"I answered one of your questions. You must add a garment to your body. Panties would be nice."
She sighed. "I'd like the other shoe to appear, please." A moment later, her other foot was covered. "Back to business. Did you return so that I'd kiss you again?"
"No!"
"Too bad. I wanted to taste you again. I wanted to touch you again. Maybe let you touch me this time. I've been aching since you left me. Had to bring myself to climax twice just to cool the fever. But don't worry, I imagined it was you. I imagined stripping you, licking you, sucking you into my mouth. Mmm, I'm so-"
"Stop!" he croaked out, spinning to face her. "Stop."
His eyes, which she'd once thought were black and emotionless, were now bright as a morning sky, his pupils blown with the intensity of his desire. But rather than stalk to her, grab her and smash his body into hers, he held out his hand, fingers splayed. A fiery sword formed from the air, yellow-gold flames flickering all around it.
"Stop," he commanded again. "I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you persist with this foolishness."
That layer of truth had returned to his voice.
Far from intimidating her, his forcefulness excited her. I thought you didn't like his Neanderthal tendencies.
Oh, shut up.
Bianka leaned back, resting her weight against her elbows. "Does Lysandy like to play rough? Should I be wearing black leather? Or is this a game of bad cop, naughty criminal? Should I strip for my body-cavity search?"
He stalked to the edge of the bed, his thick legs encasing her smaller ones, pressing her knees together. He was hard as a rock, his robe jutting forward. Those golden flames still flickering around the sword both highlighted his face and cast shadows, giving him a menacing aura.
Just then, he was both angel and demon. A mix of good and evil. Savior and executioner.
Her wings fluttered frantically, readying for battle-even as her skin tingled for pleasure. She could be across the room before he moved even a fraction of an inch. Still. She had trouble catching her breath; it was like ice in her lungs. And yet her blood was as hot as his sword. This mix of emotions was odd.
"You are worse than I anticipated," he snarled.
If this progressed the way she hoped, he would be very happy about that one day. But she said, "Then let me go. You'll never have to see me again."
"And that will purge you from my mind? That will stop the wondering and the craving? No, it will only make them worse. You will give yourself to others, kiss them the way you kissed me, rub against them the way you rubbed against me, and I will want to kill them when they will have done nothing wrong."
What a confession! And she'd thought her blood hot before... "Then take me," she suggested huskily. She traced her tongue over her lips, slow and measured. His gaze followed. "It'll feel sooo good, I promise."
"And discover if you are as soft and wet as you appear? Spend the rest of eternity in bed with you, a slave to my body? No, that, too, will only make my cravings worse."
Oh, warrior. You shouldn't have admitted that. A slave to his body? If that was his fear, he more than craved her. He was falling. Hard. And now that she knew how much he wanted her...he was as good as hers. "If you're going to kill me," she said, swirling a fingertip around her navel, "kill me with pleasure."
He stopped breathing.
She sat up, closing the rest of the distance between them. Still he didn't strike. She flattened her palms on his chest. His nipples were as beaded as hers. He closed his eyes, as if the sight of her, looking up at him through the thick shield of her lashes, was too much to bear.
"I'll let you in on a little secret," she whispered. "I'm softer and wetter than I appear."
Was that a moan?
And if so, had it come from him? Or her? Touching him like this was affecting her, too. All this strength at her fingertips was heady. Knowing this gorgeous warrior wanted her-her, and no other-was even headier. But knowing she was the very first to tempt him, and so strongly, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
"Bianka." Oh, yes. A moan.
"But if you'd like, we can just lie next to each other." Said the spider to the fly. "We don't have to touch. We don't have to kiss. We'll lie there and think about all the things we dislike about each other and maybe build up an immunity. Maybe we'll stop wanting to touch and to kiss."
Never had she told such a blatant lie, and she'd told some big ones over the centuries. Part of her expected him to call her on it. The other part of her expected him to grasp on to the silly suggestion like a lifeline. Use it as an excuse to finally take what he wanted. Because if he did this, simply lay next to her, one temptation would lead to another. He wouldn't be thinking about the things he disliked about her-he would be thinking about the things he could be doing to her body. He would feel her heat, smell her arousal. He'd want-need-more from her. And she'd be right there, ready and willing to give it to him.
She fisted his robe and gently tugged him toward her. "It's worth a try, don't you think? Anything's worth a try to make this madness stop."
When they were nose to nose, his breath trickling over her face, his gaze fastened on her lips, she began to ease backward. He followed, offering no resistance.
"Want to know one of the things I dislike about you?" she asked softly. "You know, to help get us started."
He nodded, as if he were too entranced to speak.
She decided to push a little faster than anticipated. He already seemed ready for more. "That you're not on top of me." Just a little more persuasion, and that would be remedied. Just a little... "How amazing would it feel to be that close?"
"Lysander," an unfamiliar female voice suddenly called. "Are you here?"
Girl was going to die! Bianka scowled.
Lysander straightened, jerking away from her as if she had just sprouted horns. He stepped back, disengaging from her completely. But he was trembling, and not from anger.
"Ignore her," she said. "We have important business to attend to."
"Lysander?" the woman called again.
Bloody nuisance. Couldn't she take a hint and leave?
His expression cleared, melted to steel. "Not another word from you," he barked, backing away. "You tried to lure me into bed with you. I don't think you meant to make me dislike you at all. I think you meant to-" A low snarl erupted from his throat. "You are not to try such a thing with me again. If you do, I will finally cleave your head from your body."
Well, this battle was clearly over. Not one to give up, however, she tried a different strategy. "So you're going to leave again? Coward! Well, go ahead. Leave me helpless and bored. But you know what? When I'm bored, bad things happen. And next time you come back here, I just might throw myself at you. My hands will be all over you. You won't be able to pry me off!"
"Lysander," the girl called again.
He ground his teeth. "Return to your cloud," he threw over his shoulder. "I will meet you there."
He was going to meet another girl? At her cloud? Alone, private? Oh, no, no, no. Bianka hadn't worked him into a frenzy so that someone else could reap the reward.
Before she could inform him of that, however, he said, "Give Bianka whatever she wants." Talking to his own cloud, apparently. "Anything but escape and more of those...outfits." His gaze intensified on her. "That should stave off the boredom. But I only agree to this on the condition that you vow to keep your hands to yourself."
Anything she wanted? She didn't allow herself to grin, the girl forgotten in the face of this victory. "Done."
"And so it is," he said, then spun and stalked from the room. His wings expanded in a rush, and he disappeared before she could follow. But then, there was no need to follow him. Not now.
He had no idea that he'd just ensured his own downfall. Whatever she wants, he'd said. She laughed. She didn't need to touch him or wear lingerie to win their next battle. She just needed his return.
Because then, he would become her prisoner.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE'D ALMOST GIVEN IN.
Lysander could not believe how quickly he'd almost given in to Bianka. One sultry glance from her, one invitation, and he'd forgotten his purpose. It was shameful. And yet, it was not shame that he felt. It was more of that strange disappointment-disappointment that he'd been interrupted!
Standing before Bianka, breathing in her wicked scent, feeling the heat of her body, all he'd been able to recall was the decadent taste of her. He'd wanted more. Wanted to finally touch her skin. Skin that had glowed with health, reflecting all those rainbow shards. She'd wanted that, too, he was sure of it. The more aroused she'd become, the brighter those colors had glowed.
Unless that was a trick? What did he truly know of women and desire?
She was worse than a demon, he thought. She'd known exactly how to entrance him. Those naked photos had nearly dropped him to his knees. Never had he seen anything so lovely. Her breasts, high and plump. Her stomach, flat. Her navel, perfectly dipped. Her thighs, firm and smooth. Then, being asked to lie beside her and think of what he disliked about her...both had been temptations, and both had been irresistible.