My little problem? She was going to kill him.
His right hand abandoned her breast, stroking his way down the shirt to dip between her thighs.
“You do want help with this?” His fingers teased through the curls shielding the entrance of her sex. Warm wetness flooded between her thighs, it took all her control not to whimper as his thumb slid past the wet lips to tease her clit. And by the gods, what teasing. He wouldn’t quite touch it, circling it gently, just allowing her to feel the slightest pressure.
“What…” Was her voice really that husky? “…do you want?”
“Truth, remember?” His tongue glided down the curve of her ear before grazing his teeth over the soft spot just behind it. Her pulse roared. She tried to spread her legs, to invite his hand deeper, but he locked his legs on hers, rocking his thumb in a teasing cadence.
“Why the slave bands? Why did you surrender?” The questions beckoned her as his fingers continued their slow torment. His left hand stroked away from her breast to brace against the bed. His heat abandoned her as he pushed himself upward. She undulated, writhing, straining to reach his thumb, but he always whisked it away, not giving her the satisfaction her body hungered for.
“You’re killing me.” She gritted through her teeth. There was no loss of pride in admitting her desire. He’d won that right. He’d taken her in fair battle, proving his worth for breeding. She had every right to take him as a lover.
She couldn’t wait to run her hands over every muscle, taste the quivers of his passion and explore the deliciously concave formation of his abs. All he had to do was roll over, or better, just slide his fingers to the right. Maybe then, she could think clearly.
“Not yet, princess. I’ll happily fulfill every fantasy, drive into you until the only thought in your head is more.” His words stoked the heat in her belly hotter. “I’ll run my tongue around your nipples, nibble your breasts and then gorge myself on the scent of you.” His thumb grazed the side of her clit and her body exploded.
He petted her through the orgasm, peppering kisses along the dampness of her neck, hand cupping her sex as he teased her higher and faster. She came apart for him, unabashed in her release. Her fingers dug into the sheets, holding on as the world spiraled away. The scent of him was everywhere. She was drowning in the rich blanket of cedar, rosewood and oak. Rain threatened in the distance, but it couldn’t quench the heat billowing through her.
She wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel the first stab of his cock as it slid home, driving deep into her womb. Amazons only engaged in sex to bear children. That was the rule. Blasphemy aside, she didn’t want to conceive.
Because she wanted the excuse to do it again.
And again.
When the last tremor rocked through her, she became aware of the soft purring against her back and ear. Gods, he even purrs sexily.
“Better?” he asked, finally slowing his fingers to allow her an odd rest amidst the drenching pleasure soaking every muscle.
“Hell yes, it’s better. But I want more.” The words squeezed past the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung with wetness, and she closed them lest he see the unexpected tears flooding them. The hell she was going to cry or to beg, no matter how much she wanted him.
“Was that so very hard to admit?” His hands seemed to be everywhere, stroking her thighs, ass, back and then up under the shirt until a warm, callused palm cupped her bare breasts. Her body softened under the attention. He rolled onto his side, spooning her, exploring.
“You have to ask?” It was a stupid question and they both knew it. She wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t understand Amazonian customs.
“Actually,” he murmured, massaging her breasts in lazy circles, “yes. I’ve never met an Amazon who would acquiesce to slave bands. They are anathema to you, aren’t they?”
Roseâtre shrugged, enjoying the sensation of his callused fingers, curious about letting her hands wander, but he was still playing the dominant, lying behind her, controlling the direction she faced, what she could reach. So she settled for just rubbing her bottom against the stiff front of his jeans.
“To an Amazon, our sisters are everything. To a princess, the tribe is all. There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for them.” She hadn’t expected the honest confession, but it was easier to dislodge that great boulder from her chest than she’d imagined.
“So it’s for the other Amazon that you sacrificed your freedom?” He peeled back the T-shirt, baring her shoulder for his bite and she closed her eyes. It was a terribly possessive maneuver, a display of dominance, control and ownership.
Where else would he like to leave his mark?
“Do we have to talk about this now?” It was a distraction, he’d wrung enough from her that she couldn’t be humiliated by his need to delve into what remained of her pride, but at the same time, she was far more interested in exploring him.
“We have all day, Ruth.”
Day.
She scissored upward, startling him into releasing her.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly dawn, why?”
“Oh hell.”
It was more than nearly dawn. She felt the first shiver of the sun’s ascent in the languor of her muscles. The cold followed it, swift and pervasive, punching through the lazy heat of desire, drowning the pleasure-warmed muscles.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, sitting up with one leg hanging off the bed, she twisted to face him. Her position allowed her to see the alarm that stole across his features as the grayness swamped her and winked Anthony out of existence.
And then she knew nothing.
Chapter Ten
Anthony’s nostrils flared. Where once tangy citrus, dates and the musk of feminine desire had caressed his nose, only a whiff of porcelain remained. Roseâtre sat frozen, his blue shirt bunched around her waist, one long leg stretched out on the bed, the other hanging loose.
She didn’t breathe.
She didn’t blink.
She didn’t live.
Coiled rage vibrated through his cat, claws raking the inside of his skin. The beast demanded that he fix it, that he return Roseâtre. Anthony couldn’t agree more. With tender fingers he touched the three slices he’d cut horizontally across her biceps. They were red, discolored and angry against the pale, doll-like porcelain state of her skin.
The surface of her flesh was ice to the touch. Too smooth. Too lifeless.
“Come to life again,” he ordered, gruff emotion clogging his voice. The gold wristbands and collar glowed, warming imperceptibly, but she didn’t move.
Lunging off the bed, he was careful not to disturb her. What would happen if she fell? Would she, like ancient statues in half-forgotten temples, simply crumble? Would she shatter? His mind whirled with violent possibilities. He found the house phone tucked away in the base of another tree.
Damn clever magicians masking common items in the rainforest suite. He dialed the Midnight Mystery Lounge, gaze pinned on the slender column of Roseâtre’s neck. She faced away from him.
Could she hear him?
“I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m just calling downstairs to…” He broke off when the jangling ring interrupted and was answered immediately.
“She’s fine, Mr. diNapoli. She will resume her human form at sundown.” The simple statement sent a fresh wave of rage roaring through his blood. Heidi might have impressed him with her no-nonsense attitude and brusque manner, but how could anyone be so cavalier?
“What the hell is wrong with her? What did you people do?”