She also couldn’t help but wonder where Aidan was, and what he was doing. Was he fighting with his sword somewhere? Or living out some woman’s fantasy?
The last thought made her shiver with a cold chill that swept across her skin in a wave of goose bumps. It was then that she lifted her gaze and saw him.
Aidan.
She blinked to make certain it was he, and when his lusciousness didn’t disappear, her heart raced with joy.
He entered her dream with that carelessly arrogant stride she loved, but there was something different about him…an invisible mantle of great weight that seemed to hang on his shoulders. His chiseled features—so harshly, blatantly gorgeous—were set in hard, unyielding lines. His eyes cold. His steps relentless as he passed her and went to the stream.
He began to strip off his garments, which were blackened by ash and singed in places. The golden skin of his back was bared to her hungry gaze, and then an ass so perfect it made her want to weep in awe. Still he said nothing. Lyssa struggled to think of something to say.
Instead she made the stream deeper and the water warmer, and put soap on the pebbled bank to assist his bathing. She widened the blanket she rested on and pictured a picnic basket. Then wine. All the while she watched him, her blood heating and then becoming sluggish with desire. His large hands soaped his chest, gliding over mouthwatering pecs and ridged abs, his biceps flexing and bunching with latent power.
He was a sexual fantasy brought to life. The sight of him did crazy things to her nervous system, but what most affected her was the desolation in his blue eyes. What had he seen? Where had he been? His clothes and demeanor made it seem as if he’d gone to hell and back. What had they done to him to make him so…empty?
When Aidan sank beneath the surface to rinse his hair and then reemerged, the sunlight caught the droplets on his skin, turning him into some ancient pagan god. Dripping and unabashed, he stepped naked onto the bank and made no effort to retrieve his clothes. She drank him in, every inch of his tawny skin, her gaze lingering on the heavy cock and balls that were impressive even without an erection. He sank to his knees beside her and then caught her close before rolling to his back.
They lay there, his embrace laced with an underlying possessiveness that thrilled her. His breath was hot at her crown, his hands kneading her spine. Inhaling the clean scent of his damp skin, Lyssa stroked his chest in a rhythmic, soothing caress and felt at peace for the first time since he left.
“It was selfish of me to return,” he said finally, his soft brogue making her nipples ache.
“If you need something from me, I want to give it to you.”
“I’m going to hurt you, but I couldn’t stay away.”
Lyssa lifted her head and made a soft moue at the torment so evident in his features. “Why?”
Why would he hurt her? Why couldn’t he stay away?
“I need you,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I’m here.” She ran her fingers through his damp hair, then toyed with his pendant. “Tell me what happened.”
His large hand slid up to cup the back of her neck, and then pulled her down to his waiting lips. “I ache for you.”
He took her mouth with a deep glide of his tongue across hers.
“Aidan…” She sighed, her craving for him nearly unbearable.
“Do you love him?”
She blinked in surprise at his question, but didn’t misunderstand. “Chad? No. We’re just friends, although he would like to be something more, and I’m considering it.”
“Then let me have you again, one more time, before he takes you from me.”
The raw plea made no effort to hide within the brogue. That he should need her so much…that he would come to her despite the rules that said he shouldn’t…that he would open himself to her so completely, broke open something inside her.
She had heard tales of his prowess from the other Guardians. She knew how fearsome he was, how powerful. He was a near legend among his people, held up as a model for others to emulate. Captain Aidan Cross was said to have no weakness, no qualms, only a single-minded pursuit of the destruction of his enemy.
But that wasn’t true. She knew him to be sensitive and kind, in his own brooding way.
His solitary house on the hill, far away from the nearest community, told her how he kept to himself. He was estranged from his family. Reclusive and alone, he was said to be a far different man from the one who had graduated from Elite training with unbeatable scores and boundless optimism for the future.
He leaned on no one, yet he reached out to her.
“What can I do?” she asked, lost. This was not a medical problem with textbook answers. This was a wound to the soul, and she had no clue how to treat it.