—abruptly she was sucking air like a fish out of water.
Alone on the floor.
She blinked. Heavens, but the man could move fast! She sat up, looking dazedly around. “Where did you go?” she said breathlessly.
“Behind you, woman,” came the tight, furious reply.
She glanced over her shoulder. He was inside the mirror, propped in the corner, breathing hard, like he’d been running a race. She was panting herself, she realized. Her lips were swollen, she had the sting of a rug burn beginning on her spine, and her nipples throbbed.
Why was he in the mirror? For that matter, how had he gotten in the mirror? She gaped at him, bewildered.
“It reclaims me after a time,” he said flatly.
She continued gaping. “W-without preamble?” she stammered. “Just like that?”
“Aye. ’Twas not my choice to leave you in such a fashion.” His gaze dropped sharply and fixed there. “Och, Jessica, you’ve a beautiful ass. Nigh worth living a thousand years to see.”
His words drew her awareness to the fact that she was sitting on the floor, between the TV armoire and the bed, facing the entry door, her bare bottom pointed at the mirror, glancing over her shoulder at him, her sweater rucked up, jeans and panties down around her knees.
The cold reality of reason returned.
Oh, God, what had she almost just done? She gaped at the mirror, stunned.
In a matter of mere minutes, she’d been down on the floor, with her jeans and panties around her knees! A few heated kisses—and she’d been about to have sex with a man she barely knew. An arrogant, throwback of a man, at that. Who lived in a mirror. And in the midst of such dire straits, to boot!
This wasn’t like her at all. Was she freaking nuts?
Shocked and appalled at herself, Jessi stumbled to her feet, tugging at her jeans. Her panties got twisted and her jeans got stuck partway up, just beneath her butt. She yanked but they didn’t yield. Only her butt did— she felt it jiggle.
He made a choking sound. “Sweet Christ, woman, you’re killing me!”
Cheeks flaming, she shot a scowl over her shoulder at him as she bunny-hopped, bare-bottomed, into the bathroom.
A groan followed her.
“Stop looking at my butt,” she hissed fiercely.
She could hear his laughter, even through the closed door.
Hours later, Jessi awakened so hungry that her stomach was cramping.
Rolling over on the miserably lumpy hotel bed, she glanced at the clock. No wonder she was hungry—she hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours!
The room service she’d ordered earlier hadn’t come, for whatever reason: Either they’d tried to deliver it while she’d been stretched beneath Cian MacKeltar’s rock-hard body, deaf, dumb, and blind to all but his erotic assault on her senses; or they’d lost her order; or it had arrived so late that she’d been sleeping. Since she rarely got a full night’s sleep, she tended to drop off the moment her head touched the pillow, and slept like the proverbial dead, sprawled flat on her back, arms outflung.
After the near-sex-on-the-floor debacle, Jessi had gone in the bathroom and stayed in there awhile, cooling down and trying to think things through. But mostly cooling down—the man threw off serious sexual heat—because by then she’d simply been too exhausted to make much sense of anything.
When she’d finally come out, she’d stiffly informed the mirror to go away and let me sleep and don’t you dare wake me unless my life is in danger. And I do not want to talk about what just happened. Not now. Maybe never.
He’d laughed softly. As you wish, Jessica, he’d replied.
Her stomach sounded a long, growling, painful protest.
Fumbling for the light switch on the wall sconce above the bed table, she turned it on, picked up the phone, and pressed the button for room service. As she was placing her order for a double cheeseburger, fries, and a large Coke, the mirror rumbled:
“Quadruple all of that. And if there’s naught sweet, add something.”
Shrugging, she did so, assuming he’d eat it whenever he was able to come out of the mirror again.
Until the mirror had reclaimed him, it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder why he’d gone back in once she’d let him out that first night he’d killed the assassin. In her own defense, she’d had a lot of other things on her mind. Now she knew the answer. Apparently, he had no choice. Though he could be released from the mirror by the chanting of a spell, he couldn’t stay out long.
That was a problem. Exactly how did he plan to protect her from behind a pane of silvered glass?
Replacing the phone in the cradle, she scowled at him. God, the man was beautiful. Every time she looked at him, he took her breath away. Made her forget all the important things she should be thinking about. She shook her head, striving for levelheadedness. It was time for more answers. “How often and for how long can you be released from that glass?”