“I’m sorry. I have to know.”
Paul put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her in her tracks. His palm was warm, even through the fabric of her shirt. Her head spun for a moment, and his touch brought about the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Maybe she’d met him somewhere before? She didn’t think so, considering the fact that she was pretty sure she’d remember a man like him—an alarming mixture of masculine appeal and confidence with the competence to back it up. Not to mention the whole part where he carried a sword.
She turned to look at him, hoping that would help her remember who he was. He was staring down at his hand with an odd jumble of hope and confusion flashing in his brown eyes. After a second, he cleared his throat. “Did you feel anything?”
Oh, yeah, but she was going to play it cool. This stuff was all too weird for her. “Like what?”
He shrugged, distracting her for a second with the impressive width of his shoulders. “I’m not sure. Maybe it only works if I touch bare skin.”
Andra had heard a lot of lines designed to get her nak*d before, but this one was by far the strangest. “What only works if you touch bare skin?”
He slid his hand down her arm until just the tips of his fingers contacted the skin below her sleeve. Heat seeped into her, along with something else. Something odd, like a jolt of static electricity, but one that didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt pretty good and was feeling better by the second.
Strength roared through her system, making the need for sleep vanish. Her body came alive, soaring with a heady rush of pleasure that made her sure she could float. Her fatigue drained away, leaving behind a faint, humming energy in its wake.
She looked up at Paul, shocked at what he was doing to her, but the sudden motion made her dizzy and she lost her balance and instinctively grabbed him to steady herself.
He pulled her close, and she went without a fight, unable to do anything else in the midst of her vertigo.
“Easy, now,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got you.”
As his words slid inside her, Andra’s world ground to a halt. Her nose was pressed against his throat and she could smell the heat of his skin, see the throbbing of his pulse along the thick column of his neck. A pale, luminescent band shimmered only inches from her eyes, and she had the irresistible urge to reach out and pull it from him. She wanted it. Needed it. That choker was hers and always had been.
He was hers. All of him. From the bottom of his wide, booted feet to the top of his mussed hair and all of the lovely, hard places in between.
She breathed in deeply, pulling in his scent. A low hum of arousal swirled inside her, pushing away the grating fatigue that had ruled her only moments before. She still wanted to get into bed, but not for sleep. She wanted Paul there with her, nak*d and laid out for her pleasure. She was going to take her time getting to know what he liked. Lots and lots of time.
But the bed was too far away for her to wait. She needed to touch him. Taste him. Her hands went to the hem of his knit shirt and snaked beneath it. Warm, firm skin tempted her fingers to explore him further, while she pressed her open mouth against the side of his neck.
She heard him make an incoherent sound of surprise, but he didn’t seem to mind what she was doing. In fact, he tilted his head to one side to give her room to slide her tongue over his salty skin.
“What the hell is happening?” he said in a rough voice.
“If you don’t know, I’m going to have a heck of a good time showing you.”
This was madness, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself, nor did she care that she couldn’t. She shoved his shirt off over his head to get to more skin, needing to feel more of him beneath her hands. He was heavily inked, sporting a large tattoo of some kind of tree that stretched from his shoulder and upper arm all the way down below his belt. She was dying to see just how far down it went.
The limbs of his tattoo were highly detailed, mostly bare except for one single leaf, and she was pretty sure it was some kind of metaphor for life or some crap like that. Not that she cared. He could be as philosophical as he wanted as long as he did it nak*d.
She ran one finger along a branch, down the trunk of the tree to where it hit the low-slung waist of his jeans. His abs clenched as if he’d been hit, making ridges of muscle stand out for her enjoyment.
Paul shuddered at her touch, but when she moved to pop the button on his fly, he grabbed her hands and held them locked inside a strong grip.
“We should stop,” he told her.
She looked into his eyes, which were dark with need—all those golden slivers were gone now, eaten up by his pupils. His cheeks were flushed and a fine sweat had beaded up along his hairline. “Don’t you want me?” she asked.
“God, yes. Can’t you feel me shaking?”
She could, and it made her smile with a sense of victory. “My bedroom is right through that door.”
Paul groaned and closed his eyes. “This isn’t you, though I wish like hell it were.”
“What isn’t me?”
“This . . . thing we’re feeling.”
He was right. She didn’t normally undress strangers who broke into her house. Something was off here.
Andra shook her head, trying to clear it or make some sense out of the jumble of thoughts and feelings going through her brain.
While she was distracted, Paul let go of her and stepped back. His posture said he thought she might hit him or something, because he was all tensed up like he was expecting to take a punch.
She didn’t hit him, of course, but the need to get him nak*d was also fading. He was still hot, especially with all those muscles in his chest and abs on display, but at least now she could keep her tongue to herself.
She wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not.
Andra’s hands were shaking, so she shoved them into her jeans pockets. Her bone-deep weariness was coming back fast, as if it had never been gone at all. “What the hell was that?” she asked him.
“Not sure.” His tone was hard, his words curt.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Why do you make that sound like it’s a bad thing?”
He held up his hand—the one with the iridescent band—and stared at it as if his life depended on it. The baby rainbows trapped in it were dancing up a storm, swirling around as if kicked up by some invisible wind. “Do you see color?” he asked.
“Yeah, all of them. Where did you get that thing?”
“Long story. Look harder. Do you see any one color more than the others?”
Andra stared at the band, loving the flow of rainbows over the surface. It was hypnotic. Mesmerizing. Beautiful. But she didn’t see any dominant color. “No. Not really.”
“Shit,” he growled.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just mistook you for someone else. That’s all. I’m sorry.”
It didn’t hurt when Paul stopped touching Andra. That was the thought that kept echoing in Paul’s brain, making him crazy. It was supposed to hurt. He’d needed it to hurt.
He’d wanted Andra to be the one for him so badly that he’d begun to believe it was true.
What a fool he was to think he deserved another chance. Drake had found Helen first, so he’d failed there, and he’d never been able to make Kate happy, though heaven knew he’d tried his best. She’d been dead for two hundred years and he still couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t love him—what more he could have given her to make her happy.
Paul refused to dwell on it. Even if Andra wasn’t his lady, she might be able to save one of his brothers. Clearly she was blooded. In fact, based on the way his luceria reacted, she was probably a Theronai. Just not his.
Paul looked down at his chest. The last leaf on his lifemark swayed in time with the summer breeze outside. It looked a little more brown than green today. He really didn’t have much time left, and he still had one more job to do: get Andra to Dabyr, just as Sibyl commanded.
“We should get moving,” he told Andra.
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had about ten hours of sleep. Besides, what makes you think I’d go anywhere with you, period?”
Paul didn’t have the patience for this. Too much was at stake here. Even if he hadn’t been bound by his vow to Sibyl to bring Andra home, he needed to get her back so they could see if she would be compatible with any of the other men there. They were all dying—just not as soon as he was. She might be able to save one of his brothers in arms. Bringing her to Dabyr was the one last thing he could do for his people before he went to his death.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and backed her up against a wall. She felt good under his hands, which pissed him off. Why would she feel so good if she wasn’t his?
“We’re leaving. You’re coming with us. You can walk, or I’ll carry you. Your call.”
To her credit, she didn’t cower or back down, even when faced with an armed man of his size. Her blue eyes brightened at the challenge and she tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “You think you can push me around?” she asked.
“Push, pull, drag. Whatever it takes.”
“I have responsibilities. People who need me. I’m not going to let you decide where I go. Sorry to burst your macho bubble.”
Paul figured he had a couple of choices. He could make good on his threats and drag her out of here kicking and screaming, which would no doubt get her neighbors’ attention, or he could use a little finesse.
Finesse wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d do what it took to get her back to Sibyl and the men.
He let out a long, slow breath and removed his hands from her body, hoping it would help him stay level. “What responsibilities?” Maybe he could take care of them, leaving her free to go back with him.
“I have a job to do. Kids are being taken from their homes all the time. I need to be here to find them.”
“I’ve heard about your talent. Just how is it that you’re able to find them when no one else can?” he asked.
She pushed away from the wall, and he noticed her balance was a little unsteady. Maybe she was more exhausted than he thought.
Paul reached out to help her, but she swatted his hands away and sank onto the couch as if standing were no longer an option. “I’m good at what I do. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“I really doubt that’s the whole story, but if it’s money you’re after, I can pay. I’ve got plenty, and I’ll give you whatever you want if you come with me.”
He saw a hint of victory flare in Andra’s eyes, and he knew he’d found the right lever to use with her. Money.
She got up, rummaged through some papers on the kitchen counter, and scribbled down something on a notepad. She ripped off the top sheet and handed it to him. “This is the account number where I want the money sent. Put half a million in there today and I’ll go wherever you want. Deal?”
Paul took the paper, and something in him shriveled. He’d pictured her as some great her**ne who did whatever it took to find the children, no matter how much money she made. He’d thought she was one of the good guys, like him. He’d been wrong. She was just another person trying to make a buck off of the pain and suffering of others.