Читать книгу Forbidden Craving: The Nymph King / The Beautiful Ashes - Gena Showalter - Страница 16

CHAPTER NINE

VALERIAN SPENT THE entire night posted in front of Shaye’s door, hyperaware of every move and sound she made. Only a few minutes ago, she’d drifted to sleep with a heavy sigh. A quick peek inside the room had confirmed his suspicions, her lithe form sprawled across the bed, her hair spilling around her like a snowy curtain sprinkled with starlight.

She was a winter goddess. A snow nymph. His greatest satisfaction and most decadent pleasure.

Ripe for the taking...

Her eyelashes were light, only a shade darker than her hair. Her lips, those soft, lush, all-your-dreams-come-true lips were parted, begging to be kissed.

He wanted so badly to touch her.

“I’ll have you yet,” he told her. “Say nothing if you agree with me.”

Silence greeted him, and he grinned.

“Dream of me, Moon. I’ll dream of you, I have no doubt.” If he slept at all.

The pink tip of her tongue swept over her lips. A wave of desire swept through him as he imagined meeting her tongue with his own. The two twining, dueling, tasting.

Devouring.

His stomach clenched, and every muscle in his body turned to stone. He needed to leave...at the very least, to look away from her. Already he clung precariously to a sense of honor he wasn’t sure he possessed anymore. The longer he stood there, the worse it would be for him.

How he longed for the night she would breathe her sighs in his ears, or across his chest—or lower still. And how dare Joachim attempt to lay claim to her!

Valerian scowled. Shaye was meant for him, and only him, and those who thought otherwise deserved a painful death.

He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted her, and not being able to have her immediately was...hard. Very, very hard.

I have to win her. I cannot let another have her.

Perhaps his cousin would become so enamored of his current lover he would forgot all about Shaye. If not...well, Valerian would just have to think of something Joachim would find irresistible. Something he would place above the importance of a bedmate.

Joachim was a good man—at times—and a strong warrior with a—slightly—loyal heart. What were the man’s weaknesses? Women? Beyond a doubt. Women were the weakness of all nymphs. Power? Definitely. Weapons? Most surely. Joachim collected them, taking them from every warrior he’d ever killed or bested and hanging them on his bedchamber wall.

Valerian considered his own blade, resting against his back. The Skull. Large, sharp and lethal. One of the finest swords ever made. No, the finest ever made. Crafted by Hephaesteus himself, the blacksmith of the Greeks. The weapon had slayed many of his enemies, rending them with injuries that could not be mended. The sword was the only one of its kind, with a twisted frame and elongated skull tip that were envied by every soldier who spied it.

He would hate to give it up, but his mate held so much more importance to him. Even a mate who wanted nothing to do with him.

Would Joachim accept the Skull?

Valerian released a sigh of his own, the answer remaining a mystery—as much a mystery as the best way to win Shaye’s well-guarded heart.

She’d scoffed at money and jewels. She’d shown no interest in his crown.

Did she have enemies in need of slaying? If so, he would gladly gift her with their severed heads.

He pushed a hand through his hair. Uncertainty was foreign to him. And horrible and challenging but also exciting.

Winning her—appeasing Joachim and overcoming Shaye’s own resistance—had awakened his deepest warrior instincts.

“You will be mine,” he told her. “Somehow.”

“Majesty?”

He closed the door with a quiet snick and focused on the warrior who’d returned at last, bearing the supplies Valerian had requested. A canvas, an easel and three colors of paint. Black, white and red.

He dismissed the warrior and carefully placed the canvas on the easel. He spent hours painting, losing himself in the joy of creating. The subject of his art had never appealed to him more. Had never mattered to him more.

When he finished, he stood back to study the image and ensure he’d gotten every detail right. His chest swelled with pride. He had. Oh, he had.

Let Shaye try to resist him now...

* * *

THREADS OF LIGHT flowed from the crystal dome above, gradually brightening the bedroom. Different-colored shards shot in every direction, a lovely rainbow spray of blue, pink, purple and green.

Shaye eased up, surprisingly relaxed. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before scanning the room, hoping an exit would reveal itself in the bright light of day. The bathing pool still steamed and bubbled with hot water. Violet cloth still draped the windows. Columns still rose to the ceiling, majestic and—

She gasped. A painting had been hung on the wall, beside the vanity. A painting that hadn’t been there last night.

It was a painting of her. A close-up of her face. In black and white, with only spots of color. Twin pink circles highlighted her cheeks while her lips were dark red.

Her eyes somehow sparkled with mischief, her eyelids at half-mast, heavy and slumberous; she looked ready and eager for a man. But not just any man...

Her lips were slightly kiss-swollen, a smile threatening to break free.

Valerian must have spent the entire night working on it.

Is this how he sees me?

Her mind rebelled. She wasn’t mischievous, and she rarely smiled. He must have painted his desires—the way he wanted her to be.

Disappointment delivered a one-two punch to her midsection.

Can’t you be nice for once, Shaye?

Why can’t you be more like your stepsister, Shaye?

What will it take to get rid of your perma-scowl, Shaye?

Mumbling under her breath, she lumbered from the bed and crossed the bridge, avoiding the surrounding pits. Why did Valerian have those death traps in here, anyway?

Wait. The palace—fortress, whatever—used to belong to the dragons, he’d said. They must have used those pits to fly in and out of the room.

And how scary that she had begun to think like an Atlantean, considering the different races as part of everyday life.

Anyway. Maybe she could climb down? Or scale down with a sheet, since she didn’t have a ladder.

Yeah, and she could also fall to her death.

So. No scaling.

Shaye used the surprisingly modern bathroom to brush her teeth and wash up, hoping the water would also wash away her darker emotions. A pipe dream.

She wanted to go home, and she wanted to go home now. Nothing and no one confused her there. Nothing and no one made her wish for more, for better.

Her employees were probably missing her. Or had they not yet noticed her absence? She was always the first one there and the last to leave, her time spent locked inside her office.

Whatever. If she wanted to leave, she’d have to walk out the front door. And what better time? Valerian could be sleeping.

Unbidden, his image rose front and center in her mind. He was so strong, so proud. So danged sexual. A hedonist to the extreme, with skin that looked like dark, lickable cream, hair as radiant as spun gold, and eyes...oh, his eyes. Those turquoise irises beckoned. They teased. They promised. His long, dark lashes acted as the perfect frame, the perfect contrast.

Stalling?

As quietly as possible, she tiptoed toward the door. The closer she was, the stronger Valerian’s masculine scent became, a heady mixture of aroused man and determined warrior. Her skin prickled with heat. She tried to hold her nose, to fight the scent’s allure and the weakening effect it had on her.

Her heart drummed a staccato rhythm—da-dum da-dum dadada-dum—as she clasped the knob and twisted. Would Valerian be out there, awake and waiting?

“Good morning, Shaye.”

His husky voice jolted her, and as she flattened a hand over her throat, she belted out, “Crap!”

He stood just in front of her, his muscled arms crossed over his massive chest, his legs braced apart. Their gazes clashed, her treacherous heart losing track of its rhythm and skipping a beat.

He looked even more unbelievably mouthwatering than before.

Golden hair tumbled onto his forehead and shoulders. He was still shirtless, his body roped with the tightest abs she’d ever seen. A leather band wrapped around him, holding a sword against his back.

Trembling now, she licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze raked over her, and she suspected he had just peeled away her clothing. “Waiting for you, of course. You are gorgeous.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. His voice had dipped as he’d uttered the compliment. A take-no-prisoners timbre. Pure temptation and utter decadence.

He’s a lecherous abductor. Dangerous in every way.

Right. She mentally reinforced the icy walls around her heart.

“Did you like your painting?” he asked.

A shiver tripped along her spine. “Yes. No.”

He arched a sandy brow. “No?”

“Honestly? I both love and hate it. You painted an almost-smile on my face.”

“A look you tried to hide from me but couldn’t.”

He had amused her on several occasions. But...

He was that aware of her?

Dang him. He was seducing her again, and he wasn’t even trying!

It wasn’t fair. He had experience. She didn’t. But just as he was learning about her, she was learning about him. He wasn’t needlessly cruel or even merciless. He clearly loved and respected his men and wanted the very best for them.

“Be honest,” she said. “If we got married and had a daughter—” ovaries threatening to exploded again “—what would you do if some man came along and kidnapped her?”

Tension radiated from him. He raised his chin. “I would kill the bastard.”

A pang of envy—all for a make-believe daughter! Her own father would be too afraid of someone like Valerian to act against him.

“You would kill someone for doing exactly as you’ve done,” she said softly.

A muscle ticked beneath his eye. “I will die without you, Shaye. You would sentence me to death?”

He didn’t mean he would literally die. No way, no how. “You’re describing love at first sight. Which I don’t believe is possible.”

“No, I’m describing mate at first sight.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Everything and nothing,” he replied cryptically. He waved a hand through the air, a regal command to move on to the next topic. “Did you dream of me?”

She allowed the subject change because she’d made her point and given him something to consider.

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. She had. She’d dreamed of his hands on her body, caressing her...of his mouth doing delicious things.

His lush lips inched into a surprised but pleased smile. “Tell me. Every detail.”

“You were naked,” she told him.

His grin spread, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“And you were tied up...”

He appeared intrigued. “I had no idea bondage would excite you.”

“Oh, I adore the idea of tying you up.” She paused dramatically, and just like the Shaye in the painting, she fought a grin of her own. Maybe he knew her better than she’d given him credit for, after all. “You were secured to an anthill, being eaten alive.”

He barked out a charming laugh. “Such a cruel woman, my Shaye.”

His Shaye. Tremors nearly toppled her, her good humor vanishing in an instant...replaced by stunning desire.

He propped his shoulder against the side wall, a pose of carnal relaxation. Fall into my arms, his posture proclaimed. I’ll catch you.

“I dreamed of you, too,” he said.

Shivers cascaded through her. “Do tell.”

“You were naked, as well.”

Suddenly light-headed, she backed up a step. “Is it too much to hope I was tied to an anthill?”

“Yes.” He stepped toward her, intent and intense. “You were splayed on my dinner table, ready to quench my hunger.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, deliciously wicked. “I devoured you.”

Breathe; she had to breathe. The oxygen she did manage to draw in burned her throat, singed her lungs. As he’d spoken, his words had painted a picture in her mind. A terribly beautiful picture as vivid as the one he’d painted on the canvas.

His tongue...on her...in her...

“Come,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll feed your hunger.”

Yes, oh, yes. I want him.

No! She batted at his wrist. “I’d rather starve than feast on your body.”

“I wasn’t planning to feed you from my body...yet.”

Oh. Disappointment—

Did not bloom. Nope. Not even a tiny spark.

“What about the warrior?” she asked. “Joachim?”

The muscle began to jump under his eye again. “I’ll deal with him when he awakens. Until then, you need sustenance if you’re to keep up your strength.”

Well. Maybe if she starved herself, he’d take her home? “No, thank you. I’m good.”

His eyes narrowed. “We could bargain,” he cajoled.

What was with the man and his bargaining? “I eat and you’ll...what?”

“Kiss you anywhere you’d like.”

Save me.

She had to force her mind to blank. “Um, you really need to work on your bargaining skills. They suck.” Had her voice shaken?

“I understand.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “You would rather I offer you an orgasm.”

“What!” Her cheeks fused with heat, and a tremor stole over her. “No!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes?” Her cheeks burned hotter. “Yes. Very.”

“Too bad.” Valerian took another step toward her, his masculine scent wafting to her, filling her nostrils. Strong and spicy—so arousing her tee abraded her nipples and an ache throbbed between her legs.

She’d never been a sexual creature, and these new sensations rocked her to the core. How long could she fight them? How long could she resist this man?

“What thoughts are rolling through your head, hmm?” he asked, his voice huskier than before.

Did he know she was aroused? No, no. He couldn’t. Please!

“I was—” What? She wouldn’t admit the truth, but she wouldn’t lie, either. “You’re right. I’m hungry.”

For several seconds he remained quiet. She used the time to cool her molten desires, reciting math equations in her mind.

Men = Heartbreak × Wasted Time.

Of course: Heartbreak = Wasted Time.

So: Men = Heartbreak × (Heartbreak) = Relationship.

Therefore: Relationship = Pain + Suffering.

Conclusion? Men = Pain + Suffering.

“Come, Moon.” Once again, he extended his hand. “I will feed you.”

“Food?” she asked, just to be certain.

“Food.”

Very well. She placed her hand in his. Such heat! Such strength! His calluses delighted her.

Contact had been a mistake. A big—really big—mistake. But she didn’t pull away. He brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss...to lick and taste, and she shivered.

“Valerian.”

“Shaye.” He smiled at her, a slice of heaven in a life that had been hell.

To distract herself, she drafted a new card. Roses are red, Valerian is sex. This poem makes no sense. Trouble.