Mysteria Nights

“Make me.”

Very slowly, purposefully, he moved toward her.

Approaching her is dangerous, common sense said.

No other way, Little Fal replied.

Glory’s mouth opened all the wider with every step he took, but no sound emerged from her. When he reached the bars, he whipped out his arms before she had a chance to stop him and clamped his fingers around her wrists.

“What are you doing?” Her tone lacked any heat, and she actually pressed herself into the bars until her body brushed his. “I didn’t add this to the scene.”

The contact, though light, sparked a jolt of pure fire in his bloodstream. Up close, she was even lovelier. Freckles were scattered across her nose. Her pale skin glowed with health and vitality.

“You want me to touch you? Is that what it’s going to take to get you out of my life?” He anchored her arms behind her back with one hand and traced his other down the front of her robe. How he longed to linger over the small mound of her breasts, the hollow of her stomach . . . the waiting valley between her legs.

If she’d possessed her usual curves, he knew he would not have been able to resist. Her desire to be thin was actually a blessing. But even now, like this, his control wasn’t what it should have been. He was trembling, for God’s sake.

“Stop,” she whispered. Her eyes said more.

All of his muscles bunched in reaction to that pleading tone, that needy expression, hardening, aching. He did not stop. He eagerly learned the length of her legs, her skin smooth and soft, like velvet. By the time he finished the full-body caresses, sweat beaded over his face and dripped in rivulets down his chest.

“More.” She closed her eyes, all pretence of resistance gone.

He pinched several strands of her hair between his fingers, enjoying the silkiness. He brought the tendrils to his nose and sniffed. Nearly moaned. A fresh, blooming garden. That’s what her hair smelled like. He could have breathed in the scent forever.

“If you want me to fuck you,” he said, deliberately cruel, just as before, “you’ll have to enter the cell.” For the best. It was better to be punished than to cave, he decided.

“Wh-what?” Her eyes blinked open. He saw the need burning there, the want. Her nipples were hard, visible through her robe. The scent of awakened passion wafted from her, blending with the flowery fragrance of her hair.

“You heard me.”

“No, I hate you.” The words were spoken on a breathless sigh. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing again, and backed away. “I’m going to make you want me, Falon. I’m going to make you crave me. But you are never going to have me. Do you understand? Never.”

A moment later, she vanished. The prison shimmered before disappearing, too, and the next thing Falon knew, he was lying in his bed again. As the cool sheets met his clean, dry skin, he rolled from the mattress and stalked to his closet.

Fury, desire, and determination pounded through him. He strapped weapons all over his body, dressed, and stalked from his house. No way he’d allow Glory to use her powers against him. Not again.

He was going to find her. Whatever he had to do, he was going to stop her.

Three

Heart thundering in her chest, Glory kept her eyes squeezed shut and inhaled deeply. The first thing she noticed was how the air no longer smelled of decadent man, sweat, and dark spice. Now she caught the faint drift of powdered sugar and jasmine incense.

Who would’ve thought she’d mourn the loss of sweaty-man air?

Time to check out the rest. Slowly she blinked open her eyes. Her notebook came into view. Everything that had happened was right there, the words staring up at her. She quickly looked away, not wanting to be reminded of her near capitulation. All Falon had done was touch her, for love of the Goddess, and she’d forgotten her need for revenge. The feel of his hands on her body, exploring . . . the sound of his rough voice in her ear, whispering . . . the desire blazing in his eyes, beckoning . . .

Her stomach tightened, and the ache she’d experienced inside the prison renewed between her legs. Keep looking.

Her flat-screen computer came into view, followed by the wall of magazine pictures she used for references and her Hunks of the Month calendar. Trash and dirty clothes were scattered all over her carpet. She hadn’t cleaned since that terrible night; she didn’t know why.

“It worked,” she said, just to break the silence. “It really worked.”

She’d actually sent Falon to an ancient prison, then she’d actually followed him there. Oh . . . my. She sagged against the mattress and closed her eyes again. Falon’s image filled her mind. His eyes, an exotic, come-to-me violet fringed by thick black lashes. His dark hair, a little long. The shadowy stubble that dusted his jaw. The bronzed skin and bodybuilder muscles she’d almost held.

The man had exuded a potent animal magnetism; it had oozed from his pores.

What was he doing right now? Cursing her to the heavens? She laughed, delighted by the thought. He might even be tugging on his clothes, determined to race over here and punish her.

She stopped laughing.

Having trouble catching her breath, Glory scrambled out of the bed. Her jeans and panties floated straight to her ankles. What the hell? Frowning in confusion, she grabbed them, jerked them up, and launched forward. Almost tripped as the clothes tumbled again. Growled. She needed to leave the house, like, now, and the wardrobe difficulties weren’t helping. As she bent to retrieve her stuff, the notebook slid out of her fingers and onto the floor.

She released her clothes and reached out. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of her hand. She was so . . . skinny. Her arm was slender, the bones fine. Her fingers were elegant. Wow. No wonder her jeans no longer fit.

Why hadn’t her slenderness faded with the scene?

The answer hit her, and she grinned. She’d written it a little later. For the next few minutes, she’d be a total babe.

Seriously, she’d never looked hotter. Maybe she should wait here. Maybe she should allow Falon inside. Maybe, as she’d hoped, he would be overcome with lust for her and the real revenge could begin. He would beg her to sleep with him, and she would say, “Hell, no.”

And what if you plump up right before his eyes, huh? What then?

Shit! Glory’s heart jolted into hyperdrive, and she raced throughout her room, kicking off the too-big jeans and panties and jerking on a nightgown. The silky pink material bagged on her, but it was the only thing that would cover her and stay put.

Why was she so nervous, anyway? There was nothing Falon could do to her. Not while she owned the pen. Uh, he could steal it and use it against you.

A knock sounded at the front of the house.

Her mouth fell open, and she straightened. No way. No damn way he’d made it here so quickly. She looked at her bedroom door, turned, and craned her neck to see out the room’s only window. A black SUV sat in the driveway. Damn! He had.

“Glory, Falon’s here to see you,” Godiva called a moment later, only sounding the slightest bit confused.

“Tell him I’m not here.” Glory propelled herself over her bed and to the window. She shoved the glass up and out of the way, never letting go of the pen. Cool air wafted inside, ruffling the thin, gaping gown against her skin as she climbed out. The grass was soft against her bare feet.

Maybe she’d go to Candy Cox’s, she thought, racing through the night. No, no. Candy’s sister was in town or due to arrive in town, and rumor was the woman negated powers of every kind. Worse, Candy’s shape-shifting werewolf boyfriend would be there, which meant more sickening PDA.