The realization rocked her because it meant… Oh, God. She didn't just care about him. She loved him. Grace groaned, and Darius cast her a sharp glance. She offered him a forced half smile. Of all the silly things to do. To fall in love with this mighty warrior like a jumper from a plane. No parachute. No landing mat. Just… splat.
When she'd told Darius she wasn't ready for him, she'd meant it. He was too intense. Too stubborn. Too much everything. So how could this have happened?
Don't worry about that right now. Just feed him. Get his strength up . Her hands shook as she dug in her purse and pulled out a tin of mints. Keeping her focus away from his face-she did not want him to know what she was thinking-she reached down and grasped his hand. His palm was warm and dry, thick and rough.
He jerked away from her touch.
Before she had time to react, he was reaching out and stiffly relinking their fingers. "Don't do me any favors," she snapped and tried to tug her hand away. She'd just realized she loved him, and he didn't want her to touch him. "Just so you know, I didn't want to hold your hand. I wanted to give you a mint."
"Be still," he said, at last deigning to speak with her.
"Let go of-"
"Close your mouth, or I will close it for you. With my own."
Eyes narrowed, she lifted her free hand and stuffed several mints in his mouth, effectively shutting him up. Close her mouth, would he? His nose wrinkled as he chewed, but his grip on her hand strengthened.
Someone behind them chuckled, reminding her that two men carting briefcases and files were in the elevator, as well. She darted a gaze to them and gave each one a quick, forced smile.
Not about to heed Darius's warning, she whispered to him, "When we get there, let me do the talking. I don't want anyone to know that we know what's going on."
He frowned. "I will allow you to do the talking, since these are your people," he said loudly, uncaring about their audience. "If they do not answer to my satisfaction, however, I will be forced to act."
"You can't threaten everyone who refuses to answer your questions," she told him, still maintaining her sense of quiet. "Or you'll end up in jail-or a dungeon-or whatever you call it."
"Sometimes, sweet Grace, your innocence amuses me. As if I could be held in a prison." His frown deepened. "Will this contraption go no faster? We have wasted enough time already." With his free hand, he jabbed his finger into the wall of buttons.
The elevator stopped on the next floor. As well as the next… and the next.
"The stairs would have been faster," one of the businessmen muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
Grace flashed him another smile, this one apologetic.
The man glared at her, as if it were all her fault. As if she could control a six foot five hulk of a warrior who-Oh, my God! Darius was displaying his fangs again, this time at the poor, innocent businessmen. When the elevator stopped yet again, the two scurried out with fearful gasps-but at least they were alive.
"Did you see that?" one of them said. "He had saber-teeth."
When the doors closed, leaving her and Darius alone, silence gripped them in a tight fist. Over and over the elevator halted. When someone tried to enter, Darius gave them the same scowl he'd given the businessmen and every one of them retreated and waved them on before the doors closed.
After the fourth jostling stop, Grace's stomach threatened to rebel, and she tugged Darius from the elevator and onto the floor. Twenty-nine, she realized with dread.
"Excuse me," she said to the first person she saw, an older woman who carried a tray of vanilla scented cappuccinos. "Where are the stairs?"
"Down the hall. Last door on your right."
"Thank you." Only when they were inside the empty stairwell did Grace speak again. "Perhaps now is a good time to tell me about your dragon peculiarities," she said, chewing her lip nervously. Her voice echoed from the drab walls. "I need to be prepared… just in case."
As they climbed, she retained a firm hold on his hand.
He didn't ask her to release him, and she allowed herself to think it was because he needed the contact as much as she did, that they were connected in some intangible way and the physical contact strengthened that bond.
"Dragons can fly," he said on a sigh.
"With wings?"
"Is there any other way?"
"There's no reason to be snide. There's no bulge in the back of your shirt to indicate the presence of wings or any other type of… " She searched her mind for the right words, ending with, "Flying apparatus."
"They are hidden in long slits of skin. When the wings emerge, the skin is retracted. Perhaps I will show you. Later. When we are alone."
There was a promise of something in his voice, something hot and wild and erotically wicked, and she pictured him without his shirt, pictured her fingertips tracing down the muscles and ridges of his back. She shivered. His scent chose that moment to surround, envelop, and submerge her, awakening her to a deeper level of need.
She had to change the subject before she did something foolish, like ignore the outside world and her responsibilities and drag him home. "Are there humans in Atlantis?" she asked.
"Some. Years ago the gods brought humans to our land to remind us of our humanity. Not long after their appearance, the vampires ate most of them."
"Gross." She spied a peek at him through the shield of her lashes, then quickly refocused on the stairs before she tripped. "Have you, well, have you ever dated a human woman before? Not that you're dating one now," she rushed on. "I just meant-" She compressed her lips together.
He jumped right to the heart of the matter. "By dated do you mean bedded?"
"If the question doesn't offend you, then yes."
"Are you sure you wish to hear the answer?"
Yes. No. She sighed. She really wanted to know. "Yes."
"There's only one human I would willingly bed, Grace, and I have plans to do so." One of his fingers heatedly caressed her palm.
Oh. Ribbons of pleasure wound around her, and her lips lifted in a soft smile she couldn't stop.
By the time they topped the forty-third floor, Grace's thigh muscles burned with fatigue. She'd always dreamt of being a perfect size six, but the torture required for such a task was getting to be too much. Exercise… how she was coming to loathe the word. It was a thing more foul than low-fat ranch dressing.
Darius held open the door, and she swept past him, finally releasing his hand. She stepped inside Argonauts, the carpet beneath her feet a plush burgundy wool. Her gaze scanned the offices. On the wall hung Picasso, Monet and Renoir. Guards manned several corners, and security cameras roamed in every direction. A small rocky waterfall filled the center of the waiting area, and an expensive, exotic perfume floated on the air, drifting like clouds over the sun on a perfect spring day. Both were peaceful, and both mocked her.
That bastard! There was no doubt in her mind how Jason Graves afforded these things. A surge of rage boiled deep inside her. When Alex had first begun working for Argonauts, he'd barely made enough money to pay the rent on a little efficiency in Brooklyn. The past few months he'd brought home substantially more and had moved to his decadent new apartment in the Upper East Side.
Argonauts, too, had moved from their small offices in Brooklyn to here.
Yesterday, or even an hour ago, she had thought this success was because of recent mythological discoveries. Now she knew the truth. Jason Graves afforded these luxuries through the rape of Atlantis.
She stalked to the reception desk. Three women manned phones and computers. The first, the one Grace approached, had short black hair and heavily but perfectly made up features. She wasn't pretty in the traditional sense, but attractive all the same. She frowned with impatience at Grace, then dropped her jaw in awe when she saw Darius. That damn sex appeal of his!