The Darkest Secret

Amun’s hands fell away from her, dropping heavily to his sides, and he straightened. The water cascaded over him without mercy, shielding his features from her view.

Never going to happen, Haidee, he said flatly. A simple fuck isn’t worth the consequences. With that, he left her alone in the shower.

His crudeness and cruelty shouldn’t have surprised her, but they did. They hurt her, too. She’d been willing to try to make something work between them; he hadn’t. He never had. His eyes had been cold, distant as he’d reduced her to «a simple fuck.» She’d never been more to him, would never be more. There were too many obstacles between them.

She wanted to hate him. God, did she want to hate him.

Instead, Haidee did something she hadn’t done in hundreds of years. She sobbed like a baby over the cruel fate she’d once again been dealt.

Chapter Twelve

Amun stripped out of his wet sweatpants, toweled off, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, then waited for Haidee to emerge from the bathroom. He didn’t have to wait long, yet the time apart seemed infinite. When she entered the bedroom, he saw that her features were annoyingly blank, though her eyes were pink and a bit puffy. Had she…cried? His chest constricted painfully at the thought, and he nearly stalked to her, nearly took her into his arms. To soothe her.

His hands curled into fists. She couldn’t have cried. To do so, she would have had to care about him. She didn’t care about him. Therefore, he couldn’t allow himself to believe a single tear had fallen from her beautiful eyes.

So why did his chest still ache?

He forced his thoughts to clear and his gaze to move away from her face. A fluffy white towel was wrapped under her arms and hit just above her knees. Obviously she had removed her bra. He saw no telltale straps. She’d probably removed her panties, too. They’d been so wet. So wonderfully wet.

The constriction in his chest migrated south. He knew what she looked like under all that cotton. Breasts that would fit in his hands. A soft though concave stomach. Hips that flared perfectly. He’d desperately wanted to grip her there and force her to rub against his erection, over and over again. Even now, she tempted him. Even? Hell, especially now.

Clothes are on the bed, he told her, turning away before he forgot the reasons he’d left her alone in the shower. Even in his mind, his voice was rough. And yeah, it still shocked him every time he «spoke» to her without having to sign the words.

The connection between them was the very reason he’d opted to tell her the truth about himself, about what he knew concerning her past. He’d decided to show most of his cards before she glimpsed them on her own, hoping she’d then reveal her own cards.

He hated that his demon had gone silent the moment he’d touched her and hadn’t spoken up again. Secrets was always either quiet or agitated around her, and he never knew which he’d get. What bothered him most was that the demon probably could have discovered everything about her. Except, though Amun could cast his voice into her head, he couldn’t read her the same way he read everyone else. He would’ve liked to chastise Secrets for that, but didn’t. He chastised himself. What was the use of having a demon if a man couldn’t use the damn thing’s abilities?

Wasn’t like he could use the other demons, either. They’d experienced the opposite reaction when he touched her, shrieking and scrambling for a new hiding place.

Behind him echoed a light patter of footsteps, then the rustle of clothing. He wanted to watch Haidee dress. He was desperate to see those curves again. All of her curves this time. Through the white cotton of her bra, every bit of fabric drenched, he’d seen those firm breasts crested with rosy nipples perfect for sucking. And those matching panties…

His spine went rigid as another hot blistering wave of need savaged him. Between her gorgeous legs, at the apex of her thighs, she’d had a little tuft of hair slightly darker than the flaxen mass above. He’d almost dropped to his knees, almost dove in and feasted, shoving those unwanted panties out of the way and tasting the essence of her femininity. Gods, he remembered the sweetness of her. Knew the heaven that awaited him.

He needed to think about something else before he cut the tether of his control and fell on her and took her. He couldn’t take her. As he’d promised her, he would not allow himself to touch her again.

He blanked his mind. There was one thing guaranteed to piss him off and keep his hands to himself. Her tattoos. Just the thought had him biting his tongue until he tasted blood.

In the shower, he’d gotten a peek at the travesty that was her back, and each marking had turned portions of his desire into boiling rage. If any part of him had ever doubted who she was, the tattoos there convinced him otherwise.

She kept score, Baden’s death proudly etched into her flesh. And the four Hunters the Lords had supposedly killed? He didn’t know, but he would. How he would acquire the information when her secrets were her own, he didn’t know, either. But again, he would.

Perhaps he’d seduce the information out of her.

Seduce. Instantly, his mind and body returned to lusting after her. Seducing would involved touching.

Perhaps his «no touching» vow had been premature.

Really, why handicap himself? He should have her. Often. As many times as the urge struck him. Until he obtained the answers he craved. Until he worked her from his system. Until he realized that she hadn’t called him baby while he’d held and cleaned her because the endearment was clearly reserved for her precious Micah.

Red suddenly dotted Amun’s vision, just as it had done in the shower when she’d spoken the bastard’s name, and he drew in a deep breath. Hold…hold. Slowly he pushed the oxygen through his nostrils.

Micah could very well be a descendant of his, as Haidee had said. The idea intrigued him. He’d never thought to have a blood-related family. However, the idea of that blood-related family being his enemy, well, that he didn’t like. Wasn’t like he and Micah could sit down and have a heart-to-heart, either. Besides the good versus evil thing, there was Haidee.

They both wanted her.

Amun should have taken her in the shower, despite her fragile protests, and pounded the worst of his emotions straight into her. And those protests of hers had been fragile. So fragile he could have bent his head and blown on the hammering pulse at the base of her neck and her reasons for denying him would have snapped beyond repair.

There were no doubts in his mind that she’d hungered for him, too. Her pupils had been blown, her lips parted as she’d struggled for air. She probably hadn’t realized that her nails had sunk into his pecs the moment she’d flattened her trembling palms on him, fingers curling, some part of her desperate to be connected to him, eradicating all hint of distance.

The action, small though it was, had been a claiming, and he’d reacted violently. Not that he’d shown her. That boiling rage had been his only link to sanity.

Over the years he had pampered the few women he’d been with, and given them what time he could, as well as attention and fidelity. Even when they hadn’t given him the same — and had then tried to hide their actions from him. As if they could. But he liked seeing a female light up because of his special treatment. He liked knowing he was the cause of their happiness.

He knew his friends considered him calm, without a temper. Normally he was. But when he looked at this woman, this supposed enemy, this unexpected savior, something hard and primal seethed inside him, knocking at the door of his restraint. He felt like a godsdamn caveman, wanting to carry off his woman and hide her from the rest of the world. Wanting to put his body between hers and anyone who dared threaten her. Wanting to tie her to his bed, keep her there forever, keep her ready for him.

Wanting to soothe her even as he ravaged her.