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Almost the minute Olivia invited her father to the cottage, the Anarki arrived, virtually on his heels. Coincidence?
For her sake, I want to believe thus…but I do not. Happenstance damns Richard Gray in my eyes. Traitors can be relied upon for one thing only: to switch sides when doing so most benefits themselves.
The question is, do I include Olivia in that faction?
I hate to consider her capable of such betrayal. Even pondering her duplicity twists something in my chest that feels suspiciously like my heart. But I must be clearheaded and wide awake.
Though Olivia seems like no lover of the Anarki, and her shock at her father’s past was genuine, I cannot help but wonder… How far is she willing to go to please her long-lost sire? She moved to a new country and began a new life to find him. I hate to believe she would cast aside her ideals to win Gray’s affection but…’tis something I cannot rule out.
Despite those doubts, the instant my “wife” opens the bathroom door, wrapped in naught but a towel, I charge for her, hungry and desperate.
She watches, blinking, her rosy lips parting with a gasp.
I must kiss them now.
A part of me wishes I could dismiss our connection as magic meddling in my life. But Olivia—with her innocence, her vulnerabilities, her sass, and her unexpected bravery—touches something in me I believed long dead. She seems so sweet…
Could she actually be poison?
I want not to believe that.
Dripping wet, she clutches the towel to her bare body. “Marrok?”
My name on her lips. One whisper, and I am compelled to reaffirm her safety and to restake my claim.
I only hope my trust and growing devotion in her is not misplaced.
Must. Have. Her. Now!
* * *
Olivia
Marrok stalks toward me with an intent stare and a ready erection that threatens to bust from the fly of his jeans. Is he serious? I’m still shaking, and my mind is racing. Disquiet and foreboding vie for control of my emotions. And he wants sex?
I step back and blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “Marrok, I’m all wet.”
His eyes darken. “Not as wet as you will be.”
He cuts off my reply with a kiss. Fisting a desperate hand in the wet tresses at my nape, Marrok angles my face under his and devours me.
The aggression in his touch puts me more on edge, and right now, I need peace, perspective, and space to figure out what the hell happened and what we do next. I’m afraid to surrender more of myself to a man whose reasons for wanting me probably have a lot less to do with his heart and a lot more to do with his curse.
I wriggle free. “I don’t need energy right now.”
“But I need you.”
Does he mean that, or does he just want sex? “I’m not your convenient booty call.”
His entire body tenses. “I do not simply want to fuck. I want to fuck you.”
“Why? The really bad guys are after us, and before that you and I fought—”
“After seeing the Anarki pursue you, I need to touch you. And you, foolish, brave woman, did what you needed and shot them. It pleased me to see your fighting spirit. Was I mortal, the sight would have taken ten years off my life.”
Really? I’m not used to anyone caring…but maybe he does?
Get real. Your own mother didn’t.
