“No,” she rasped.
She didn’t want to be afraid of him, didn’t want to believe the man who’d caressed and kissed her with such passion was capable of the carnage she’d witnessed last night. But in the last twenty-four hours her life had gone from blessed normality to an episode of Supernatural. Her initial delight and shock in coming face-to-face with Nicolai may have held off the fear, but now it overwhelmed her, threatened to drag her under its cold obsidian undertow. “Please, can you turn the lamp on?”
Nicolai halted, his chest mere inches from her palm. The heat of his body called out to her like a siren’s wail and she dropped her arm. She pressed her hand to her thigh and rubbed as if she could erase the tingle from the almost-touch. Nothing could get rid of her fierce yearning to stroke the hard wall of muscle though.
His eyes narrowed at her request, but after a long moment he complied. He leaned to the side and snagged the chain that looked ridiculously delicate in his big hand. A sharp tug and a circle of soft light filled the room. Tamar exhaled, the claustrophobic suffocation easing from her chest and loosening its grip on her throat.
Nicolai should have appeared less threatening in the light.
Not.
The muted glow emphasized his large frame that had been partly hidden in shadow. Wide shoulders, enormous chest, slim hips and long legs with thighs that could have no doubt cracked walnuts. A warrior’s body. He wouldn’t have been out of place in ancient Sparta, bearing armor, a spear and shield. Yet the black t-shirt and pants he wore were just as intimidating as any soldier’s regalia.
His gaze settled back on her and, for the first time since he’d entered the room, she could clearly see the color. Lavender, just as she’d remembered. Except in her dreams, his eyes had burned with desire.
Now as he studied her with all the warmth of a bug under a microscope, they were twin chips of violet ice.
“H-how?” She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows. A chill skated over her body and she tightened her embrace. “How is this—”
“Possible?” He mimicked her pose, except with his thick legs spread shoulder-width apart his posture exuded confidence and strength while hers reeked of fear. “I can answer part of it. The other,” he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, “I honestly don’t know.”
That reply did little to comfort her.
“Come here,” he commanded. And when he extended his arm, palm up, she almost slid her hand into his. Almost. It seemed natural to unfold her arms and reach for him, but reason intruded, ruled. At the last second, she tensed, jerked back and edged past him, ignoring the hand that had brought her such immense pleasure she’d writhed and erupted under it.
Avoiding his stare, she perched on the mattress and waited. Slowly, his arm lowered and Nicolai turned toward her, his expression as unreadable as the Sphinx. He slid his hands in the front pockets of his pants.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Tamar,” he began. “You are right. We—my people—are called the hippogryph. We’ve lived beside humans as long as they have existed, but sometimes, like last night, the secrecy of our world is threatened.”
“Last night. The other monst—uh…hippogryph,” she said with a blush. God, for some reason calling him a “monster” felt like a racist slur. “That was you?”
He nodded, overlooking her blunder. “I tracked Evander to your town and found him before he could attack you.” A moment of silence passed between them. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
Resa flashed across her mind. Tamar shook her head as if she could knock the painful image loose. “Evander?”
“The one who came after you,” he explained and for the first time a hint of emotion entered his voice. Anger. “He’s what my people call a rogue, a traitor. I’ve been on his trail four months now. Though I’ve caught up with him a few times, he’s managed to elude me. Like last night.” From the grim set of his mouth, Tamar assumed his failure to capture this Evander rankled. She imagined to a man like Nicolai, defeat didn’t sit well.
Whoa, wait. Caught up with him…
She sucked in a deep breath. Flicked her gaze up toward him. Examined the harsh planes of his beautiful face before skimming down his chin and neck to his shoulder. The shoulder that, in her dreams, had carried a scar.
Time slowed to the pace of a snail on Ambien.
As if from a distance, she watched herself stand and approach him. She stopped in front of him and neither of them moved. That broad chest rose and fell and she fought the temptation to lay her head on it. Or lift his shirt, place her lips on the golden flesh, open her mouth and taste him. God, just to nibble on that intoxicating blend of honey, cinnamon and skin.