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“Welcome to your new home, goddess. Pure luxury,” he mocked. As a Sent One, he’d been unable to lie in any capacity. As a Forsaken, he had no such troubles.
The only light streamed through a cracked window flanked by ragged drapes. Dust motes twirled about, coating the walls, every piece of furniture, and even the floor. She walked here and there, pinching the grubby clothes slung over the dresser and grimacing.
“To win my heart, other males have offered vast treasures,” she said. “This is an…interesting opener.”
“I don’t want your heart, and I offer nothing but your continued survival. That occurs only if you behave.” Her disdain for the palace irked him. As if he couldn’t provide the best for her. Better than any other. “If you don’t like the condition of the room, clean it.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll begin cleaning right away. Just as soon as you summon the servants I’ll be ordering to clean it for me.”
With great delight, he informed her, “From now on, you’ll be your own servant.” Her other males had catered to her whims, McCadden among them. Something Brochan wasn’t inclined to do. Why should he? She would never attempt to charm him, never treat him as sweetly as she’d treated the others or look at him with glittering eyes and smiling lips and mean it… No, nothing but a fantasy. She hadn’t even wanted him when he’d looked his best.
“Too many have coddled and spoiled you throughout the centuries,” he snapped. “Their mistake. I will not be so foolish.”
Why would he crave what she’d given the others, anyway? What use had he for soft, stolen glances? Graceful brushes of her fingers against his cheek or his arm? Her body leaning into his?
Rather than shrinking from his obvious annoyance, she dazzled him with another false smile. “Ohhhh. I understand what’s going on here. You have a French maid fetish.”
“I have no fetish,” he snapped. Merely thinking of this sensual female dressed in a barely-there black dress threatened to unman him. I might have a fetish.
Another unacceptable outcome. No one should throb for a pretty face and lush curves. Even if the owner of both had been crafted from his deepest, wildest, most secret dreams. For him. He should care about her actions—and the fruit thereof—more than anything.
“Well, lucky for you,” she continued blithely, “I’m happy to play this role. Hopefully, our vigorous lovemaking will improve your mood.”
Lovemaking? Vigorous? Sweat beaded his brow. He could count on two hands the number of sexual experiences he’d had with Samantha and Rebecca, his only lovers. He’d rather forget the tame, uncomfortable encounters.
Am I hurting you?
No, it’s fine.
Are you sure? You appear pained.
I’m sure but…are you almost done? I don’t mind if you wish to hurry.
After a third unsatisfying interlude with each, he’d ceased making advances. Now, Viola baited him. Yet he wondered… Would Viola demand satisfaction?
“You’d best be careful, goddess.” Narrowing his eyes and lowering his chin, he intensified his scrutiny of her. “What will you do if ever I take you up on your offer?”
“Brag,” she quipped, all seduction and indulgence as she twirled a lock of pale hair.
Kindling for him. How he burned.
Close the distance. Force her to back down.
Would she back down, though? Or let him do things he’d only dared imagine during the darkest of nights?
Temptation itself…
“Why do you call me Forsaken?” she asked. “Have we already reached the cute endearment stage of our association?”
“I merely offer you a warning. You made me a Forsaken. Therefore, I will make you one.”
“Got it. You speak of a species. Something I should have known. You know what that means? You guys suck at PR.” Pensive, she turned to inspect more of the room. “To be clear, the Forsaken are Fallen Ones with wings, yes?”
He gave a clipped nod in response.
“Makes sense, I suppose. You are indeed forsaken, even by death. If someone removes your wings, will you become a Fallen One, mortal and killable?”
How quickly her mind worked. He shook his head. “The damage is already done. Though I welcome any attempts to remove my wings.” Actually, he welcomed any excuse that allowed her to touch his body…
“Thank you for the permission, darling. I never would’ve tried to take your wings otherwise, honest. Well, almost honest.” She winked at him. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He popped his jaw before pointing. As if she hadn’t noticed the door already.
“Wonderful. After our little skirmish on the beach, I’m positively filthy.” She paused to run her gaze over the length of him as if she’d spied a tasty dessert. “I’ll clean up…so we can get dirty again.”
The scent of roses wafted from her as she strolled past him, sharpening his hunger. Must the temptress roll her hips like that?
When Brochan remained in place, she halted in the doorway to glance over her shoulder. A half-smile bloomed. Umber irises glittered. “You can watch me if you want.”
