had extracted permission for their son to begin preliminary training.
The rigorous, year-long indoctrination into the warrior way of life had almost broken Kyan—body and soul. Somehow, he’d found the internal strength to bear the jeers and the hazing, the massive bruises when he failed to defend himself adequately, the shrieking muscles that made crawling from his sleeping roll at dawn each morning sheer torture. He’d learned to bury both physical and emotional pain—never let it show on his face. And after that first year, he’d hardened up, and life had gotten easier.
It had gotten easier still when he discovered the blond hair and blue eyes and too-pretty face that provoked so much scorn from his peers, attracted women to him like fire-ants to rotting fruit.
By the time he completed the five years preliminary training, he’d earned the respect of his peers for his prowess with sword and shaft.
His father had been killed in a raid before he could witness the ceremony that would allocate one of the priests’ treasured crystals to his son and bond its powers to his life-force. The newly christened Kyanite had been foolish enough to harbor fond wishes that his mother would finally find pride in his accomplishments. She’d disabused him of such childish notions with a humiliating, public diatribe about how he would never measure up to the warriors of her home world.
The shame of that day, the pity in the eyes of the other young men who’d been crystal-bonded alongside him—had cut him to the bone.
Harden up, boy.
He shook himself to dispel the bitter memories, and rubbed a gnawing ache in his belly with a fist. He must have eaten something that disagreed with him. But at least the bellyache had torn him from memories he would rather forget. This time, when he reached for the cup, his hand was steady.
By the end of the cup, when Mike came back into the house, Kyan’s mask was firmly back in place.
“You ready to go?” Mike asked. “Thought we’d head to Takapuna shopping center. There’s a shop there I wouldn’t mind checking out myself.”
“Are we to journey to this shop in the contraption that roars?” Kyan did not relish such a journey but if Mike and Ruby could so casually master such things, then he would master them, too.
Mike’s eyebrows all but disappeared beneath his hairline. “You’re really not from around here, are you? Where the hell are you from, Kyan?”
He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “I do not think you would believe me if
I told you.”
The other man leaned against the kitchen bench and crossed his arms over his chest. “Try me.”
~~~
Chapter Four
Shopping for swimsuits sucked.
After half an hour in the cramped, pocket-handkerchief-sized changing room, Ruby made a couple of not-so-wonderful discoveries. First, that certain materials claiming to be “stretchy”, weren’t designed to stretch to their ultimate limit both lengthwise and across-wise. If she hunched over, some of the swimsuits kind of fitted, but as soon as she straightened up again, her circulation got cut off in places she’d rather not mention. Suffice it to say, super-duper wedgies were the least of her problems.
Her second awful discovery was that the range of available styles designed to hide the multitude of problem areas she had were extremely limited. She found swimsuits with all sorts of variations, including reinforced areas to minimize “problem” tummies, extra bust support for D-plus cups, and even some with extra oomph to firm and uplift saggy bums. But the miracle swimsuit she needed had obviously not yet been manufactured. More like, it’d not even been conceived yet.
Ruby wanted the ultimate minimizing swimsuit. One that would minimize her boobs, tummy, bum and everything else. And despite today’s supposedly modern technology, the only item she’d come across that came close to doing all that, while still designed to get wet, was a wetsuit. Which was so not an option, considering how impossible those things were to get on. Or off, for that matter. And as for flattering? No way—not with those hideous fluorescent stripy bits the manufacturers insisted on putting right over the hips or inner legs that made even skinny people look bow-legged and bulky.
To compound matters, she really wanted a boy-leg style swimsuit so she didn’t have to worry about waxing her bikini-line.
The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle Page 35