Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(103)

Ricco watched Mariko as she moved around the studio. He loved the way she walked, flowing feminine power she was unaware she had. Her hips swayed, calling attention to her beautiful form. She stretched, completely focusing on warming her muscles, getting her body ready for the vigorous workout of being in the ropes. It gave him the ability to watch her unnoticed. Everything she did, every move she made only served to heighten his hunger for her. 



She was very symmetrical, something he found fascinating. He worked with symmetrical patterns because they were so pleasing to the eye. She was already aroused, her body in a heightened state, every nerve ending receptive to the rope  – receptive to him.



The rope slid seductively through his fingers, an automatic motion now to ensure there were no kinks. He could tell the burn speed of a rope with that one movement. He felt for splinters, anything that might make her uncomfortable when he laid the rope against her bare skin. For him, her safety and comfort were paramount.



He found the center of the rope easily, his gaze still on Mariko. She moved him in ways he hadn't expected. It wasn't just the way their shadows connected; it was everything about her. He liked her silence. Her flashes of temper. He'd see it in her eyes just before her lashes covered the raw emotion. He loved that. Loved that beneath the serene, peaceful exterior, there was a wealth of passion and emotion. It came out the moment he put the ropes around her.



Watching her, the vision began to take shape, the way it always did. He could see the ropes laid against its beautiful canvas of curves. The halter. The corset. The colors. More, he intended to seduce her. To claim her. To make her believe his marriage proposal was real and he meant every word of it. He knew more secrets with ropes than most and they were all for his woman. He would take her to the very edge of ecstasy, hold her there and then take her to his bed.



He had tied other women, even women he had sex with  – the Lacey twins more than once  – but it had always been one or the other: sex or art. Never had he wanted to do both at the same time  – until now. He'd contemplated it, but he hadn't wanted to taint his art with something he considered casual. His art wasn't casual. By the time he'd considered using Shibari for an erotic time with the twins, he was already so jaded he'd dismissed the idea.



Shibari had been the only thing left to ground him. He'd viewed sex separately. Now, there was no separating anything from Mariko and the way he felt about her. The way he needed her. He had to find ways to tie her to him before she decided to bolt  – and she would. Any sane woman of intelligence would take one look at his reputation and run for the hills.



Mariko was intelligent and sane. She was going to come out from under the embrace of the ropes and then she'd want to leave him. He wanted her to look at him and see him. The man. Not just the rigger. That was part of him, but it wasn't all of him. He had to find a way to make her see  – and love  – all of him.



"Mariko."



Deliberately he said her name low, an order, getting her attention. She froze and then turned toward him. He was already close, moving swiftly, using a panther-like fluid motion, deliberately mesmerizing her, forcing her to focus wholly on him. She blinked as he reached for her shoulders, pulled her slightly but very firmly toward him so she was a bit off-balance and had to lean her body into his. Her gaze never left his. She was drowning there. Swallowed whole by him  – just the way he wanted.



Her skin was warm to his touch  – warm from her bath. She smelled heavenly, a combination of citrus and vanilla. He found that a little ironic because what he was about to do to her was considered anything but vanilla. He inhaled, taking her into his lungs. She was already there, wrapped around his heart. He looked down at her, his heart jerking hard in his chest as she looked back up at him.



Her face was beautiful to him. Classic bone structure, exotic eyes with sweeping, feathery black lashes, and that mouth …  that fantasy mouth. He couldn't resist bending his head to capture it. Her lips were perfect. Soft. Yielding. One hand went to her throat, his fingers seeking her pulse as he kissed her.



       
         
       
        



He didn't kiss women while he had them tied. He didn't make love to them or want to make love to them. They were part of his living art, something he needed to balance the rage with the poet in him. Then there was Mariko with her mouth and her smile and the way she moved up behind prey when she made a kill. Sheer poetry.