The Barbarian's Owned(13)

“Hate is passion. I want your passion, and all other parts of you.”

In spite of herself, the words tickled somewhere deep. It caused another reflexive comparison to Reese, who had despised her passion and obsession and even the intellect he’d once claimed had attracted him to her. Everything that made her strong had made Reese feel small. Garr wasn’t put off by any of it.

“You know, take me home and stop dunking me in the water, and maybe I’d let you take me on a few dates,” she lied. “Do this the traditional human way and you wouldn’t be half as bad.” It was a hell of a gambit.

“You already want me.”

Pompous jerk! She scowled while scrubbing some of the mud from her clothes with her fingers. “I want nothing to do with you.” She kept her voice sharp as she dared.

“Ythirians can smell arousal.”

Oh. Rae assessed her body, and in fact, the sensation of him pressed into her had her insides knotted tight, her skin flushed. She’d thought it was the warm water at first, but it had been a while since she’d been with a man—and she’d never been with one quite so physically sculpted as Garr. “Arousal isn’t the same as liking someone. Let alone loving them.”

He snorted. “You either want me or you don’t. And you do.”

Irritated, she pushed against him in a bid to escape. He opened his arm to let her surge away, and Rae turned to glare back at him.

Garr relaxed into the pool, arms spread wide on its rim. He watched her, amused.

Fisting her hands beneath the water, she said, “Love isn’t a purely genital connection where I’m from.”

He frowned, confused now.

“You know. Love.” The word was coming out as English and not Ythirian. Had they no exact equivalent? “Wanting to be with someone for reasons beyond just the physical. For all the reasons, all at once.”

“Of course,” he snapped. “The words don’t translate well, but we have it too. I want more than your body.”

She nodded. Okay. Prediction: in five seconds, he’s going to say something that makes me want to murder him.

Struggling to explain, Garr glanced at the water, then back at her. “I also want your children.”

Yyyup.

“And,” he went on, “for you to manage the homestead.”

Uh huh. Keep it coming, big guy.

He stood so that she was reminded how she had to crane her head to look up at him. Water sleeked from his enormous shoulders. “And I want your spirit. Your intellect. As taliyar, you will help rule domé Kaython.” He squeezed his hand into a fist. “You will strengthen my people and we will crush our enemies.”

“Romantic.” Rae patted his flat, powerful abdomen and—okay—even after all that, she sort of wanted to kiss him there just a little. Shirtless as he was, she could see where those dark markings disappeared into his waterlogged pants, the weight sagging them low enough to reveal the ridges of his hip bones.

Between those ridges was the just-slightly concave cup at the root of his abdomen. Pushing carnal desires aside, Rae looked into his shiny black eyes. “Love isn’t just the sum of different metrics for things I give you. Or even things you can give me.”

“Then explain it to me,” he growled irritably.

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. “For starters, it’s a partnership. It’s both of us making each other the best people we can be—and that won’t happen if you’ve got all the power.

Love doesn’t mean I’m yours, so much as that we’re each others. It would mean—and this is totally hypothetical, as it will never happen—it would mean you’re also mine.”

He scowled stonily at her. “I am prime.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at it, sweetie.” Another pat to his abdomen. Whoo boy. That is fast becoming the “just one more M&M” of physical gestures. It’s a nice feature on him, but I’ve got to stop. She willed her hand to her side.

Garr frowned at her and it was clear he’d sensed the sarcasm—he just didn’t know what to do with it. “Sit.” He pointed, and when Rae folded her arms, he moved closer.

She danced back, but soon found herself in his lap again, as before. Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Now what?”

“A prime takes care of his mate,” he answered simply, taking that dried fig. He squeezed it, breaking the rind until a viscous substance filled his waiting palm beneath.

The strong fruity scent and consistency made her realize that somehow the Skorvag had grown soap. On a tree. For people to just pick and use.