“Waiting for someone?” he murmured.
Gasping, Lisette spun around and tilted her head back to look up at him. Her pretty brown eyes lit with pleasure as her heartbeat picked up. “Zach,” she breathed.
The sound of his name on her lips should not affect him so strongly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his chest.
Backing away, he leaned against a tree. “What are you doing here? Are you waiting for someone?” He crossed his arms. “Sheldon, perhaps?”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would I be waiting for Sheldon? He’s Richart’s Second, not mine.”
“Don’t you want him to be yours? In every sense of the word?” he drawled, trying to keep the jealousy he felt from his voice.
She stared up at him for a long moment.
He knew the instant she realized he had seen them together.
Color exploded in her face. “You saw that?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The dream?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “That wasn’t my dream, Zach.”
“You were the woman I saw writhing on the bed with Sheldon.”
“Well, you should have stuck around,” she countered. “If you had, you would have seen me separate myself from the woman on the bed and leave the room.”
He frowned. “What?”
“I’m telepathic.”
“I know.”
“Well, do you remember me mentioning—the night Roland, Sarah, and I, ah, questioned you—that I have no control over the ability when I fall asleep? That I’m often sucked into other people’s dreams?”
Relief flooded him. “Tracy was dreaming about Sheldon.”
“Yes. And I was sucked in.” She grimaced. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to look Sheldon in the eye again.”
He smiled, pleased that the young Second didn’t interest Lisette. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” He nodded to the house. “So what are you doing out here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Habit perhaps. I’ve watched over Ami for so long, it’s hard to stop. Or maybe . . .”
He arched a brow. “Maybe?”
“Maybe I was looking for you.”
Heat swept through his body. “Me?” He straightened away from the tree.
“I was worried about you.” She gave him a long, thorough once-over. “The last time I saw you, you were wounded. And, I have to tell you, you still aren’t looking so good. Are you okay?”
He glanced down and swore when he saw the slashes that marred his form. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Zach—”
“I’m all right,” he interrupted before she could protest further.
After a moment, she nodded, face pensive. How she tempted him. The sight of her in black pants that hugged full hips and long, slender legs. Full breasts stretching the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt. Moonlight flirting with her pale skin and plump, pink lips. Weapons adorning her like jewelry, an ever-present reminder that she was a warrior and could kick ass.
All beckoned him, daring him to do something reckless.
He moved a step closer.
She didn’t back away.
He took another step.
She held her ground.
Barely a breath separated them.
“I want to try something,” he proposed.
Her heartbeat increased. “Okay.”
Lowering his head, Zach pressed his lips to hers. His pulse jumped at the warm contact, racing to match hers.
Her breath caught.
Tilting his head, he increased the pressure, deepened the contact, and drew his tongue across those soft lips. She tasted incredible. Made him want to devour her. And yet . . .
Frowning, he broke the sweet contact. “You didn’t pull away.”
Her eyes now bore a faint amber glow. “What?”
“You didn’t pull away.”
“Why would I pull away?” she asked, voice husky.
Because I’m me, he almost said.
Disappointment seared him. The pain of his injuries increased.
Just to be sure . . .
“I’m going to try something else now.”
Her lips quirked up as she arched a brow. “Okay.”
Raising a hand, he cupped her breast.
The amber glow in her eyes flashed brighter.
Lisette’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Zach molded his large, warm hand to her breast as he watched her warily. His eyes shone with a faint golden light. His fingers squeezed gently before he drew his thumb across the taut peak that strained against the cotton of her shirt.
Lust whipped through her, weakening her knees and making her fingers curl with the need to touch him, to stroke him, to explore every muscled inch of him.
Swearing, he withdrew his hand and took a step back.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, embarrassed by how breathless she sounded.