Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

sensual trance he‟d somehow put her in and back to logic, caution, and a little damn sense.
    “Cut it out,” she snapped. “Stop staring at me like I‟m the spoils of your own personal war, and get dressed. We need to talk about how we‟re getting out of here, okay? Where is the exit?
    Where is the passageway, or the tunnel, or the super-magical Atlantean elevator that will get us the heck out of here?”
    He held his hands out to the sides, palms up, as if to show her that he meant no threat.
    Unfortunately, the movement only highlighted the strength in his muscled arms and made her realize that, her years of self-defense classes notwithstanding, and even though he was naked and unarmed, she would be no match for him.
    Well, he was naked. Not so sure about unarmed , said the previously silent evil-seductress side of her nature. That’s a pretty big weapon he’s got there.
    Great. She picked now to go all multiple personality.
    The sane side of her went right back to its personal agenda of scared, terrified, and pretty darn frightened, if the goose bumps traveling up her arms were any indication.
    “Keely, please be calm,” he said quietly, as if soothing a wounded animal.
    “I‟ll be calm when you get me out of here,” she pointed out, proud of how reasonable her voice sounded, when her heart was thumping in her chest. “Not the way we got here, either.
    None of that „beam me up, Scotty,‟ crap. A nice, normal tunnel. Or stairs. Stairs would be good.”
    “But—”
    “And get dressed!” she shouted, out of patience. “I don‟t care if you look like some kind of Greek statue come to life. I want you to put your clothes back on!”
    That slow, dangerous smile of his—it ought to be registered as a lethal weapon, really—spread across his face. “You think I look like a statue?”
    Keely scowled at him. “Clothes. Now.”
    Still smiling, he sauntered over to a pile of clothing and, not nearly quickly enough for her peace of mind, pulled on a shirt and pants. Her view of his tightly muscled behind, as he stepped into the pants, nearly made her groan out loud.
    She was going to get years‟ worth of fantasies out of this experience, if she happened to live through it.
    “Okay, fine. Now you‟re dressed. So you can lead me to the up arrow.”
    He shook his head as he crossed the mosaic tile toward her in a few long strides. “I would like to believe that I would release you if I were able, in spite of the dark desires of the Other inside me, Keely. But I‟m not entirely sure how we got here, since the power of transport has never been one at my command until now.”
    “But—”
    “I don‟t know how to use it again.” He stopped, mere inches away from her, and stared down into her eyes, his own spiraling with vivid blue-green flames. “Unfortunately, the staircase that leads from the Temple to this cavern was blocked by rock and dirt in a cave-in some years ago. There is no way out.”

Chapter 17
    Keely had never suffered from claustrophobia, thankfully, even after some of the more outrageous treatments various shrinks had subjected her to in childhood, such as the sensory-deprivation tank that only lasted one session.
    They hadn‟t known an eight-year-old could scream that loudly.
    But the news that she was trapped with Justice in an underground cavern—underground in Atlantis, and no way did she want to even think about the possibility that the whole shebang could spring a leak or something—took her to a whole new level of psychosis.
    Her breathing sped up to hyperventilation, and she started trembling, fluctuating with each shuddering breath between fury and panic. “You . . . you . . . Are you insane? You brought me to a cave—underground— with no idea of how to get back out again?”
    He raised one dark eyebrow. “Most caves are underground.”
    “I know that! I‟m an archaeologist, you—”
    Ignoring her sputtered words, Justice lifted a hand as if to touch her. Oh, no. Not going to happen, whether he was sex on a stick or not. She jumped back out of his reach, clutching her head in her hands and inhaling deeply. Tried to calm down, so she could think rationally about a plan. A plan, that‟s what she needed.
    Not random, useless terror about what the archaeologists of the future would think when they found her crumbling bones lying beside a pair of gloves, another skeleton, and a damn sword.
    She belatedly realized that her fingers were twined in her hair. Her bare