she replied haughtily.
Do not deliberately provoke me,
cara mia.
I will admit to being a jealous man. Our males have never been famous for allowing their women to associate with other men. I do not belong to you. I belong to myself.
Desari sighed as she made her way from the motor home down the street toward the tavern where she had promised Julian she would meet him. She shook her head. This was so ridiculous. Darius could track her at will. Men were beyond her understanding, even after centuries of trying to figure them out. Not one of them made any real sense.
Darius does not have the right to rule your life any longer,
piccola.
That is the right of your lifemate, not your brother.
Desari stopped dead in her tracks. He sounded so complacent, so insolent. Conceited. Overbearing. Arrogant. What was she doing?
His laughter echoed softly in her head and brushed little flames over her skin.
You want to come to me. You know you have to come to me. Nothing can stop you. It is inevitable, like the tide. There can be no turning back.
Her feet were moving of their own volition, pulled inexorably toward the bar. She moved several yards, reaching the corner before she realized she was under compulsion. His voice was low and beautifully pitched, a blend of the night and seduction itself. He was using his voice alone as his weapon, and she, like a rank fledgling, was responding. Desari forced herself to stop moving by grabbing a lamppost and hanging on.
His laughter was low and taunting.
Desire is more powerful than I realized. And it is the same for you. You wish it were,
she responded, her chin up, eyes flashing.
I refuse to play these childish games with you. Go away, and do not come back.
He was right, though. She had never felt this way before. Every cell in her body was hot and heavy and aching for release. She wanted him. Pure and simple. But that was all. It was just sex. Hot, steamy sex. Absolutely nothing else. Who would want such an arrogant jerk?
“You.” The single word was breathed against her neck, against the pulse beating so strongly there. His body was suddenly so close, she could feel the heat emanating from his skin. Although she was tall, his large frame seemed to tower over her. Up close, she could feel his power, the intensity of his emotions. His gaze drifted over her with stark possessiveness.
Desari stood perfectly still, afraid to move. There was something about him she couldn’t seem to resist. It was his eyes. The way his eyes burned a molten gold. So intense. So hungry. How could she resist his eyes? It was in his mind. He had been so alone. He
needed
and only she could provide. His hand moved down her shoulder to rest on her slender waist. His touch was possessive. His palm was burning a hole through the thin material of her shirt.
Julian exerted a little pressure, taking her with him as he moved toward the tavern. She was still uncertain, her brain at war with her instincts, her emotions, the chemistry of her body. He was well aware, having now shared her mind, that Desari was no one to trifle with. She had lived centuries, had acquired tremendous knowledge and strength. This was a situation that required more than a little finesse—not his strongest point. Julian was used to having his way in all things. More than anything he believed it was his duty, his right, to protect and care for his lifemate. But Desari did not seem to follow the path of the women of his race in temperament.
“I heard your brother refer to you as Dara. How did you come by such a name?” he asked, his straightforward curiosity completely throwing her off the track.
“I have long been called Dara. It is a nickname. Darius said my mother often called me that,” she answered, moving with him automatically. His body was very close to hers, so that she felt the brush of his thigh, his chest, the heavy muscles coming into brief contact with her, then moving away. Her tongue touched her lips, moistening their sudden dryness. She was intrigued by the way Julian could make her feel so aware of herself as a woman.
“Do you know what Dara means?” Julian asked softly.
Desari shrugged. “It is old Persian. It means, of the dark one.”
Julian nodded. “Do you remember where you came from? Where you were born?”
Desari moved away from him, a subtle retreat from the heat of his body. What she really needed to do was run from the heat in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her as he was doing. Julian slid his arm around her waist and gathered her under his shoulder.
She put her hand on his rib cage to push him away, but somehow her palm lingered against his thin shirt, savoring the heat of him. It drew her like a magnet, in the same way his eyes drew her. She lowered her lashes. This was insanity. But for a few brief hours tonight she would indulge her dreams, allow herself a fantasy that might have to last her for all time.
Julian’s larger frame urged her into the small tavern. The band was playing something soft and dreamy, al lowing him to step around and take her into his arms. The moment he enclosed her against him, he knew it was right. Her body fit into his perfectly. They moved with the same rhythm, matching heartbeats, matching gliding, swaying steps. Her head fit in the niche of his shoulder; her hand belonged in his.
“We should not be doing this,” Desari said. In spite of her determination not to allow him to control her, she couldn’t stop herself from moving in the erotic dance. His thighs were hard columns against her softer ones. He smelled woodsy, mysterious, dangerous. She inhaled, taking in the scent of his blood.
His mouth touched her neck, just a feather-light caress, but the jolt sent shock waves through both of them. Hunger flared in her, hot and erotic, like nothing she had ever known. She felt the warmth of his breath fanning over the pulse throbbing so frantically beneath her skin.
“This is exactly what we should be doing. I have no other choice,
cara.
I need to hold you in my arms.” His lips were velvet soft, his tongue a rasp of heat stroking her pulse. His fingers enveloped hers, curling her wrist so that he could hold her hand tightly against his heart. “Do you have any idea of how beautiful you really are, Desari?” His teeth scraped a gentle rhythm back and forth over her pulse, sending flames dancing through her body.
Desari closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sheer physical pleasure of the moment. His skin was hot and rough against the softness of hers. She could feel his strength, his muscles like steel. They moved together in such perfect rhythm. She wanted it to go on for all time. His arms made her feel protected and cherished. The burning hunger in his eyes made her feel desirable. His words made her feel beautiful. But most of all, the way his body moved, hot and hard and aggressive as he held her to him, turned her own body into a living, breathing flame.
“It is the way you are inside, Desari, not just the outside package, that makes you so beautiful.” His tongue tasted her throat, his lips sliding up to her chin, to the corner of her mouth.
“You cannot possibly know what I am like,” she protested, even as she turned her mouth blindly to his. She had to taste him, had to know if this was real, this black magic spell he was weaving so effortlessly around her.
Desari expected a savage ravishment, his hunger ran so deep and strong. The first touch of his lips was incredibly tender, his mouth moving over hers, memorizing the feel and shape of her, as if he were being swept away, as if he loved the taste of her. It disarmed her as nothing else could. Her legs went rubbery, but he simply gathered her tightly against him, protectively, as if sheltering her with his heart. His hand encircled her throat lovingly, his fingertips moving in a tender caress that sent heat pooling low and a wave of weakness flowing through her body. She made a sound, a low moan of alarm. He was stealing her soul, taking her heart with his gentleness. Desari found his thick mane of golden hair with her fists, clung to him for support. He was ensnaring her for all time, and she was giving herself to him without a fight.