She did her best to show him her relationship with Julio. We grew up together. He is but a few months older than me, so we were raised as brother and sister.
She found it difficult to project that concept, but, glancing over her shoulder at his dark face, she persisted. There were no other children around. This is a working ranch and even as children, of course, we were expected to help.
Again, she tried to send impressions of the two of them working in the stables, and in the fields with the cattle. I could do a better job with my pen and paper.
“You are doing just fine.”
She risked another quick look at his face. She wasn’t doing just fine. He still had death in his eyes. She forced down panic, feeling as if she was failing Julio. My mother died when I was very young and I was inconsolable. I lost myself in the animals. In the rain forest.
He stirred as if the thought of that little girl alone in the rain forest bothered him, but she couldn’t imagine that he could conceive of her pain as a child at the loss of her mother. Or that he might worry for a human child that was of little consequence to him. But Julio had worried. He was only a little boy himself, but he defied his parents and followed her to keep her safe.
And then his mother caught a fever and she died a year after my mother. That created a bond between us. I was careful to stay close to him, as he had done for me. Again she tried to convey the deep sorrow that both of them had felt and the lifelong connection that had been established.
Marguarita turned then and studied his face, the dark turbulence in his eyes. She took a deep breath, feeling a little desperate for him to understand. Can you see my memories of the two of us? If he could get into her mind and see for himself, maybe he would be able to feel her affection for Julio and realize it was sisterly, not that of a woman loving a man.
“Of course. Our blood bond is strong, but I would have to go deeper into your mind. You already fear me.”
Her heart pounded. They both could hear it. She took a breath as she cut two slices of bread for herself and broke open two eggs to scramble with some ham. Does it hurt?
“It would not hurt. It would feel . . . intimate.”
The last word whispered over her skin like a soft caress. Marguarita shivered. He was close to her. She could feel the warmth of his body as he stood behind her, watching her cook. It felt dangerous, standing in her kitchen performing everyday tasks with him so close, watching her every move. Breathing when she breathed. She swore their hearts kept the same rhythm.
She swallowed hard and carefully concentrated on sandwiching the eggs between the slices of bread. She placed her breakfast on a plate, ignoring her trembling hands. She was afraid of Zacarias, but when he spoke in that certain tone of voice, her body reacted. Did she dare take a chance on adding to that strange physical attraction by consenting—no—even inviting him deeper into her mind?
She reached for the teapot handle just as he reached around her for it as well. His arm caged her and his fingers settled over hers. A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach.
“Let me,” he said.
That same low caressing note was in his voice. She closed her eyes briefly against the sudden assault on her senses and slid her hand from under his. He didn’t move, keeping her caged between him and the counter while he poured her tea. She knew there was a space between them, maybe the width of a sheet of a paper, but she could feel heat radiating from him. Her body caught fire. Flames danced over her skin, darted through her bloodstream to settle into a burning need in her most feminine core.
Her breath caught in her throat as he moved that scant width, closing the paper-thin distance as he set the teakettle down, so that he was pressed against her, his warm breath against her neck. He inhaled her, drawing the air laden with her scent deep into his lungs. A soft, purring growl rumbled in his throat. The sound seemed that of a feral animal, but there was something terribly sexy about it. She froze, paralyzed with fear, but unsure whether it was of him or of herself. The growl vibrated through her body, until her every sense was completely consumed with Zacarias.
Zacarias De La Cruz was a dangerous powder keg, and she was terribly afraid if she moved or allowed him further entrance to her mind, she would be providing the spark that would set him off. It wasn’t his fault that she had such a reaction to him. She’d never had such a reaction to any other male, but it had happened once before with him in the forest. It made no sense, but she couldn’t quite catch her breath, waiting . . . wanting . . . what, she didn’t know.
Zacarias’s lips moved against her ear, his breath stirring her hair and sending an electric shock sizzling through her veins. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer that her scent wasn’t that of a woman desperate for a man, because if she could feel the dampness in her panties he most likely could smell her feminine call to him. A man so close to animal would have a heightened sense of smell.
I’m sure you can. She could hear her heart thundering as well. There was no mistaking her fear—or her attraction.
His fingers moved the mass of hair she’d so carefully left covering her neck. At the brush of his fingertips her womb clenched, and hot liquid spilled. His mouth moved over her skin, his tongue a velvet rasp, making his brand on her pulse with frantic need. She gripped the edge of the counter, her heart pounding with dread—or excitement—she didn’t know which.
Hold very still, mića emni kuηenak minan—my beautiful lunatic, I have to taste you. It would not be a good thing to fight me. At this moment, I feel on the very edge of my self-control.
His mind slipped into hers unbidden, but she couldn’t say unwanted. His touch was sensual, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine, but his warning frightened her. The thought of his teeth sinking into her was so terrifying she should have fainted, yet her body was suddenly alive, every nerve ending on fire.
I’m afraid. There. She’d admitted it to him.
There is no need. You are the safest person in the world around me. Do not fight me, woman. Give yourself to me.
She wasn’t certain what he meant by her being the safest person in the world around him. She didn’t feel safe; she felt threatened on every level there was. She forced herself to keep from struggling as he turned her to face him and inexorably enfolded her against his chest. He was enormously strong, his arms like the trunk of a kapok tree, hard and unyielding, a cage she couldn’t escape.
Zacarias pulled her tightly against him, fitting her to him as if she belonged there, his body imprinted on hers. She tilted her head to look up at him. He was so beautifully carved, like a statue made of the finest stone, sensuality personified. His eyes darkened with hunger. His teeth glinted at her, white and slowly sliding into place, incisors rather than canines, but his canines appeared very sharp as well. The distinction between vampire and Carpathian was there, but it was slim.
Her heart raced far past pounding, accelerating so fast she feared it would come through her chest. He lowered his head slowly to hers, his mouth brushing the lightest of kisses on the corner of her eye. Her entire body nearly went into meltdown. There was no way to stop the purely sexual reaction to that featherlight touch. His lips trailed from her eye to her jaw, soft little barely there kisses, a leisurely exploration.