The Nymph King. Gena Showalter
No, he left her craving it. “I could have told you that you would go blind if you looked at the rocks. You would not have known the difference. But there will be only truth between us. No matter how harsh, I will always tell you the truth.”
Her defiance drained, and fear claimed center stage—past the kernels of desire fighting for life. His tone was so final. He truly expected her to remain here. He truly expected her to obey him. To trust him.
Valerian had said before that he and his men wanted her and the others for their bodies. Translation: sex. Were they to be sex slaves? Was she to be Valerian’s slave? Shaye’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. She’d die first—and kill every male within reach in the process. She’d spent her childhood a slave to her parents’ edicts. Kiss your new daddy, Shaye. Give that woman my phone number, Shaye. Don’t you dare use profanity, Shaye.
She’d fought hard for her independence and would relinquish it to no one.
“Did the other women have to close their eyes?” she asked.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “No.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
He leaned his face close to hers, cutting away the remaining distance inch by precious inch. His warm breath caressed her face, but still he didn’t touch her. His male scent wafted deliciously. “Unlike you, the others will not try to escape.”
“I don’t know about that. The one with the curly black hair didn’t look happy to be here.”
Something dark settled over his expression.
Don’t infuriate the man. No telling what he’ll do. “What if I promise not to try and escape?” She didn’t plan to try, she planned to succeed.
“I would laugh at such a blatant untruth and then scold you for lying to your man.”
“You are not my man!”
“Not yet.” But I will be echoed between them, unsaid, yet powerful nonetheless.
“Not ever,” she said through clenched teeth.
His brow puckered, confusion settling over his beautiful features. “You continue to amaze me. How are you able to resist me with such fervor?”
Was she resisting him? She didn’t know. She’d never felt so…needy. Even now, when defiance beat hard fists through her, her heart pounded, her skin stretched too tight. His heat slithered over her, inside her, shattering and chipping away at the ice she prized. Her nipples still reached for him. Her legs parted slightly, inviting an intimate glide, a hard press. Just…inviting.
His nostrils flared as if he sensed her growing arousal. If he moved another inch, he’d mesh himself fully against her. Finally. Part of her screamed in protest, part of her trembled in welcome.
“I want to touch you and kiss you, love, and feel—”
“No!” she shouted. “No kissing. No touching. And for God’s sake, stop calling me ‘love.’” But, oh, the thought of his lips feasting on hers was heady. “I don’t know you, and like I said, I damn sure don’t like you. You abducted me. You deserve jail time, not a makeout session.”
“I can make you like me.” He braced his palms on each side of her head, trapping her in a hard, muscled circle, touching her hair but not her skin. “Oh, I can make you.”
The truth of his claim shimmered between them unmercifully. Because deep down, she admitted that with every second that passed, she liked him more. She wanted him more. Wanted that skin-to-skin contact he was denying her. Was he doing it on purpose? Making her desperate for something she couldn’t have?
Idiot! Shaye didn’t need a lot of experience with men to know she dangled on a precarious edge. If he pushed, she would crumble. She would take the momentary pleasure he offered and be glad for it. But in the taking, she would be no better than the others, forgetting his atrocious crime and throwing herself at his sexy feet.
She’d be one of those pathetic creatures who did anything for pleasure, everything for love. Just like her mom.
Make him despise you. Hurt him. Now! Determined, she jerked up her knee. He anticipated the action and jumped backward, out of striking distance. His mouth thinned and firmed.
“I warn you now.” He met her gaze, otherworldly blue against plain brown. Determination against determination. “Fight me if you must, but do not attempt escape. I will punish you, have no doubt.”
She forced herself to snort. “I haven’t begun to fight. And what the hell do you mean, you’ll punish me?” The fury she didn’t have to force. It increased with every word she uttered. “A little while ago you said you could never hurt me.”
“There are ways to punish a woman that will not physically hurt her.”
“And I bet you know every one of them, you sick pervert.”
He released a long, frustrated sigh. “We have not the time to fight right now. Come. I will show you Atlantis before we meet with the others.” Reaching out, he offered her his hand.
She stared at his blunt-tipped fingers, at the calluses and scars slashed across his palm, a contrast to his perfect beauty. As she stared, her anger drained. Total strength lay there, dormant now, but ready to kill at any moment. Except…he could have crushed her with those hands at any time. He’d shown her nothing but gentleness.
Foolish woman, she chided, placing her hand in his. Of course he hasn’t hurt you. He needs a healthy sex slave. His fingers intertwined with hers. At the moment of contact, dark, erotic pulses tingled through her. They’d touched before, and each time had elicited sparks. But this time…it was more intense. A deeper awareness in this skin-to-skin contact she’d wanted so badly but hadn’t wanted to want. Gasping, she tried to tug away from him, to sever the connection. He held tight.
“Mine,” he said.
She bit the inside of her cheek against the pleasure that one declaration wrought. “I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand you.”
“You will. In time.”
The dire words—warning? promise?—rang in her head as she climbed the rest of the wooden stairs. At the top, two gleaming crystal doors were held open by giant rubies. Jeweled doorstops?
Curiosity got the better of her. “Why do you have the entrance propped open like that?”
“A dragon medallion is needed to open and close the doorways, and I do not wish to wear anything belonging to a dragon.” He spat the word dragon as if it was a foul curse.
What kind of response could she offer to that?
He tossed a frown over his shoulder. “And you had better not try to search for a medallion. If you do, you will be punished.”
“Will I be punished for breathing?” she snapped. He seemed to be looking for an excuse to punish her.
“If it is done in the direction of another man, yes.” The warning was serious, though the tone lacked true heat.
“Pig.”
“Lover.”
“Bastard.”
He flicked another glance over his shoulder. This time his lips were curled in a wicked half smile, and knowing intent sizzled in his eyes like blue fire. “Say that while we’re naked. I dare you.”
She gulped and tore her attention away from him. A smart woman would have been memorizing her surroundings for possible escape routes instead of antagonizing (aka drooling over) her captor.
Shaye forced herself to act like a smart woman. Down a long, winding hallway they strode, the walls jagged once again and completely barren, offering no distinguishing marks to help her find her way back. They turned left. Left again. Right. Left. Right. They bypassed several