rise up—one stronger than before.
This woman was to be his, and only his.
“Forget the game. I want to kiss you,” he croaked. They were alone. No one was watching them, no one was listening. There was no better time.
Her lips fell, the humor draining from her.
“But I won’t,” he forced himself to add. Clearly, she wasn’t ready.
Well, he would have to get her ready again.
“Why not?” she said. Then, “Oh. That’s right. It’s my turn to kiss you.” She leaned over and licked her way into his mouth.
Surprise hit him first, followed closely by intensified desire. Their tongues met, rolled together, and the sweetness of her taste arrested him. Heat blasted through his entire body, his cells coming alive, his nerve endings shooting out electric sparks, and he groaned as the absolute, utter devastation of his need consumed him. This woman . . . he had to have her, all of her, and soon.
“Vika,” he said.
“Solo.”
He gave her sweet and he gave her tender . . . at first. The more they nipped at each other, the more concentrated his motions became. He played with the edges of her shirt, running his fingers along the hem, teasing the bare skin of her belly, trying to prepare her for a more intimate invasion.
Soon she was moaning, following his every movement for more prolonged contact.
“I want to touch you, sweetheart.”
“You are,” she whispered.
Such an innocent comment, reminding him to go slowly, to be careful—no matter how great his need. Her peace of mind was more important than any fleeting pleasure. “I know, but I want to go higher, to touch your breasts.”
Out came the pretty pink tip of her tongue, swiping over her lips, leaving a delicate sheen of moisture.
“I won’t touch anything else,” he told her. Not until she was ready.
A moment passed. She gulped, nodded.
Slowly he slid his hand under her top and cupped her, flesh to flesh, palm to female. Her skin was cool, but he quickly warmed her up. He grazed his thumb across the center peak, drawing a moan from her, this one straight from the deepest depths of her. All the while he watched her expression. Fear never registered. Only pleasure.
And when she arched into his clasp, a silent request for stronger pressure, he fought the urge to bellow with sublime satisfaction.
He would get her there.
“Do you like this?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Oh, yes.”
“I want to replace my hands with my mouth, all right, and—” Solo’s ears twitched, and he stiffened.
“What—”
He withdrew his hand and placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. With his other hand, he doused the flames. Darkness descended.
His eyes adjusted in seconds, and he watched as a fox pranced into and out of the clearing. No threat, then. Still. The intrusion served as a necessary reminder. He was Vika’s sole means of protection, and that had to come before anything else.
Solo met her gaze. “I have to put a stop to our extracurricular activities. We can’t risk any kind of distraction, and besides that, we’ve got a big day ahead. Sleep.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He relaxed into the stump and pressed her head into the hollow of his neck.
“Fine. Night, Solo,” she said with a bead of frustration, warm breath caressing his neck.
“Night,” he replied, even knowing she couldn’t hear him.
Only a few minutes later, she melted against him, signaling that she’d fallen asleep, as ordered. But just as he was about to rise to hunt the morning’s game, she began to toss and turn, before jolting upright, gasping for breath.
“I’m here,” he assured her. “Solo’s here.”
“Solo,” she said, sighing and settling back against him. Once again she drifted off. This time, she remained motionless, quiet.
She felt safe with him, trusted him, and he was glad—even though holding her was the sweetest and the worst sort of torture, her decadent scent in his nose, her soft curves pushed against the hardness of his body.
But this was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? A woman in his arms, happy to be with him. And that the woman happened to be Vika . . .
Despite everything else, Solo grinned.
Twenty-five
LIGHT PIERCED THE DARKNESS in Vika’s mind, and she stretched, roused from the most peaceful sleep of her life. The smell of roasting meat filled her nose, and her mouth watered.
She eased up, rubbed at her eyes. Right away, she noticed a few startling facts. She was warm, draped by a thick, furry blanket she hadn’t had last night, and except for the diamond choker locked around her neck, her jewelry had been removed.
Solo crouched in front of a small fire, turning a skewer of meat he’d rigged across two sticks he’d planted in the ground. On her own, she probably would have starved. But Solo was beyond capable, beyond resourceful . . . and far more beautiful than her necklace as golden rays shone and danced over him, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity.
“Good morning,” she said.
He turned toward her, looked her up and down, a heat every bit as fiery as the one in front of him blazing in those baby blues. “Morning.”
Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled the sheer mastery of his kiss. And when he’d cupped her breast, oh, sweet mercy, the reaction he’d sparked had been unexpected, the sweetest sort of pleasure, the most agonizing sort of pain.
She’d needed more. Wanted more, yes, that, too, but
And all right, okay, she’d understood his reasons, she had, but she’d still wanted to growl with dissatisfaction. She’d never experienced so much pleasure, and he’d just taken it away.
“Solo,” she said.
“Yes. That’s me. What’s with the snotty tone?”
Snotty tone! “I don’t have a—Fine, I do. I’m sorry.”
“Still frustrated?” he asked her.
“Maybe.” She glanced down at her hands; her fingers were wringing together. “I want you to know . . . feel like I should explain . . . why I wouldn’t let you do more than kiss me that time in the cage.”
“You told me. You weren’t ready.”
“And that was true. It’s just, when I was younger, just a girl, the things I witnessed in the shadows . . .” she said, and a shudder raked her. “Then I ran away and I was captured by a group of drunk boys and barely managed
