Midnight's Captive(132)

“Here you go,” the bartender said.

Phelan paid her without taking his eyes from the woman dancing. “Who is that?” he asked over the music that seemed to grow even louder.

The bartender turned her head to look where he was pointing. “Oh, that’s Aisley. She’s not been here in a couple of years. Forget it. She doesn’t talk to anyone. Though she always gets the blokes’ flags to raise,” she said with a knowing wink.

Phelan took his drink and moved to a different part of the club to get a better view of Aisley. She danced with her eyes closed, as if she were part of the music blaring around her.

He’d never seen anything like her before. Her body was pliant, her movements fluid. She was one with the music, as if she didn’t exist without it, and it without her. Her dancing enthralled him, fascinated him.

Captivated him.

And that was nothing compared to what the magic was doing to him. It swarmed him, surrounding him in its persuasive, formidable tethers without him even knowing it.

His body was on fire, aching for a woman’s touch—Aisley’s touch.

Phelan had no idea how long he watched her or how many songs she danced to. He would stay there for eternity if it meant he could see her.

And then she opened her eyes to look right at him.

Something primal moved inside him. He had to know this woman. At all costs.

When he saw the cage being lowered, he hurried to her. She tried to evade him, but there was no way Phelan was going to lose sight of her.

He followed her down a long, narrow hallway that came to a dead end. She whirled around and glared at him with eyes as dark as her hair.

Phelan could hardly breathe. She was magnificent dancing, but up close he was stunned at her earthy beauty from her dark skin, speaking of Spanish heritage, to her incredible lips.

His hands itched to feel her mocha-colored skin beneath his. Even when he knew he should back away from her, he couldn’t. He kept walking to her until he stood inches from her.

“Wh—?”

He placed a finger on her lips to silence her. “No’ tonight, beauty. No words,” he said as he leaned close and brushed his lips over hers.

Phelan felt her body jerk. Was it in surprise? Had she thought he would hurt her? Never. She was a woman to be protected and cherished, a woman to be loved and adored.

He placed his lips on hers. When she relaxed, he swept his tongue inside her mouth and groaned at the smooth, honeyed taste of her.

Her soft moan was his undoing. He deepened the kiss, the need, the sheer, unadulterated hunger that assaulted him, left him reeling.

But he couldn’t release her. She tasted too good.

Phelan lifted his hand and grazed his thumb over her bared waist. Longing shot through him, setting him on fire with the desire urging him on.

Her skin was as soft as down, and her kiss as heady as wine. The fact she was responding to his kisses only made his need grow.

He groaned when she placed her hand on his chest, and though he hated to stop it, he ended the kiss when she gave him a soft shove back.

Phelan glanced around, wondering if there was a place they could be alone. He had to have her, or explode from the desire heating his blood.

“You don’t want to get mixed up with me,” she whispered and moved around him.

It was only as he turned to watch her leave that he realized the magic he’d been feeling was hers.

“Go ahead and run, beauty. I’ll find you again,” Phelan said to himself.



Aisley shoved open the back door to the club and gulped in the cool night air. She reached out to grab hold of the side of the building as her world tilted haphazardly.

“My God,” she murmured in shock and dismay. “I just kissed a Warrior.”

How he hadn’t realized what she was and killed her instantly, she didn’t know. But it was time for her to get out of town.