Her tongue turned to dust. Trapped, she could only stare at the dimple winking in his cheek. How could he sound angry and still smile? The combination didn’t bode well for her. “I can’t do what my aunt just did.” Right now, anyway. Her training had just begun.
“Good non-answer.” He levered her with a dark gaze that sped up her heart enough he must’ve heard it. “I suppose internal matters are none of my business.” The gaze lingered on her face, then traveled down her body and back up. With a sigh, his broad hands slapped against the rough wood on either side of her head, caging her. “We leave in the morning, Moira.”
“I know.” The festivities would continue all night. Nobody would really know where she’d gone. “For years I’ll train, Conn. Then I’ll find a powerful witch to mate, and I’ll lead the council.” Most women would kill for her destiny. They had no idea how bloody heavy it settled on her shoulders. “I want this night.”
He leaned even closer, his sage scent filling her senses. “I’m not sweet…or gentle.”
The warning only spiraled her desire higher. “The fact you provide warning proves you’re both.” At least a smidgen.
His tongue wet his lips, holding her gaze. “The fact you believe that statement shows your naiveté, brat.” The dark edge of his voice shot such painful need to her core she nearly doubled over. Rough and hard, he was a direct opposite to the gentlemen currently asking her father for the right to court her.
Tension filled the stables. Honest. Dangerous. True. “Stop calling me a brat.” He didn’t give a damn that he lacked polish or smoothness and she wondered at her own attraction. What was wrong with her?
“You’re most certainly a brat.” His gaze hardened ever further as one hand lifted to tangle in wet curls. “Don’t ever throw blue energy at me again, Moira. You won’t like the result.”
Any retort stuck like glue in the back of her throat at the look in his eyes, across his sharp face. Her widened blue eyes searched his for any hint of humor. There was none.
A satisfied glint lit his darkened eyes as he gave one short nod. “I don’t threaten, Moira. You’d do well to remember that.” Then his mouth was on hers. He wasn’t gentle. And he wasn’t sweet.
The kiss was all fire, depth and strength. Desire speared through her directly south as one broad hand went to the front of her dress and snapped buttons free. Here was the smoothness. She groaned as his mouth abandoned hers to trail hard, sharp kisses along her jaw line and down her neck before both hands slid the material apart. Here was the polish. He moved to gently tug her undershirt over her head, spilling her flesh into waiting hands. Into warm hands that instantly, expertly molded her to him. This was crazy. His head dipped further down and she cried out when the heated depths of his mouth engulfed one nipple. His tongue flicked her even as his hands went to her hips to hold her in place.
Suddenly, those hands flexed and she was lifted into the air, easily, almost casually. She clenched both legs around his hips as he pressed her back against rough wooden planks. She reached down and yanked his shirt over his head with both hands. Granite hard smoothness met her aching palms as she ran them urgently over the tight muscles of his chest. God he was hard. And strong. Everywhere she was soft. Even with her head spinning,she marveled at the differences between them.
She stiffened as he ripped her clothing off and then relaxed as his hand found her. He cupped her, his index finger sliding easily into her welcoming heat. Moira gasped and leaned her head back against the ridges of the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop,” she breathed.
“Didn’t plan on it,” he said, rough and amused.
She almost cried as his hand left her aching, needing more. Conn threw her dress down on the fresh straw, lowering her to lay on top. He unzipped his pants, kicking them to the side. So strong. So big. Her eyes widened as he slowly, too slowly, knelt and covered her.
Skin to skin, flesh to flesh, his heart against hers. His maleness throbbed against her. She lived on a farm, she knew how this worked. “Fast, Conn. Please.” Her sister Melanie had married last year, confessing the first time hurt. A lot. Then it got better.
He raised an eyebrow. “Fast works for me to begin with. Then we have all night for slow.” His fingers found her, wet and needy. “You’re ready.”
She’d been ready since their gazes met in the tavern. “Yes.” A fear had her pausing before bending her knees, opening herself further to him. She wanted this. Just for her.
With a low growl, he plunged inside her.
Pain ripped liked lightning. She dug her nails into his shoulders, crying out. Shock squeezed all air out of her lungs. Energy, blue and hot, flitted across her skin.
Conn’s eyes darkened to nearly black, silver flying through like shooting stars. “You lied.”
She fought to control the energy, to keep from hurting him. Pain cascaded out from where they met.
His jaw set. “Retract your claws, Moira.” He settled his bulk more securely against her, holding her in place. “Take a deep breath, control this energy before it harms you.” Then he lowered his mouth, gliding along hers. Soft, sweet, he played. The energy ebbed. His tongue flicked the corners of her lips. Sparks of a different kind lit her insides. “That’s better, baby.”
He dove deep, his tongue thrusting, demanding.
She moaned against him, relaxing her shoulders, accepting him. Her knees clutched his sides, encouraging him to move. To do something to quench this need.
He began to move, slowly at first and then with more speed. Desire returned to her skin with a vengeance. She needed. Her hands slid over his shoulders, tugging him closer. Flesh against flesh, the storm raging outside, he took her over.
His strength impressed her; his hands entranced her. But the feeling spiraling deep inside her stole every thought, every desire from her mind--she wanted what it promised. It was the light at the end of an underground tunnel--the final plunge off a rock into the ocean--the slash of yellow through deep grey clouds. And it was so close.
Plunging even harder into her heated core, Conn gave her what she sought when his mouth took her nipple. With a gentle nip of his teeth, Moira’s world spun away from her. From reality. She cried out his name as the orgasm beat through like the flapping of gulls; as she saw stars. Conn followed her into oblivion with a growl that sounded like her name.
Fire burned into her hip bone. What the hell?
Then his head dropped to the curve of her neck, dripping rain down her back in direct contrast to the heated lips claiming the area between her neck and shoulder. He panted, his entire body shifting, and then stilling when he lifted his head.
Moira came down from bliss to the smell of rain, pine and man. She opened wide eyes on his. The anger was gone, replaced by…shock. “What?”
In slow motion, he turned his head, bringing up his hand. A myriad of black lines circled around a large K on his palm. “I marked you.”
Don’t miss the next Scorpius Syndrome novel
from Rebecca Zanetti.
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Before the Scorpius Syndrome tore through North America
and nearly wiped out the population, Vivienne Wellington was
the FBI’s best profiler. The bacteria got her anyway. But she
survived. She recovered. And when she woke up from a
drug nightmare of captivity, her skills as a hunter of men
had gone from merely brilliant to full-on uncanny.
Her mysterious rescuer wants her to put them to the test.
But no matter how tempting he is, with his angel’s eyes and
devil’s tongue, Vinnie knows she shouldn’t trust him.
If the FBI were still around they would rate Raze Shadow
as one of the bad guys. His military training can’t wipe out
his association with the Mercenaries, the most feared gang in
a thousand miles. His loyalties are compromised. He won’t even
r /> tell Vinnie his real name. But there’s no FBI in the new America
of fear and firepower, only instinct and risk. And the way his
arms wrap around her tells its own story. Whatever else
Raze is concealing, he can’t hide his desire . . .
“Thrilling post-apocalyptic romance at its dark, sizzling best!”
—Lara Adrian
Dylan Patrick
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author REBECCA ZANETTI has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner—only to culminate it all in stories about alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.
Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.
Please visit Rebecca at: www.rebeccazanetti.com www.facebook.com/RebeccaZanetti.Author.FanPage
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Rebecca Zanetti, Talen
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