Immortal Need (4 page)

“Be still,” he commanded. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Yet
…seemed to echo eerily in her brain, even though he hadn’t said it. Fight or flight kicked in, though, and she struggled in his arms. He was strong, and she felt like a butterfly trapped in the claws of a lion, but she fought anyway.

“You are making this harder than it must be,” he grumbled as he carried her, as if she weighed nothing, to her bed. He stood her up and spun her around to face him. He repositioned his hand over her mouth. It was the first time she got a look at him, really got a look at him. His dark hair, almost darker than the night itself, curled around his shoulders. His face was hard, full of angles, but striking. His bottom lip was fuller than his top one, and his nose was straight. But it was his eyes that captivated her. He stared at her with a blue-gray gaze that was unreal. There was fire there, as if the blue were electric and the gray like moving smoke. He was tall, maybe a foot taller than her, placing him well over six feet. She could see the ripple of his biceps under the short-sleeved black shirt he wore. She could even see they were covered in the glinting silver of daggers.

But something just on the edge of her mind bothered her. She frowned behind his hand, her heart slowing down, as he didn’t move to toss her on the bed or pull one of the wicked-looking blades strapped to his body. He was familiar. She would have remembered seeing a man like him. His commanding presence would have made an impact, she was sure of it, but somehow she knew his hands could be just as soft as they were hard. She knew the right side of his mouth lifted slightly higher than the right side when he smiled. She knew that if she kissed him, she’d taste honey and storms. She shouldn’t know this man, but she did, somewhere, somehow.

“Better?” he asked, and the deep timbre of his voice rolled over her. She nodded.

“Do I know you?” she asked. He closed his eyes, sighing with so much pain she wanted to pull him into her arms.

“In another time, and another place, perhaps.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning.

Why wasn’t she terrified? Why wasn’t she trying to get away? And why was she suddenly so very interested in getting to taste this man? She could recognize the stir of desire licking through her system as he looked at her. His gaze flittered over her soft sable hair, her big green eyes, pert nose, and even her mouth. He missed nothing. She waited for indifference, displeasure even, when his gaze traveled down her form, but that was not what she saw. There was such pain, such need in his eyes as they met hers.

“Who are you?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

“I am called Sevani.”

“Sevani.” She tasted his name on her tongue, again feeling like she should have known that already. It felt right. Something inside of her sang when she said it, like a long-closed door had been finally opened.

“I am Ayah.”

“I know who you are, Ayah, more than, I think, you know yourself.”

Her name rolled on his tongue as if it was a caress, and she felt a very different feeling suffuse her. She wanted to get closer, wanted to hear him say it again. She didn’t even realize that she had been leaning closer to him until he sucked in a shuddering breath and held her away from him.

What was wrong with her? This was a man who had gotten into her house somehow, knew her name, and had lay in wait for her. He looked too good to be true, too perfect, too…Another thought blasted to her.

“Are you an angel? Am I dead?” she squeaked. Perhaps she’d been in a dream when she found out she was a millionaire. Maybe she’d died, so distraught over her father, and had only watched from the outside as the will had been read. But then, how had Sam directed questions at her? Maybe she’d died of shock after everyone had left. That was it. She was going to go to heaven.

“Do I look like an angel?” he said then.

He looked yummy, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud. Then again, angels probably didn’t invoke the need to rip their clothes off, right? A soft cherub bouncing around her laughing and singing hymns was very different than the beast of a man standing in front of her. Her kind of heaven, to be sure, but not the sort for the pearly gates.

Okay, maybe I’m not going to heaven.

“Then, who are you?” she asked again.

“That is a question that would take time to explain and a leap of faith to understand, both of which do not matter now. I am here to do a
job
.” Sevani said the word like a curse, and she wanted to smooth his brow. She had to force her hand back to her side when it lifted, seemingly of its own volition.

“Were you paid to kill me?” she asked then, not sure how she kept herself talking.

“No,” he answered, his thumb rubbing over her cheek. His palm and fingertips were calloused, and she wondered what it would feel like to have them all over her flesh. What would it be like to have him surround her, crowd her on the bed, and take her? The thoughts were her own, and yet not. He dropped his hands and stepped away from her, taking his heat with him. She licked her suddenly dry lips. If he wasn’t here to kill her or take her to heaven or bed her, apparently, she didn’t understand why he was here—or why she even believed what he was saying.

She edged from the bed, slowly making her way toward the door. It didn’t matter. She just had to get out of here. She had to get away from the thoughts that she knew him, had felt him inside her, and had heard his voice whispering in her ear as she slept, get away from the fact that he looked ready to kill someone, especially her, and from the fact that she was turned on. She stepped faster as he watched her, his gaze a mixture of agony and lust that she didn’t understand. The doorknob hit the small of her back, and she spun around, grasping it in her hand to twist.

“I am not here to kill you.” He suddenly crowded her against the door and pinned her hand between her body and her means of escape. She hadn’t even seen, or heard, him move. He was just there, larger than life. “But someone is going to kill you,” he said, and her stomach fell away. “It’s my job to stop them. So tell me, what have you done that would make someone want you dead?”

Chapter Three

He could barely keep his hands off her. His Nila was pressed against his body. Her face was close to his as he surrounded her. If he lifted her a couple of inches, removed her clothes, and spread her legs, he could return to the bliss he knew was inside her. His cock vibrated and wept with need. When she’d stepped into the room, she stared at him with the same guileless green gaze he’d seen in his dreams. She had cut her hair, nearly half the length, so it just hit her shoulders, and it was straight, but she had the same face, the same coloring. And, gods, he was happy to see that she’d kept her figure. He’d never understood why the women of the current century thought it was beautiful to be as thin as sticks. He needed hips to grasp as he rode, and a curved slope to nip on as he trailed kisses down from her stomach to paradise. He wanted to feel breasts that were nearly overflowing in his hands and were pliable between his fingers. He wanted something that he knew wouldn’t break when he plowed forward.

He wanted her.

The citrus scent of her hair wafted to his nose, and he groaned inwardly. Would she still taste like the sweetest of fruits? How he wanted to taste her lips again, to taste every part of her mouth until he’d memorized it. Would she let him? If he claimed her mouth, would she fight, or would she give in? He didn’t think about Freya’s warning not to sully her as he turned Ayah in his arms and braced her against the door again. He didn’t care. She had told him not to sully her, not that he couldn’t taste her, couldn’t kiss her within an inch of her life. She had, in a past life, been his woman. She’d belonged to him as much as he’d belonged to her. Surely the goddess would not deny him this one taste. He wouldn’t take any more, he swore it. Just one glimpse of what he once had and he would do his duty. He would protect her and take her life with his own blade. He just needed to show her, before the end came, that she meant everything to him. Her wary eyes scanned his face. He didn’t know what she saw there, but her eyes widened as her mouth went slack. The heat of her breath caressed his mouth even as he leaned forward.

“Just once,” he whispered against her lips. Nothing else meant as much. He sealed her mouth with his, and his mind exploded. She tasted of the same fruit, but there was something different, tastier now. She had a hint of spice to her from this life, and he feared he would crave her now more than he had before. He turned his head and grasped the side of her face to hold her in place, and his hips anchored hers against the wall. She was as hot as a furnace, her tongue moist and slippery as it dueled with his. She was Nila, and yet she was not. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She showed a passion that Nila from the past had been too demure to show. Her legs wrapped around his waist, she was grinding her heated core against his cock with wild abandon. Such fire, and he burned with it.

His blood rolled through his veins like molten lava as he sucked her tongue in his mouth. She moaned, and he captured the sound. His hips pushed into hers. He needed to feel her, desperately wishing there were no clothes separating them. She tasted of his past, his present, and his future. How was he supposed to let her go? How was he supposed to walk away from her? How had he even thought that he could? He left her mouth, trailing kisses down her chin and over her neck as he gripped her hips with rough hands and forced her body into hard contact with his over and over again. He just wanted to taste a little more, and then he would let her go. He had to. What he did now was dangerous for the both of them. But as she rolled into his movements, gave in to his needs, he couldn’t quite remember the reason he should stop, or why he shouldn’t have touched her in the first place.

“More,” she moaned, and he nipped her collarbone in response, lost in the feel of her. There was too much material in the way of his seeking mouth. It needed to be gone. Now seemed like a good time to remedy that. He was rougher than he intended, but too far gone to stop, he let go of her hip with one hand and pulled at her black, buttoned blouse. Buttons went flying, but he didn’t stop. He’d exposed the exquisite sight of her creamy breasts covered in a lacy black bra.

“Yes, more,” he growled and ripped the material from her body, flinging it over his shoulder. Her breasts were bigger than he remembered, heavier at the bottom. Her nipples stood out in hard pink tips begging for his attention. So pretty. He would be happy to oblige. Using his free hand to cup the mound of flesh, he sucked a nipple into his mouth. He nipped and laved the tip until her hips were grinding against his with more desperation than finesse. She felt so good, and tasted so good. He kissed his way to the other nipple and gave it equal attention. Candy. Her nipples were his own personal candy, perfectly made, and sweetened just for his mouth. He couldn’t ignore them if Freya herself was standing there.

“God yes,” she moaned.

“Are you close, baby?” he groaned out, never one to speak during lovemaking before, but he wanted to hear her voice, wanted to hear the breathless quality that his touch had created. For so long she’d been gone from him. Too long.

“Yes. Please,” she begged, and what sort of man would he be if he didn’t respond as necessary?

“Let go,” he said and used both of his hands to push her breasts together toward his waiting mouth. He sucked both nipples and bit down, even as he ground his hips against her in stark demand. He felt it, the tremble in her limbs, could smell the cloying scent of her arousal and hear her sharp breaths as she shattered against him. He rode her through it, the pleasure building up until his balls drew tight against his body and his cock jerked. One, two, three more pumps and he was roaring his pleasure into the night, his knees buckling. They fell together in a heaving mass of limbs and hair, and he’d never felt more complete in his life.

Ayah had given him a treasure worth more than his immortal soul, and she didn’t even know it. In the aftermath of what happened, she sprawled over him as he caressed her back. The heavy pants of her breath were music to his ears. How many times had he wished for a moment like this? How many times had he hoped, prayed, and begged that he would feel her again? Freya may be a cruel goddess—in fact, he knew that she was—but she had given him these moments with his lost love. Yet, he felt a difference in Ayah. She was not the same woman he had known so many years before. He had tasted it within her when he kissed her, and now he could feel it. She did not look up at him with a lazy smile or shy look full of love. No, this reincarnation of Nila’s soul caressed his shoulders with quiet circling fingers and snuggled closer to his warmth. After a moment, she looked up at him, and what he saw there wasn’t shyness, but determination.

“I suppose at this point you believe that I’m completely brain-dead. I would agree with you.” She used his chest to push off his body and stand on shaky legs. “And, now that I’ve utterly made a fool of myself, I would like some answers. You didn’t come here to…whatever we just did against my door. Nobody comes in anyone’s house with that many weapons for a booty call. So why are you here?” She crossed to a dresser and pulled out a shirt before he could respond. Ayah put the tank top on before turning around to face him once more.

Booty call? What the in the name of Hel was that? It didn’t sound pleasant, whatever it was, and he didn’t like that she had reduced something so beautiful to something so…well, a booty call. He stood slowly, not quite sure if his legs could take his weight but choosing to meet her on equal ground. If she wanted to show strength after what had just happened between them, then he could do the same. That had been his one moment of weakness, and he could have no more. It would have been nice to be able to wallow in the moment for just a little bit longer, but he had a job to do—even if it pained him.

“You said someone wanted me dead. How do you know?” she asked.

“Sit down,” he said instead. Some part of him was not ready to let the moment disappear. This Nila, Ayah, was such a beautiful one, one who was not his. She sat on the edge of her bed as he asked and turned questioning eyes back to him. He sighed roughly and scrubbed his hand down a suddenly tired face. In most cases when he appeared to his marks, they were already in the situation that would signal the end of their lives. To them he was simply a Good Samaritan who had shown up at the right time. Their gratitude prevented them from asking too many questions. They were just happy to have survived. This mission was so very different. He had to try to keep her safe for a week, only to kill her himself, and it was torturing him on the inside. He chose to at least speak with her about what was going on and cut himself out of the equation. She didn’t need to know how this would end.