His spine went rigid as another hot blistering wave of need savaged him. Between her gorgeous legs, at the apex of her thighs, she’d had a little tuft of hair slightly darker than the flaxen mass above. He’d almost dropped to his knees, almost dove in and feasted, shoving those unwanted panties out of the way and tasting the essence of her femininity. Gods, he remembered the sweetness of her. Knew the heaven that awaited him.
He needed to think about something else before he cut the tether of his control and fell on her and took her. He couldn’t take her. As he’d promised her, he would not allow himself to touch her again.
He blanked his mind. There was one thing guaranteed to piss him off and keep his hands to himself. Her tattoos. Just the thought had him biting his tongue until he tasted blood.
In the shower, he’d gotten a peek at the travesty that was her back, and each marking had turned portions of his desire into boiling rage. If any part of him had ever doubted who she was, the tattoos there convinced him otherwise.
She kept score, Baden’s death proudly etched into her flesh. And the four Hunters the Lords had supposedly killed? He didn’t know, but he would. How he would acquire the information when her secrets were her own, he didn’t know, either. But again, he would.
Perhaps he’d seduce the information out of her.
Seduce. Instantly, his mind and body returned to lusting after her. Seducing would involved touching.
Perhaps his “no touching” vow had been premature.
Really, why handicap himself? He should have her. Often. As many times as the urge struck him. Until he obtained the answers he craved. Until he worked her from his system. Until he realized that she hadn’t called him baby while he’d held and cleaned her because the endearment was clearly reserved for her precious Micah.
Red suddenly dotted Amun’s vision, just as it had done in the shower when she’d spoken the bastard’s name, and he drew in a deep breath. Hold…hold. Slowly he pushed the oxygen through his nostrils.
Micah could very well be a descendant of his, as Haidee had said. The idea intrigued him. He’d never thought to have a blood-related family. However, the idea of that blood-related family being his enemy, well, that he didn’t like. Wasn’t like he and Micah could sit down and have a heart-to-heart, either. Besides the good versus evil thing, there was Haidee.
They both wanted her.
Amun should have taken her in the shower, despite her fragile protests, and pounded the worst of his emotions straight into her. And those protests of hers had been fragile. So fragile he could have bent his head and blown on the hammering pulse at the base of her neck and her reasons for denying him would have snapped beyond repair.
There were no doubts in his mind that she’d hungered for him, too. Her pupils had been blown, her lips parted as she’d struggled for air. She probably hadn’t realized that her nails had sunk into his pecs the moment she’d flattened her trembling palms on him, fingers curling, some part of her desperate to be connected to him, eradicating all hint of distance.
The action, small though it was, had been a claiming, and he’d reacted violently. Not that he’d shown her. That boiling rage had been his only link to sanity.
Over the years he had pampered the few women he’d been with, and given them what time he could, as well as attention and fidelity. Even when they hadn’t given him the same—and had then tried to hide their actions from him. As if they could. But he liked seeing a female light up because of his special treatment. He liked knowing he was the cause of their happiness.
He knew his friends considered him calm, without a temper. Normally he was. But when he looked at this woman, this supposed enemy, this unexpected savior, something hard and primal seethed inside him, knocking at the door of his restraint. He felt like a godsdamn caveman, wanting to carry off his woman and hide her from the rest of the world. Wanting to put his body between hers and anyone who dared threaten her. Wanting to tie her to his bed, keep her there forever, keep her ready for him.
Wanting to soothe her even as he ravaged her.
The desires were dark and sultry, insidious as they snuck past his defenses and wrapped around his every cell, changing the very fabric of his being. He was Amun no longer, but Haidee’s man.
That title was not something he could tolerate. Not for long, at least.
Still. He was on the right path, he decided. If he had her, he would tire of her. How could he not, when she was who she was? And when he tired of her, when the newness of her touch and taste and scent wore off and he no longer needed her to beat the demons back to maintain his good sense, he could do his duty and slay her. But until then…
He would just have to continue protecting her.
The rustle of clothes died, and he pivoted on his heel, facing her. A smart man would never have given an enemy his back in the first place. But then, a smart Lord would never have allowed a Hunter to live long enough to dress.
Haidee stood by the side of the bed, arms hanging at her sides, her hands empty. His gaze raked her, and he told himself the perusal was necessary, that he needed to check for hidden weapons. The pink T-shirt and jeans she had donned belonged to Gwen, another petite female, but still they bagged on little Haidee. Despite her feminine curves, she was too thin.
Irritation joined his other emotions. Over the past however long Strider had been in charge of her care, the warrior had most likely given her enough food to survive. No more, no less. She’d probably lost pounds she hadn’t been able to spare. That would change now that Amun was in charge. Causing needless suffering wasn’t his style.
She had toweled off her hair as best she could, but still the blond-and-pink locks dripped onto her shirt, wetting the material covering the delicate frame of her shoulders.
“What now?” she asked in her raspy voice.
She hadn’t shifted under his scrutiny, he realized. She had stood still, allowing him to look his fill. Perhaps she’d studied him, too, because tiny flickers of the mating heat had returned to those distracting eyes.
He liked that she liked the look of him. Usually, with Paris and Strider and, hell, Sabin around him, women found the roughness of his features too…well, rough.
Sit down, he told her. Now we talk.
“More talking?” She didn’t sound enthused.
Yes, more talking. He would not allow her to irritate him into forgetting what needed to be said, he vowed. Sit.
With only the barest hint of hesitation, she obeyed. She perched at the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap.
Thank you. Now, it was time to show her the rest of his cards. Her reaction would dictate their next course of action. Amun spread his legs, braced his knees and prepared to defend himself from attack.
“What are we going to talk about?”
Me. You guessed my identity, but I doubt you know exactly what that means. So here it is, flat out. I’m possessed by the demon of Secrets. He waited for a reaction; he didn’t get one. In the shower, he’d merely played with the details, never actually admitting he was possessed.
“And?” she demanded.
No, he would not allow her to irritate him. And you know about immortals, but do you know anything about the heavens and hell?
“I know they exist.”
That was a start. Recently I ventured into hell to rescue a friend.