Heart Of Atlantis

though, that might be even scarier.”
    She ran a finger along the edge of the shell before closing her hand around it. “Thank you. This is beautiful.”
    “A reminder that life is not all blood and death,” he said, wishing he believed it.
    He could see in her eyes that she did not believe it, either.
    “Ours have been.”
    “So that the lives of others would not,” he returned. He found another shell, a broken one, and hurled it far out into the waves. “It has always seemed a fair trade. Until now.”
    “Until now,” she repeated slowly. “Alaric, I can never be what you might want me to be. I have forgotten anything I ever knew about any emotions but rage and pain and vengeance.”
    “Emotions can be relearned, Quinn. Brennan taught us that.”
    “Brennan was a warrior under a horrible curse from Poseidon not to feel any emotion until he met his one true love and then she died. How cruel and twisted is
that
? Your god isn’t exactly what I’d call loving and benevolent.”
    “But Brennan found Tiernan, and she saved him from both the curse and himself. Don’t you think we’re all looking for exactly that?”
    Quinn started walking again. “I don’t know. I don’t have time to care. I have to find Ptolemy and discover what he wants with me, before one of the many enemies I’ve made in the past tracks me down to put a final end to my adventures in rebellion.”
    “I have a bargain to propose,” Alaric offered. “We spend the day here, not thinking or talking about enemies, or pretenders, or death. Then tomorrow we can return to our normal lives and kill all the ‘bad guys,’ as you so eloquently put it, that you might want.”
    Quinn’s eyes were enormous as she weighed his words, and finally she nodded. “I agree. But Alaric, I never
wanted
to kill anybody. I just so rarely seem to have a choice. When nobody else is there to stand up for what’s right . . .”
    As her voice trailed off, he finished the sentence for her. “. . . somebody has to do it. Far too often, that somebody has been you, hasn’t it?”
    Their gazes met in perfect understanding, but Quinn shook her head slightly and looked away. “Let’s explore and find out what’s beyond these trees, okay?”
    So much courage. Too much. His admiration for her increased each time they talked, until he could no longer untangle respect from desire from need—all of it centered on one small human.
    One small,
sexy
human. She headed for the tree line, and Alaric watched her go, forcing his mind and libido off the instant raging want caused by the sight of her tight little ass walking away from him. It was almost funny, this sexual desire. After centuries of celibacy, he’d thought himself immune to it, and then Quinn had hit him with the force of a tsunami.
    His mind, always trained to cold logic and objectivity, could now turn in a split second from thought of battle and enemies to considering what he would like to do with her naked body.
    She turned to call back to him and he stopped, stunned by the simple curve of her cheek. She didn’t possess the classical beauty of the women of his race. She had something more. A purity of spirit and a hidden sensuality that all but begged him to release it.
    Just as soon as he figured out how to release his own. Hundreds of years of celibacy. That would be . . .
interesting
. . . to overcome.
    His body tightened to an almost painful hardness as he swept his gaze over Quinn’s curves, almost but not quite hidden by the ragged clothes she wore. So. At least certain parts of him had no concerns at all about how to proceed.
    He followed her into the trees, smiling his first unqualified smile in many years.

    Quinn watched Alaric reach up to pluck a bunch of bananas, unable to take her eyes off the play of muscles in his lovely chest and arms. He’d removed his shirt, a concession to the heat, and she found herself looking for excuses to touch him.
    To put her hands all over that hot, slightly sweaty male skin. He was bronzed a golden tan, which surprised her, considering that she’d always pictured him doing, well, priestly things in Poseidon’s temple. Lighting incense or whatever. Her dim memories of attending Catholic mass with a childhood friend seemed to have informed her impression of what Poseidon’s high priest would do.
    “So, do you conduct services in Atlantean?”
    He tossed her a banana. “Do I what?”
    “Church services. Do you all get together and sing songs and