Chapter 5
Mystique watched him bow from his great height as he towered above her bed, and she felt her breath catch in her chest. She released it in a sudden sigh of approval as she let her eyes move from the top of his black-haired head to the shiny tips of his polished leather boots.
The sound of her breath drew the sharp attention of hazel eyes that she suspected never missed a thing.
He watched her steadily from beneath sooty lashes and waves of pitch-colored hair that had settled in a shaggy mane around his forehead and cheekbones, covering the entire back of his neck in differing gradations of length.
He gave her a half-smile, a flash of two or three white teeth that had a sort of wolfishness to it.
It was his way of letting her know that everything she was thinking was open to exploration and, whether he took advantage of the opportunity or not, he was very aware of being the subject of her contemplation.
She dipped her chin and narrowed her eyes right back at him, the silent message of a woman who didn’t care if he knew she was appraising him. She hadn’t meant for it to be a secret anyway. She boldly carried on.
When it came to his overall stature, the Sánge male before her was positively breathtaking.
He was extremely broad in the shoulders and chest, thick with muscle from top to bottom, and his dark hair and changeable eyes were the perfect accent to pronounced, rugged features deeply tanned from a season spent working outdoors.
She could as easily imagine him in the fields as she could envision him sitting in state.
The versatility of the man was fascinating to her.
He was a complete stranger, yet Mystique felt that every moment, every breath in his company was telling deeper stories about him.
It was subtle, something she was learning without even knowing she was absorbing the lesson, but she was certain it was happening.
She liked it. She liked knowing she was observant in such ways.
It made her feel that she knew herself better.
She smiled slyly, a feeling of confidence surging through her as she watched him turn toward the door to take his leave. She knew she was being obvious, but she didn’t care. She sat up straighter, tucking her legs beneath herself and tilting her head so she could watch him as he moved.
Sánge males wore snug pants in clinging, comfortable fabrics tucked into boots that reached just to their knees.
On Reule, both boots and breeches were tailored tightly in universal black.
His fit legs were sculpted by material that stretched and stretched to accommodate the thighs of an accomplished horseman, lean hips, a heavenly backside, and …
Well, Mystique had more than a fair idea of the rest. She had felt it, close and hot, when she had been sitting in his lap in the bath that first night.
She’d also felt his firm, ridged belly and the hot, smooth skin of his sculpted chest, both of which were now hidden beneath a rather plain white linen shirt with sleeves that he’d rolled back over his forearms and a beautifully tooled leather vest that buttoned with handsome turquoise catches.
The strong leather weapons belt and its wickedly prominent dagger rode diagonally across his hips, adding a dash of swagger to an otherwise simple fashion.
His long, thick fingers closed around the knob of the door to draw it open.
As she watched, sureness and care radiated from every gesture he made.
She remembered roughened calluses and a smooth, long caress along the bare line of her back.
She knew little about herself, but she was positive she’d never felt anything as stimulating as this Sánge’s touch against her skin.
Frustration sketched through her as she realized how much she was missing from herself.
Fortunately, the longer she was conscious and the better she felt, the more she remembered about basic things.
There were no memories of a personal nature, no recollections of people or places of origin, but she had strong impressions of a lot of little tidbits about herself.
For instance, while she knew how to speak with the gentle mannerisms of a lady, she realized she also knew tricks to surviving in wild places.
She knew, she’d realized, how to fight both physically in order to defend her body and verbally in order to defend her wit.
Actually, it was really quite strange the things she remembered … or rather … felt she knew.
She was glad of it. This time when Reule left her presence, she wasn’t so frightened and she didn’t feel so alone.
Initially, he’d been the very air she breathed, and when he’d walked away from her it’d been suffocating and terrible.
They must remain together, the voice of the spirit within her cried even now.
Why? She just felt it. And slowly, as different lights flicked on in her faulty brain, it was the one thing that became steadily more certain.
So when the door closed behind him, she had to take several moments in order to wrestle down the urgent sense of panic that overcame her.
When she could breathe again, Mystique realized she could feel him still.
She could even smell him. That blend of his woodsy soap, the musk of his vital body, and the earthy tang of leather.
Sensing him beyond the door like that was the first hint she had of possessing heightened senses.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but something just told her …
She was oblivious to Para’s chitchat as the attendant worked to prepare Mystique to face the impending meal with the Pack. Her focus was completely on the male just beyond her chamber.
He was simply standing against the door.
She could even picture his hand still on the brass knob.
Curious, she found herself straining to listen.
The low, rhythmic whoosh that reached her made her heartbeat stutter, then join the pulse of his life perfectly.
She heard his heartbeat suffer a mistimed interruption in its smooth cadence.
She listened to the rush of his pulse, the rasp of his breath against his throat, so rough and sexy to her hungry ears.
She shuddered as she remembered how the cascade of his breath against her neck had felt, her breasts growing taut with the sensual memory, her nipples tightening into expectant peaks as she …
“Mystique.” He whispered her new name on a low, intense breath. “Never forget that I can read your mind, Kébé,” he said softly, his words the barest murmur.
Mystique gasped in a small breath. She’d forgotten.
Confusion reigned a long moment and her heart pounded while she tried to recall what she’d been thinking about him all this time.
It was a foolish thing to do because if he’d missed her thoughts the first time, reviewing them would certainly finish the job.
She heard him chuckle softly under his breath.
She could picture his grin easily. She could picture everything about him easily.
Mystique hastily swept that thought away before she ended up somewhere more personal than she was prepared to be at the moment.
She was certain it was already too late, knew he’d probably seen her every covetous thought, and realized she really didn’t mind.
She slipped out of bed, gathering the material of her sleeping gown because the skirt was too long for her height.
She walked almost as if she were entranced until she came to a dressing table and a large mirror.
She looked into her own eyes in the mirror, a smile lifting the corners of her lips.
Her heart picked up in rhythm as she looked at herself, knowing very well that Reule still hadn’t moved from the other side of the door.
His breaths rose and fell with an increasing intensity.
She tilted her chin down slightly, the slant casting sleek angles over her face, a couple of ringlets of hair brushing over her throat and chest. Mystique slowly lowered her eyes along her reflection.
The thin fabric she wore was low against her bosom, damp from the sweat of dreams that lingered.
She let her eyes fall to her own breasts, the dark pink of her nipples actually visible through the pale silk, as were the shadows and curves that made it abundantly clear she was a lush sort of female, for all her petite frame and underfed form.
She was paying very close attention to the sharpness of her senses.
She wasn’t disappointed. Reule’s breath vacated his lungs with a hissing rush and she heard the clench of his fingers on the brass of the knob.
She took in a slow breath and her sly smile grew in ratio to the heat and scent of a decidedly aroused male.
She thrilled in the racing of his heart and luxuriated in the pheromonal changes oozing off his heated skin.
And they weren’t even in the same room.
Mystique wished she was alone. She might have taken hold of the slim straps of the gown and …
“Enough!” he whispered sharply for her mind alone, the command ferocious enough to make her start. “Lord and Lady, you fiendish little minx,” he accused her hotly, “you try my restraint on purpose!”
“So you think I’m playing games, then?” she murmured through her thoughts. “I’m not entirely sure I know how, or if I’m any good at them.”
“What do you call this, if not a game?” he demanded. “You’re making calculated moves toward an end goal, the very definition of a game. I don’t think you’ll expect what you will win if you continue to push me.”
The sudden sureness of her feminine power sang through her. “What I expect, My Prime, is to draw you to me. What I know is that I like what happens to you when you think of me. And I enjoy my response to that. Don’t think to frighten me with what I can expect from you.”