The faint sound of an indrawn breath interrupted his mental musings, and he looked up to see Fiona posed on the landing of the staircase, looking like the princess he’d named her. Or a goddess.
Aphrodite had nothing on her.
The bodice of the shimmering green gown hugged her curves like a lover, and the bottom floated around her legs like the whisper of a dream. A single, square-cut emerald hung suspended on a silver chain between her perfect breasts, and smaller gems hung from her delicate ears. Her silken hair was pulled up and back into a style that had been popular in Atlantis thousands of years ago according to the mosaics in the palace garden pools. Popular with goddesses, too, if one believed the paintings and sculptures that graced the palace.
That made sense. The goddess thing. There was no way he was good enough for this woman. The thought stabbed him in the belly like a dagger, and he realized he was standing there staring.
“Princess.” He swept his best court bow. “You are beautiful beyond any graceless words my poor warrior brain might conjure.”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t need to mock me.”
“Trust me, Fiona. I am not mocking you.” He put every bit of the heat he felt into his admiring gaze, and was rewarded when she gasped again.
“You—you don’t look so bad yourself,” she said, holding her skirt and descending the stairs.
He had no idea how she could walk in those high-heeled shoes and almost hoped she might stumble so he’d have the opportunity to catch her. Hold her in his arms. Strip that dress from her lovely body. They’d never make it to the charity event.
Another plus.
He met her at the bottom step, blocking her way. “A kiss for good luck, Princess?”
“You don’t need luck,” she whispered. “You seem to make your own.”
“Only since I met you.”
He wondered what would happen if he fell into the bottomless blue of her eyes and never, ever climbed out. He wondered if, finally, he might want to achieve the soul-meld when he’d dreaded it for so long. He wondered if he were going insane.
He kissed her. He could no more help it than he could silence his own heartbeat. He bent forward, barely touching her arms with his hands, and pressed his lips to hers. Just a feather-light touch at first, but then her breath warmed him and he caught her tiny sigh in his mouth. Desire turned molten, passion slowed the passage of time, and he was caught up in a tempest of emotion.
Surely no kiss had ever been so powerful. He wanted to protect her; possess her; consume her. He wanted all. He wanted everything she could offer and everything she was. Her scent tantalized him, something feminine and light and unmistakably her, and the silken softness of her skin was a marvel to his touch.
He lifted her off the ground, into his arms, and deepened the kiss, forgetting his vow to never get attached, forgetting his callous and careless image, forgetting his name.
She was everything, and he needed her more than he needed breath or life or hope.
Fiona’s hands tightened on Christophe’s shoulders as he lifted her, but she was helpless to draw away. His kiss was devouring her, consuming her, lighting her up with flames that she willingly embraced. The memory of their passion from the night before was there, but this was more, too. This was a new beginning; an innocence. This was discovery and exploration; it was comfort in a time of heartache. Somehow, he was almost part of her, and she had never wanted anything so fiercely as she wanted him to keep kissing her.
The sound of bells brought her dazedly back to her senses. She pushed against Christophe’s shoulders and pulled away from his kiss. “That’s the clock. It’s eight o’clock. You have to put me down before someone walks in.”
Christophe, breathing hard, rested his forehead on hers for a moment and then lowered her back to her feet. “I won’t apologize for kissing you,” he said, his voice rough. “I plan to kiss you again, as soon as I get you alone, so let me know now if you don’t want me to do so.”
Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Damn the man for making her blush so often. “I—I’ll take that under advisement,” she said, stepping back and casting a quick glance down at her gown to make sure nothing was out of order as she heard Declan and Hopkins in the hallway.
He grinned. “You look beautiful, Princess. Nothing out of place.”
He, on the other hand, had a bit of a problem. She glanced down again. Make that a big problem. He caught her looking and laughed out loud, which didn’t help the blushing at all. Still with his back to the hallway entrance, he whipped his tuxedo jacket off and held it in front of the large erection currently tenting the front of his pants. However, that left exposed the sheaths for the multiple daggers that crossed his chest front and center.
“Nice accessories,” she said.
“Never leave home without them.”
Declan burst into the foyer, holding something tiny and metallic in front of him. “Right, sis, I’ve got you covered. I’m going to wire you so we’ll be able to hear everything you hear. We can record, too, so you and Christophe can go over the conversations later and catch anything you might have missed.”
“Bad idea,” Christophe said. “First, what do you expect to hear at the charity deal? Criminal pomposity? Second, electricity and Atlantean magic don’t like each other. I was counting on it to short out the security system in the Jewel House, as a matter of fact.”
Fiona looked at him in disbelief. “That was your plan? Stand around and hope for electrical failure?”
He tugged at his tie and looked anywhere but at her. “There was a little more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
He grinned, and for just an instant, she could see the boy he must have been. “I hadn’t actually gotten that far yet. You see, I ran into this gorgeous ninja—”
“I think we can all figure out the rest,” Hopkins said dryly. “Will your electrical malfunction issue interfere with Fiona’s microphone, as well? If we were to give you the equipment for her to wear later in the evening?”
Christophe shrugged. “I don’t know. If I stay away from her, which I won’t; if I refrain from using magic all night, which I won’t; if all the fates are in our favor, which they never are—”
Declan groaned. “What happens? Will it short out and electrocute her? This is such a tiny mike, you’d more than likely only be shocked, Fee, not actually electrocuted.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said, glad she’d taken the extra-strength headache powder. “Just give it to me. If it shorts out and somebody notices me jump, I’ll claim I’ve been goosed.”
Christophe gave her the oddest look. “Goosed?”
“Pinched.”
He shook his head. “Just when I think I’ve gotten a handle on current colloquialisms. Also, if anyone gooses you, I’ll cut his arm off for him, since Hopkins was kind enough to find me a tuxedo with room for my daggers.”
Declan made quick work of showing Fiona how to attach the tiny mike so she could do it later. “Do you want the receiver, too, so you can hear us?”
Christophe answered for her. “No, she does not. We’ll be able to handle it without instructions from here, but thanks.”
She started to reply, but he held up a hand and then pointed at the door. “We’ve got company.”
The door chimes rang, and all three of them stared at the door and then back at Christophe.
He shrugged. “It’s a friend. He’s going to hang out with Declan tonight and keep an eye out for any trouble that might have followed us home.”
Hopkins opened the door and Denal, standing just outside, bowed deeply. “Denal of Atlantis at your service, sir.”
“Brilliant. Another one,” Hopkins said, standing aside and gesturing him in. “Is there any reason we should trust this young man with Declan?”
Denal’s eyes widened. “I would give my own life to protect this human, my lord.”
“I’m no lord, I’m the butler,” Hopkins retorted, but Fiona could see him sizing up this new person in their lives.
For some reason, Denal reminded her of Declan—all fresh-faced youth with a bit of eager puppy in him. Their names even sounded similar. Except, this one was different. Older than he looked. There was a weariness in his eyes that matched the way Christophe’s eyes looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching him.
She stepped forward. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m Fiona. Welcome to my home. This is Hopkins and
