“I cannot make love to you in the tunnel under Dauva while we are in England. This basement will have to suffice as the location for your current fantasy of the time I took you in the tunnel.” He paused and thought for a moment. “The
“Was it? I don’t . . . Baltic, I don’t expect you to reenact this. I wasn’t turned on by the idea of our past selves going at it in a secret tunnel.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“All right, I was just a little, but not so much that I needed for you to dig out all your old things and the sword. Which I should point out is now a museum piece, so you should probably treat it a little better than you are. The scabbard looks like it’s about to fall apart.”
“Do you wish for me to make love to you here or not?” he asked impatiently.
I was about to say yes when something occurred to me. “You’re always talking about my fantasies, not that I have any, or at least not like you seem to think I do. But what about you?”
His brows pulled together in a puzzled frown. “What about me?”
“What fantasies do you have?”
“I am a wyvern. I don’t need fantasies,” he said with a matter-of-fact finality.
I touched the tips of my fingers to his bare chest, lightly stroking them down the swells of his muscles. “Oh, surely there must be one or two little ones wyverns are allowed?”
His eyes widened just a little. “I enjoyed the caramel.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t your fantasy. What would make you crazy with lust, Baltic?” I breathed on a nipple, flicking it with my tongue.
He sucked in his breath.
“What would push you over the edge?” I let my fingers trailer lower, to his belly, swirling them in an intricate pattern, enjoying the way the muscles contracted there.
He stopped breathing.
I smiled, and leaned close, speaking against his lips. “What would drive you to distraction?”
“I am a dragon.” His eyes glittered brightly despite the dimness of the room. His stance changed subtly, from relaxed to tense, as if his entire body was gathering itself.
My fingers brushed the front of his leather pants, caressing the growing length of him. “And what do dragons like?”
“The hunt,” he said, his voice low and rough, and so filled with erotic promise, it made me shiver with anticipation. “Mates run. Dragons hunt.”
I nipped his bottom lip. “Do you want me to—”
“RUN!” he snarled, smoke curling out of his nose.
I didn’t wait around to tease him any more. I simply bolted up the stairs, smiling to myself that I had found a fantasy I could fulfill for him. The house held no attraction for me, so I ran straight for the garden, planning on leading him on a merry chase through the shrubs to the small, growth-protected woods that edged one side of the estate.
The night air was a bit chilly, as summer was moving toward autumn, but the cool, crisp air was pleasant on my heated skin as I wove through the long shadows of the garden, vaulting over a brick fence to the verge that led into the woods.
There wasn’t a lot of light from the moon, and even less when I entered the minute forest. A sense of déjà vu struck me as I dashed from tree to tree, trying desperately to calm my breathing so Baltic wouldn’t hear me.
“Always you run to the forest,” a voice called out with mock dismay. “The silver dragon influences still grip you, eh,
If he thought I was going to answer him and let him pinpoint my direction, he was crazy. I moved as silently as possible, clutching willow and ash trees, peering around them into the dark gloom of the woods, searching for any signs of movement.
“You do not answer me? You have learned since that first time. But I found you then, Ysolde, and I will find you now.”
I wanted badly to tell him that I expected him to find me, but instead glided to a large alder tree, the base of which was at least four feet wide. With another smile, I peeled off my shirt and draped it on a branch before moving to the next tree, away from his voice.
“I can smell you, mate. Your scent betrays you.” His voice resonated within me, calling to me, urging me to find him, but I simply peeled off my linen pants and left them behind on a dense clump of laurel.
Oh, he was going to have to do better if he thought I was going to rise to that puny bait.
An owl hooted directly in front of me, making me jump and glare into the shadows. Was that a real owl, or was it Baltic teasing me?
It hooted again, and with one last wary look at the silhouetted tree where the noise originated, I moved on.
“Can’t be him. He’s behind me,” I murmured under my breath, moving silently into the deepest part of the woods, careful of where I stepped, avoiding the branches that tried to trap my hair in a tangle.
“What is this? A shirt? Are your breasts bare, Ysolde? Do you wish I was caressing them? Licking them?”
I smiled, pleased that my ploy had worked. Now I knew exactly where he was.
“Trousers, too, eh? You taunt me, mate.”
Little night sounds surrounded us—the distant hum of a car, nocturnal insects announcing their availability for mating, and a small chorus of frogs from a nearby stream expounding on whatever it is frogs expound on at night, all punctuated by the occasional squeak of a night bird or a startled rodent. Beyond that, a faint sound of rustling was audible, as if a large man was brushing through the undergrowth searching for more garments.
I smashed a mosquito on my arm and headed for the far edge of the woods, planning what I would say to Baltic when he eventually found me sitting in bed.
The owl called again, this time from slightly ahead of me, near three willows that had twined around each other when they were saplings. “Must be a mating pair,” I murmured as I passed the trees.
“Yes, we are.”
I spun around and glared at the man who leaned casually against the entwined tree trunks, his arms crossed. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like you were behind me. You did that before, when you first chased me into the woods. I don’t like it.”
He smiled a long, slow, predatory smile. “You will not escape this time with just a kiss,” he warned, moving with sinuous power toward me.
For a second, I thought of running. Then sanity took over and pointed out that I very much wanted to be in his grasp. Instead I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, tossing it toward him.
“Another striptease? It’s not needed to arouse me.”
“No? Perhaps I need some arousing.” The second the words left my lips he pounced, sending me flying, but twisting in midair so that he was the one who hit the ground.
I looked down at him, his eyes glittering with obsidian heat even in the darkness of the night, and for a moment was so overcome with love, I couldn’t speak.
Luckily, Baltic wasn’t waiting for me to make speeches. Before I could blink, he had rolled over, spinning me onto my front side, removing my underwear in the process. My back was bathed in fire as he dipped a finger into me, finding proof that I didn’t need any foreplay.
“You are mine!” he growled as he plunged into me, making my muscles quiver with delight at the intrusion. Our brief time together had made me aware that dragons took their possessions very seriously, and that included mates, so I said nothing as he claimed me in the most fundamental way a man could. Not that I wanted to say anything, but the primitive, desperate need I felt in him to join with me was answered by my own desire, and it didn’t take either of us long before I was gasping his name, clutching the soft grass as he gave himself entirely to me.
