Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

the touch of a man in complete command of himself—and of her.

    “Look at me, Solange.”

    His voice was every bit as gentle as his touch. A low caress, like velvet against skin. Tender, but a command nevertheless.

    She struggled with her nature, with the heat between them, the need in her for a soul mate, for someone to share her lonely life, a need so strong she could barely think with wanting to be everything he desired.
    Someone like her might get lost in someone like him. Another man, one less—just less—and she would be able to save herself. The other side of her, fierce and proud—the side she was most familiar with, the one she took refuge and comfort in—would never respect a lesser man.

    Silence stretched between them. It was sheer agony to obey. It was worse not to. He left the decision completely up to her, but the force of his personality was daunting.

    “Does it require courage, then, to look at me, kessake —little cat?” That soft voice that stroked over nerve endings shook her.

    He sounded so deceptively gentle, yet she’d seen him rip the heart from a master vampire. She actually trembled.

    “I believe, if there is one woman with courage on this earth—it is my lifemate.”

    Her gaze jumped to his. Locked with those cool green eyes. No, they were slowly going as blue as the deepest water, changing color as the warrior in him gave way to the man. Her stomach somersaulted. Her heart contracted.

    He smiled at her, a slow, sexy smile that took her breath. His teeth flashed at her, perfect and straight. His straight aristocratic nose, even his scars belonged—enhanced rather than detracted from his potent masculine aura. Everything about him seemed so perfect. She stood there soaked to the skin, shivering, her hair hanging in damp trails, wild and out of control, her body covered in scars, bruises and lacerations, streaked with blood and reeking of sweat instead of perfume.

    His thumb slid over her lips, the softest of brushes. His palm framed the side of her face. He looked at her as if there were no other woman in the world. An illusion, but it warmed her when she was cold inside.

    “Hello.”

    That simple greeting accompanied by that intense blue gaze burning over her, that slow, sexy smile and the dark, melting voice, turned her inside out. She moistened her lips, wanting to answer, but no sound would come out. She could only stand there helplessly looking up at him, wishing she was Juliette or Jasmine.
    Anyone but Solange Sangria.

    “I need to inspect you, sívamet— my heart.”

    Her heart jumped again. Inspect her? For what? To see if she was good enough for a man like him? A thousand ugly smart-ass comments welled up, but she couldn’t utter a word, she couldn’t even look at him.
    Mutely, she shook her head. Tears burned behind her eyes. She wouldn’t hold up to any inspection if he was looking for the perfect woman.

    Her hair was all over the place, muddy and straggly. She was covered in river water and blood. She tried to imagine what her body would look like to him. She was not removing her clothes. Jaguars were not modest, but in front of him ? No way! It wasn’t happening. For one horrible moment she pictured herself standing in front of him, nude, hands behind her head, presenting herself to him. She had thunder thighs. She didn’t want to think about her hips or her butt. Okay, she did have nice breasts, and a narrow waist, but she had ropes of muscle everywhere. She was too heavy . . .

    Panic took over. She nearly hyperventilated. His hands were gentle on her skin and she closed her eyes, shoving down a sob. She would not run from him like a coward. She was royalty, although Juliette often said she was a royal pain in the butt—which was true. How did other women handle this?

    His fingers skimmed down her arms and then settled. Her heart jumped. He turned her around and bent his head to the bite on her shoulder, the one still oozing blood. He inhaled, taking the scent into his lungs so he would recognize anywhere the man who had assaulted her, simply by smell. “Hold still, kessake .”

    She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. She felt much like a wild animal cornered with nowhere to run.
    His tongue moved over the puncture wounds with healing saliva. The feeling of that velvet rasp against her bare skin robbed her of breath. He pushed her shirt out of the way and followed the wounds down her back.

    Of course he hadn’t wanted to inspect