Atlantis Rising

laugh, after the events of this evening.'

His smile disappeared. 'After the past seven years, in fact.'

Making a decision, he backed away from her and dropped into the chair in the corner of the room. 'If I sit here, far away from you, would you feel safe enough with me to listen to what I have to say?'

Trembling, seemingly poised for flight, Riley stood for the space of several heartbeats looking at him. Finally, she seemed to reach a decision of her own. She nodded and sat, cross-legged, on the bed. 'Yes, I'll listen. It's the strangest thing, but I already feel safe with you. Or maybe it's not strange, considering what happened on the beach earlier.'

Conlan wanted truth between them. 'You've been inside my mind, Riley. Unwanted or not, you know me now on a deeper level than most people do. Maybe on a deeper level than anyone, barring our healer.'

She stared at him, hesitating, then nodded.

'You must realize by now that I've been inside your mind as well,' he said, almost afraid to admit it. 'I've seen your goodness and your self-sacrifice. I know you.'

Unless her deception was hidden behind some mental trickery, his mind mocked him. Who knew what a true empath was capable of?

Jumping up off the bed, Riley began to pace back and forth in front of him. 'Yon don't know anything,' she said bitterly. 'Goodness? Yeah, right I'm just somebody who tries to do her job the best she can. And usually fails miserably at it.'

She stopped in frost of him, so close he could reach out and touch her. He had to clench his hands on the arms of the chair to keep from doing so.

To keep from touching her. Damn, he wanted to touch her.

'Tell me,' he said, instead.

'Right. You're from mythical Atlantis, and you want to hear about a day in the fife of a social worker?'

'Tell me,' he repealed, opening his mind to her so she could feel the trail of «. Feel how he wanted to know all about her.

A look of wonder came over her face. 'You really do want to know, don't you?'

'I do.'

She paused for a moment, then sank down onto the carpet near him and—almost in a trance—recounted the events of her day. As she related the story of the girl with the gun, Conlan had to fight with every ounce of his self- control to keep her from seeing his rage. He wanted to kill. He wanted to rend, tear, and put his fist through the wall.

He did none of those things, but sat with a mask of calm on his face, reaching desperately for his training, for his objectivity. How could he be affected so much by this woman?

He looked at her, sitting on the floor in front of him, anguish on her face as she told of the children she tried so hard to rescue. Babies having babies. The hopeless struggle against poverty and a society that didn't have time for the lost ones.

As she talked, as he felt the emotions underlying her words, the question in his mind changed.

How could he not be affected so much by this woman?

Her words trailed off. 'So that's when you showed up, and I guess you know the rest. Maybe now you can tell me exactly who and what you are, and why you followed me to my house.'

She looked around, blinking, at the room, then scrambled to her feet, wary again. 'While you're at it, you can let me know where the hell I am.'

He stood, slowly, so as not to startle her. 'You humble me, Riley. I must match your honesty with my own. I am chief among the Warriors of Poseidon, sworn to safeguard humankind.'

Grasping the edge of his shirt, he pulled it aside to show the mark of Poseidon he bore. High on the right side of his chest, where the sea god himself had burned the symbol of the Warriors of Poseidon into Conlan's flesh.

The circle representing all the peoples of the world, intersected by the pyramid of knowledge deeded to them by the ancients. The silhouette of Poseidon's Trident bisecting them both.

'This mark I wear offers testimony to my vow. And yet, from what I hear between the words in your retelling, this night you deserve to wear it more than do I.'

She lifted her hand, almost as if to trace the symbol with her fingertips. Then she pulled her hand back and grinned. 'You're doing that formal talking thing again,' she said. 'Somehow, it reminds me of my mother, yelling for me when I was in trouble. Riley Elisabeth Dawson meant I was in big trouble.'

'Riley Elisabeth,' he repeated, savoring the sound of it. 'It fits you. Strong and feminine, both.'

Somehow, unknowing, he'd moved closer to her. The heat of her, the seduction in the curves of her body, in the line of her neck, drew him in. She looked up at him, flickers of alarm changing to awareness in her eyes.

He could still feel her inside him. Her thoughts, her emotions.

He wanted to feel himself inside her.

Conlan lifted his hands to her arms, pulling her forward. Slowly. Gently. Giving her time to deny him.

Praying she wouldn't.

He stepped forward to meet her halfway. Drinking in her scent. Wanting to bury his face in the silky hair that tumbled past her shoulders.

Wanting to bury his body in her heat.

By Poseidon's balls, he needed to touch her again. Needed to kiss her again. 'Riley,' he groaned. 'Please.'

She knew exactly what he meant. He could see it as the awareness in her eyes changed to expectation.

Anticipation.

She lifted her face and touched her lips gently to his. And he was lost.

Lost in the sensation, in the colors sparkling in her mind—in his mind—in their minds together. Lost in the feel of her softness pressed against his hardness. The kiss deepened.

He deepened it. He swept his tongue inside of her warmth, her sweet, welcoming mouth, and his knees nearly buckled when she put her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer to her.

Heat, colors, and a torrent of need. Caught in a maelstrom, a cyclone, a full-on, balls-to-the-wall ocean gale of wanting, he tightened his arms around her and lifted her until her feet were off the floor. Her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. He groaned deep in his throat, in her throat, in the space trapped between their mouths.

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, wiggling to gain purchase on his body, and the heat between her legs was suddenly right up against his cock. Impossibly, he hardened even further, sure he was going to split his pants—rip her shirt open—tear her jeans off. Find out if the colors in his head would intensify into a starburst when he drove into her.

The passion swallowing his senses rocketed through him with a bang.

Or no, damnit. That was the door slamming open.

Conlan whirled around to face the threat, snarling, pushing Riley down and behind him as he did so.

Mine. Mine to protect. Mine!

Ven stood at the door, mouth hanging open for the second time that night. 'Er, yeah. Well. Ah, sorry to interrupt, but Alaric figures you need your rest and you're, well, you're broadcasting a sex vibe that is so slamming loud you're making every man in the house horn—ah, uncomfortable.'

From behind him, Riley made a choked sound. Conlan felt the waves of embarrassment pulsing from her. He fought for rationality, sucking in a deep breath.

Ven. My brother. Not a threat.

'I—yeah. Rest.' He took another deep, steadying breath. Alaric. The Trident. 'Has he been able to scry the location of the Trident?'

Ven shook his head, amusement stamped on his face. 'No, he needs to recuperate from the healing. But he used a few unflattering words to describe how you're, ah, keeping him from his rest.'

Conlan could imagine how his brother was editing Alaric's language. If Riley were broadcasting this furnace of sexual desire to every warrior in the house—and to the priest, who'd taken a vow of celibacy—well, damn.

Damn.

'Point taken,' he said, still breathing hard. 'Riley also needs to rest.' He waited for his brother to take the hint