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Her softness to his hardness. Heat against heat, with her silken hair spread over his chest, and their legs intertwined. Climbing into bed with her had been the best decision and worst mistake he’d ever made.
Finally, though, he’d drifted off…only to awaken when she caressed his jaw. When their gazes had met, desire had flared to life all over again, only stronger than ever before. In that moment, resisting his body’s need for her had been futile.
Celibate? No longer.
Now, with the sweetness of her taste branded into his memory and filling his mouth…with her soft curves pressed against his hardness…with her feminine heat wetting his shaft, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to resist her again.
Anytime he remembered this moment, he knew he would crave her again. And again. But the worst part? He suspected no other female would do. A ridiculous thought! Anyone else would be better suited for him. The nightstand would be better suited for him.
“Bjorn,” she repeated with a groan. “Any answers or comments? Questions? Thoughts?”
Arousal softened her features and flushed her skin. Those hazel eyes projected earth-shattering need, rousing his most primitive instincts. Lips swollen from his kisses remained parted as she panted.
No longer were her features simply arresting. They were exquisite. A layer of anger had been stripped away, revealing a startling vulnerability and a hint of…adoration? For him?
No, no. No way she adored him. “I despise Alana and the marriage she forced upon me.” But even still, he needed to resist Fox. Yes? At the moment, he couldn’t recall a single reason to combat the hot tide of desire raging through him. He couldn’t think straight. Need to think. “She is Queen of Shadows. A parasite. As soon as I can reach her without a summons, I will kill her.” Of course, he would have to find a way to sever their bond first, or he would die with her.
“She forced the marriage? Then you are not married. You’re single, baby, and ready to mingle.” Fox nibbled on her bottom lip and traced circles over his pec. “If you’d like to make your single-hood official, I can portal you to your wife—” She pursed her lips. “I can portal you to the queen. Without a summons. Vow to set me free, and I will. I’ll even throw in a sweetener and help you kill her.”
If not for the bond, he might have taken Fox up on her offer. Even still, the temptation proved overwhelming. “She isn’t just a Shadow; she is a queen of Shadows. She can possess your body and drain your soul before you comprehend what’s happening. And, to set you free is to risk my place in the heavens. To what end? So I can die when you kill Alana? So you can be hunted again? Another Sent One will be sent to slay you.” He stiffened, already furious with this nameless, faceless Sent One.
“Yeah. So?”
“So, I would never forgive myself if they harmed—if you harmed them.” Could he forgive himself for sinking so low and kissing Fox, the murderess? Not just kissing her, but liking—loving—it. Time to make the madness stop. He disengaged from her, untangling their bodies. “If you’re hungry, there’s a feast over there.” He stood and pointed to a small bistro-style table piled high with platters of food. “Please, eat.”
“Why? Is the food poisoned?”
She thinks I will heal and kiss her the same day I plan to kill her?
Will I?
The answer hit him, and hit hard. No. He wouldn’t. He would not be harming a hair on her head today. Perhaps not tomorrow, either.
Chest clenching with relief, Bjorn stalked to the closet, his hard-on bobbing with every step, all but pointing at her. He ground his teeth, irritated beyond measure, and donned a robe. He wouldn’t be kissing her again, either.
“My friends whipped you, and I’m sorry for all you suffered, Fox. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Oh. I see.” Frowning, she sat up and lowered her head. Dark hair fell forward, shielding her face from view. “So, the feast is a make-up gift?”
A muscle ticked beneath his eye. He continued without addressing her question. “The kiss should not have happened, either. I choose to be celibate.”
“What?!” She glanced up for a moment, only a moment, her eyes wide. “Did you just say you’re celibate?”
“For roughly a year, yes.”
“I’ve gone five…hundred years, eight months, and six days, but who’s counting?”
Now, his eyes widened. “Fox the Executioner hasn’t had sex in over five hundred years?”
“Well, I had trust issues long before Distrust,” she said, defensive.
Reeling. “You chose to break your sexual fast with me, the male tasked with your murder? Why?” Are we more alike than I realized?
And what is it I think I’m doing? Playing with temptation is never wise. Stop!
“No, don’t tell me,” he said next. “I can’t change what happened in our pasts, but I can change what happens in our futures. We will not kiss again.”
Her head wrenched up. Humiliation and dejection burned pretty pink circles in her cheeks.
His chest clenched with more force. So much, he swore several ribs cracked. The rejection had cut her as much as the whipping. He nearly dropped to his knees to apologize.
Fool! This is a trick, only a trick. He balled his hands into fists. She would have to care about his opinion to give a damn about his rejection. She didn’t. She couldn’t.
But what if she did? What if her feelings for him were just as complicated as his feelings for her?
Hope blossomed, only to wither. Rejection hurt, period. Even when someone you hated rejected you, it stung.
“You don’t want to kiss me again? Fine,” she snapped. “Don’t kiss me again. Good call, by the way. I’d bite off your tongue. Now. I’m done playing the role of prisoner. Either you fight me, or you watch me walk away.”
“I will do neither. I will put you in your cell, and that’s that.”
“Why? Are you hoping I’ll forget your vile behavior and sign on to be your temporary dick handler?”
Dick handler? Now I want to laugh.
Get your head in the game. Bjorn extended his arm and curved his hand, a sword hilt appearing there. As he closed his fingers around it, fire spread over the blade. With his free hand, he motioned to the door. “Exit the bedroom, Fox.”
Fox raised her chin, and it was clear the humiliation and dejection had morphed into fury. Another trait to admire. Anyone else would have sobbed or begged for mercy. This woman would fight until she took her last breath.
She smiled slowly, coldly, and said, “Make me.”
Chapter Nine
Bjorn remained immobile. He watched, fascinated, as another startling change transformed the enigmatic Fox. First, she’d been soft, warm and needy, not just receptive to his kiss but an active participant, writhing against him. Then she projected hurt, dejection and embarrassment. One hundred percent his fault. Now? She looked hardened, cold and emotionless.
What she didn’t do? Panic.
No longer did she resemble a sleepy, just-kissed lover hungry for more. No, she appeared every inch a killer…yet he still craved her. No, he craved her even more.
Bjorn found the different aspects of her personality intriguing, and wondered if he wielded enough sensual prowess to make her go soft again. Without going soft himself.
His mind a minefield of desire, regret, and fury, Bjorn struggled to focus, to think straight, answers beyond his skill set at the moment. Questions were a different story entirely. Why did he heal and kiss an enemy at all? Why did he enjoy the kiss more than any other he’d ever experienced?
When could he do it again?
No, no. Lock her back in the dungeon, as decided. Clear your head. Finally think straight and figure out a new plan of action. Maybe he’d have a fresh memory of her?
He tensed. He needed to tell her about the first one. How would she react?
As graceful as a ballerina, she stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her oversized tee, treating the garment like a formal gown. “Be honest. You
’re afraid your crush on me will turn Fatal Attraction-ish if you dress me in something other than a crappy T-shirt, right?”
Her confident teasing threw kindling on the flames of his desire. “I do not have a crush—” The remainder of the sentence disintegrated, leaving a foul taste on his tongue. He pressed his lips together. Apparently, he did have a crush on Fox. As a Sent One, he could speak no lies. In the end, all he could tell her? “Someone thinks highly of herself.”
