how long?
Where was he now?
She studied the postmark. Sent from Brazil, three weeks ago. A lot could have happened in three weeks. Alex said not to worry about him, but she couldn't help herself. She was worried. None of this made sense.
A wave of fatigue overtook her. Moonlight had settled comfortably inside her bedroom, and the scent of unlit apple cinnamon candles filled the air. Grace drew in a shaky breath and set the mail aside. She closed her eyes and leaned against the mountain of pillows behind her, wondering what to do next If only Darius were here…
He's not real , she reminded herself. Unbidden, his image floated to the forefront of her mind. With his harshly angled face, he radiated rawness and sheer male virility.
She should have known the moment she first saw him that he was a figment of her deepest fantasies. Real men were nothing like him. Real men lacked the savageness, the fierceness and didn't taste like fire, passion and excitement when they kissed her.
Real men didn't chase her down and threaten to hurt her, then tenderly caress her in the next heartbeat of time.
A shiver of remembrance swept through her, until she recalled one last fact about him. Real men didn't blithely admit to being an assassin.
His confession had startled her, made her feel unexpected sorrow for him because even though he'd claimed he made his own choices, that he was never forced to kill, she'd glimpsed flickers of agonizing despair in his eyes. She'd glimpsed endless torment. And at that moment, his eyes had been without any shred of hope.
No man should be without hope.
Grace rolled to her side, taking a pillow with her. Forget about Darius and get some rest . Nothing mattered but Alex. Perhaps the key to finding him would come to her after a good night's sleep.
But how could she have known that key would come in a six foot five, two hundred pound package?
CHAPTER 10
Darius stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at Grace.
She was surrounded by a multitude of colors. A pink satin sheet beneath her, a waterfall of red curls around her shoulders and an emerald blanket draped over her. The sight was intoxicating. She looked more relaxed than she had in his vision. Sleeping peacefully, languidly, her expression was soft and innocent. The moment he'd first seen her, his only thoughts had been of joining her. How he longed to reach out and stroke the pale delicacy of her skin. How he longed to comb his fingers into the silky cloud of her hair.
Perhaps he should fulfill his oath here and now, he mused, simply to end this strange fascination he had with her. But he knew he wouldn't. He was too much a man of strategy. He liked all facts before him, and much still remained a mystery. He needed to know more about these surface dwellers and their weapons. Only then would his army storm Javar's palace and conquer everyone inside.
Darius had spent several hours searching for Grace, following magical wafts from the spell of understanding. Since no Atlantean could survive outside of Atlantis for long, he should have been filled with a sense of urgency now that he'd found her.
He wasn't.
He lingered.
His breath ragged, Darius continued to drink in the sight of his tormentor. She wore a thin white shirt, leaving her shoulders bare and glistening in the moonlight Leaving her full breasts clearly outlined. Her nipples formed shadowed circles he longed to trace with his tongue. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, watched the life that radiated from her. The longer he studied her, the more starved and desperate he felt for her. What would her heartbeat feel like under his palms? Steady and gentle? Or hurried and erratic? His blood sang with vitality, rushing to his cock and hardening him painfully.
I do not want to hurt this woman , he thought. I want to relish every moment in her presence . He shook his head against such dishonorable thoughts.
He had lived so long by his oath of death and destruction that he knew not what to make of these newly acquired desires-desires that had not muted with the distance between them.
Desires such as these could drive a man from his chosen path, push him and beat him down until he collapsed from regret. He frowned as something occurred to him. Perhaps the gods had created Grace merely to punish him. He'd often thought he could endure any punishment stricken upon him. If he'd only known how cruel the gods could be…
Grace muttered something under her breath, then gently, delightfully moaned. What did she dream of? He would be lying if he denied that he wished her to dream of him. She fascinated him in so many ways. Her resourcefulness. Her bravery in challenging him as few men had ever dared. Her defiance.
What would she do if he lay down beside her on the bed? If he stripped the clothes from her body and tasted every inch of her honey-smooth skin-lingering, savoring, sinking deeply into the hot moistness between her thighs? Sliding, slipping, slowly pumping?
He tore his gaze from her. Gird yourself against her. Distance yourself from the situation . Stay sane. Sure. This woman posed a greater threat than any army. She had plunged through the mist and completely destroyed his sense of order. She had violated his innermost thoughts, ignored his commands and lured him to dishonor with her beauty.
And yet she still lived.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd had a woman, but knew it had been primitive, savage and quick, as were all his sexual encounters. With this woman, Darius desired something slow and easy. Something gentle. Like their kiss.
As he observed the rest of the room, he saw floral curtains hanging over both windows, each a symphony of colors. Pink, yellow, blue, purple… Colors more beautiful than he remembered. A mirror consumed one wall, while flowers and vines were painted on another. Green leaves and purple grapes bloomed in feigned sunlight. Grace was a woman who enjoyed the sensuality of life. Things he, too, enjoyed of late.
Grace, Grace, Grace . His mind chanted her name. If he could have one more taste of her, he could forget her. Just one more . He found himself approaching the side of the bed. Compelled by a force greater than himself, he leaned down and inhaled her exotic fragrance. His eyes closed as he relished the carnal sweetness of her. He gently caressed his lips against hers. Lost in her dreams, she instinctively tried to mold herself against him.
He knew, though, that if she'd awoken just then she would have fought him. He knew it as surely as he knew his will to resist her could not survive any more bodily contact. Not knowing what else to do, he uttered a temporary peace spell that would keep her relaxed for the first few moments after she woke.
When he finished, he straightened. 'Grace,' he said softly. 'Awaken.'
'Hmm,' she muttered. Her eyes remained blissfully closed as she shifted, causing the pale pink and emerald linens enfolding her to wrinkle and bunch.
'Grace,' he said again. 'We must talk.'
Slowly her eyelids fluttered open. She offered him a drowsy sweet smile. 'Darius?' she asked breathlessly.
At the sound of his name on her lips, his mouth went dry, and he found himself unable to reply.
'You're here.' Her smile widening, she stretched her arms over her head and purred low in her throat. 'Am I dreaming?' She considered her words, and her brow wrinkled. 'This doesn't feel like a dream.'
'No dream,' he said, the words ragged. The color of her eyes was far more beautiful than any other color he'd ever encountered.
'So you're real?' she asked, not the least afraid of him.
He nodded, knowing the peace spell was responsible for her languor. It was irrational, he knew, but he wished he himself had caused such a reception, not his powers.
'What are you doing here?'
'I have more questions for you.'
'I'm glad you came,' she said.
