Chapter Twenty
MINA
I stood on the threshold for a long time, gazing up.
Clutching the doorframe, because, wow. I’d seen a few dragons in my time, but there were dragons, and there were dragons, like there were cars and cars.
Every previous sighting in my memory was the Ford Fiesta type.
Marius had the lightning speed of a Lamborghini and the power of a Land Rover.
Or a tank, I corrected myself as another burst of fire lit the night.
I imagined the view from up there. The olive groves. The dry, undulating hills. The terra-cotta roofs, the distant cliffs…
More than ever, I felt tiny. Insignificant. Incapable.
I dragged a foot across the gravel path, then stepped inside. Marius was a dragon. I was nothing special. Whatever sparks flew around us were sure to fade out soon — for him, if not for me.
Fifteen minutes later, I was in my knee-length sleep shirt and on the couch, trying to convince myself to sleep.
Still trying an hour later, when heavy thumps shook the ground.
The bushes rustled from the sudden burst of wind, and the crickets went still.
Gravel crunched — large areas of gravel trampled by huge, clawed feet.
The sound approached my door, growing fainter as Marius transformed and strode along on two human feet, slowly retracting his mighty wings.
At least, that was the picture my ears painted.
The door creaked open, and moonlight sliced into the room.
Click. Darkness fell as the door closed, and I heard his soft breaths.
A shiver went through my body. The good kind.
Er — bad kind. Very, very bad.
He stood by the door for a while. Letting his eyes adjust? Locating his clothes? Looking at me?
Look at me, my body begged.
Soft steps sounded, and my skin prickled. I followed the sound as he detoured around the couch to reach the bedroom. Then he stopped.
I held my breath.
“Mina,” he whispered.
I kept perfectly still.
He backtracked, coming closer.
“Mina,” he said, barely a step away.
My heart raced, though I did my best to fake a bored, sleepy tone. “Mmm?”
“Want to trade? For the bed, I mean.”
If he wasn’t in it? No, thanks.
I rolled away, pulling the blanket over my head. “I’m fine. Good night.”
The moment the words slipped out, I berated myself. Was I nuts?
Throughout the day, I’d rationalized it all. We’d slept together, and it had been great. But we had a dangerous mission to focus on, with a potentially priceless artwork on the line. It was no time to mess around. We both had to rest so we could operate at peak level tomorrow.
But my libido seemed to have nixed that plan. Out with sleep. In with another kind of peak performance.
Now! Right now! my hormones raged.
“Last chance,” Marius murmured in a low, raspy voice.
So, yeah. I wasn’t the only one whose body had torn up the script. But if I exercised supreme discipline, Marius would too, and we could both get to sleep.
I kept up my bluff. “Good night.”
He waited, unconvinced, then sighed and moved toward the bedroom. I cursed myself with each of his soft steps.
Sleep. Rest. Regenerate. Prepare for secret mission, I told myself, trying to get into a James Bond frame of mind.
Bad analogy, because James Bond didn’t rest or regenerate. He danced between silk sheets with nubile young women for half the night.
Nubile young women who usually ended up dead at the hands of the vengeful villain, but hey. I decided to ignore that part. Besides, I wasn’t nubile, and I wasn’t beautiful. Also, I had at least half a brain, unlike most of the Bond girls.
A brain chanting for me to give up this charade and get it on with my dragon tout de suite.
I peeked at the glowing clock and set a five-minute goal. Five minutes to settle down and erase dirty thoughts from my mind.
Two minutes and sixteen seconds later, I groaned and threw back the sheet.
“Marius,” I whispered, inching toward the bedroom.
No answer. I frowned.
“Marius,” I hissed.
The sheets rustled slightly, and he grumbled, “I said, last chance. You missed yours.”
I stuck my hands on my hips. Seriously?
He kept it up for five of the longest seconds of my life, then chuckled and raised the sheet.
“Get in here, woman. Naked, preferably.”
I yanked off my sleep shirt and dove into the bed. Into his arms. Into his hungry kiss.
He tasted of fresh, seaside air with the slightest hint of ash. Smacking my lips, I found myself not in the least turned off. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Marius arched a dark eyebrow, striking a Take it or leave it look, but I could sense his heart race.
“A little ashy, but otherwise, not bad,” I bluffed, touching down for another kiss.
He snorted. “Not bad?”
I grinned into the kiss. “Only the good kind of bad.”
“You speak in riddles, woman,” the man who was the very definition of bad complained.
I ran a hand down his side, inching toward his hip. “Are you saying I should stick to another kind of communication?”
His eyes glowed in the dark. “Works for me.”
“All right, then. Lie back,” I ordered, guiding him with firm hands.
“You’re still talking.”
“Patience. I’m about to put my lips to a better use.”
His eyes sparkled. “Oh yes?”
“Yes,” I promised and made good on that by diving into a deep, hungry kiss.
Those were the last coherent words either of us uttered for a long, long time. I leaned in, doing my best to pin down his body, and he slowly relaxed into the mattress with an amused expression.
Amused irked me, though. He considered himself such a master of control?
I set about proving him wrong, working my way inch by inch down that magnificent body. My lips journeyed from his mouth to his chin, then his neck. They paused at the swell of his chest to kiss, then circle his nipples.
He sucked in a breath, and I hid a You ain’t seen nothing yet grin.
I slid lower, bumping my way over his abs while scouting ahead with my hands. Another sharp inhale told me I was on the right path. Seconds later, I licked my lips and sealed them over my goal.
He croaked, and every muscle in that fine-tuned body tensed.
I stopped, tilting my head in a tease. “Oh. Did you say something?”
He shook his head at the ceiling and rasped out an exasperated, “No.” Then he muttered, “Little minx.”
“Little?” I feigned offense.
He wrapped his hands gently around my head and guided me back down. “I won’t utter another word. Just don’t stop. Please.”
I grinned, imprinting the moment into my memory. A dragon, begging. For me.
There was only one thing to do — make him beg more.
Which he did, profusely, though silently, if you didn’t count hisses, moans, and clutching the sheets. But just when I was sure he was on the verge of coming — hard — he nudged me away, panting.
“Wait. Turn. Here…” he growled, back in caveman mode, and claimed the top.
I wrapped my legs around him, swept up on the same crashing wave of desire. When he drove deep into me, it was my turn to beg, moan, and hiss. And if I cried out a few times… Well, how could I not, given the amazing things he did to me?
The man wasn’t just a master of hard or deep. He got full marks for angle, pace, and attention to detail too. Not to mention multitasking, because he put his mouth and hands to equally good use, turning me into a sweaty, incoherent mess.
“Mina,” he croaked, then exploded inside.
I dug my fingers into his back, coming half a second after him.
And coming and coming in the longest, hardest, highest orgasm of my life.
Maybe the longest, hardest, and highest of his too, because when we finally collapsed into the sheets, his expression was all wonder.
Wonder with a hint of worry that I could totally relate to.
It was one thing to satisfy your body’s cravings with a good, hard screw.
But losing that much control — wanting to lose it — was a whole different thing.
His eyes swirled, two inky, shining universes, and he cupped my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I opened my mouth half a dozen times, forming words, only to hold them back. What was there to say? What was I ready to admit?
Finally, I gulped and tugged on the sheet. “Just to clean up,” I whispered, terrified to spoil the mood.
Marius helped, and soon after, we kicked the sheet away, opting for just the blanket. All I really felt, though, were his arms looped firmly around me.
I regarded him silently from a few inches away.
“Careful,” he whispered, gently touching my lips. “Don’t…”
I waited, then squeezed his arm. “Don’t what?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t make it mean something.”
“Might be too late,” I whispered, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.
His eyes flared, telling me he had — and that part of him agreed. But his left eye twitched, and I sensed another part of him wrestling with the notion.
I braced myself, sure he would give me the cold shoulder and shatter my foolish heart. But he drew a deep breath, then leaned in with a long, lingering kiss. His chest lifted and fell in a sigh, and he nudged me into the curve of his chest and held me there.
My lips moved again, but he was right. There was nothing to say. That didn’t mean my mind ceased to think. Of him. Of us. Of what the next day — and beyond — might bring.
“Good night, Mina,” he murmured.
I wrapped my hands around his and closed my eyes. “Good night.”