The Volatile Amazon Page 16

  When he tried to kiss her again, she put her hands against his chest and gently pushed. “You got your kiss. Now answer my question.”

  As he stood back to full height—tall enough her head barely reached his armpit—he licked his lip in an almost obscene way. “You taste like honey. I would love to taste all of you.”

  She refused to rise to his bait. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  His sigh sounded far too human. “Yes. If you hold tight to a person and imagine him going with you, then he will go with you.”

  “Thank you, Freyjr.”

  “Yes, well...I shall let you know when I am ready to claim my recompense.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

  Although the waters of Eden called to her, her sisters would be worried. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself back in the lodge. When she opened them a few second later, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Six pairs of stern and worried eyes drilled holes right through her.

  Let the inquisition begin...

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ian had come to visit her in her dreams again.

  Sarita sighed his name, loving the weight pressed so intimately against her when the length of his body covered hers. One of his hands took her wrists and stretched them above her head. The other hand slid up her body, tangling in the sheet, caressing her hip, her waist.

  “Ian,” she whispered again. “I missed you so much.”

  Soft, warm lips tickled across her scarred cheek and then a tongue traced the length of the defect. She pulled her hands out of his grasp and threaded her fingers through his hair to urge him on. His touch felt wonderful, but she wanted more. She needed the connection and the passion she’d felt from the first time his lips had touched hers in that first dream that seemed so long ago. “Kiss me.”

  He denied her, which came as a surprise. In all the intimate interludes they’d shared, he’d answered every one of her hushed pleas, fulfilled each sensual command she’d given.

  Something about his touch was different. Almost predatory. His caresses became more demanding, forcing her senses to kick in and drive away the groggy haze hovering from sleep. A deep breath made her eyes fly open. The earthy masculine smell she loved so much had been replaced by a new spicy scent that could only mean one thing.

  This wasn’t Ian.

  Didn’t matter that he looked like Ian. This man wasn’t him. Before she could blurt out that fact, lips covered hers. They weren’t Ian’s lips, but the feel was familiar nonetheless.

  The Amazon in her came to life as Sarita shoved her hands between their bodies. “Freyjr, you bastard. Get off me.”

  She pushed hard enough he had to catch himself from falling off the bed. Then he frowned at her, the guise he’d donned to seduce her shifting to his true appearance.

  In the moonlight streaming through her window, the god appeared ghostly blue. “Ah, little one. You do not mean that. I felt the desire in you. Your passion matches mine.”

  Her face flushed hot. Yes, she’d responded to him, but only because she’d thought he was Ian. She clutched the sheet against her chest to cover herself. Even though she was wearing a cotton nightgown, she felt far too exposed. Probably because he was naked.

  She quickly shifted her gaze to his face, but not before he caught her looking.

  His arrogant chuckle made her long to slap his face. Not that it would do any good. She might be agitated with him, but this was simply Freyjr being true to his nature.

  Grabbing one of her pillows, she tossed it onto his lap. “I already told you no.”

  “Nay, my beautiful infatuation, you did not. Your body said aye, most definitely aye.”

  “I thought you were Ian.”

  Freyjr tilted his head as his face changed, his hair tinting darker as his face became Ian’s again. “Then I shall be him if his form pleases you more than mine. Anything to know your love.” He leaned in to try to kiss her again.

  She dropped the sheet to put her hands against his chest again. “You might look like Ian, but you’re not him. Besides, you said my scars were repulsive.”

  “I merely jested.”

  “It was cruel.”

  “’Twas said to hurt you for denying me. Let me shower your body with my apology. Why does it matter if I’m not your man? Can you not pretend for this one night that you love me? Can you not let me show you pleasures beyond your wildest imagination?”

  A snorted laugh slipped out. “Typical guy. Brag, brag, brag.”

  Freyjr tilted his head as he watched her closely. “You confuse me, little one.”

  “I hear that a lot.”

  His hand moved to her face.

  Although she shouldn’t allow him to touch her, Sarita didn’t fear him. As he’d promised, he’d honored her request to stop. The other Amazons—and definitely the Sentinels—didn’t trust Freyjr any farther than they could toss him. Only Zach seemed to appreciate him as much as Sarita did. Yes, he came on a bit strong, and he was hedonistic. All the Ancients were. But when push came to shove, Freyjr had always come through.

  He’d let them know when his twin had gone missing—kidnapped by Chernabog and Helen. He’d brought Ra to Zach to give him the binding power to stop Sekhmet. And now he’d given her teleportation so she could help Ian.

  If the god wanted to stroke her face, she’d let him.

  Freyjr’s hand cupped her cheek as he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You are such a contradiction, Sarita Neeraj. Your heart is pure as a first snowfall, yet your body is fashioned for sinful pleasures.” His fingers traced her scar and then brushed over her earlobe. “You are flawed, yet those flaws only enhance your beauty. Had Sekhmet not marked you, I fear Aphrodite might have taken notice of you and injured you herself so you would be no rival to her splendor.”

  Funny, but she didn’t feel any sadness at his statement that she was flawed. Given so matter-of-factly, the words didn’t bring forward the lingering hurt over having been given what she’d considered a horrid scar. Perhaps Freyjr helped her by saying she was beautiful, or perhaps knowing Ian desired her and didn’t consider her hideous lessened her pain. For the first time since Sekhmet had dragged her claws across her face, Sarita didn’t feel ugly.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I needed to hear that.”

  He leaned in to try to kiss her again.

  “But my answer is still no.”

  He transformed himself back into Freyjr. “Need I remind you that I have yet to claim my reward for your new skill?”

  Panic sizzled through her. She needed to be able to teleport to save Ian. Would she compromise herself—whore herself to this god—just to save the man she loved?

  That was something she wasn’t prepared to do. “You won’t take it away, will you? You won’t take away my power?”

  “I could demand you submit.”

  The panic eased. “Not after the promise you made.” She was probably stupid for being so self-assured with a god of Freyjr’s power. Yet she dared because she trusted him. “You won’t because that means you’d still lose.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “If you can’t seduce me, I win. If you rape me, that means you couldn’t convince me to accept you, which means you’d lose this game we’ve been playing for all these years.”

  His scowl was scorching.

  “Would it help to know I think you’re a handsome devil?” She reached out to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

  Freyjr’s frown eased.

  “And if it weren’t for my love for Ian, I’d actually consider it.” A lie, but one his ego probably needed—exactly like he might have been telling her a sweet lie by saying she was beautiful.

  “Ah, but you please me, little one. Very muc
h.” This time, when his hand came forward as though he was going to touch her breast, she pulled the sheet higher up her body. “I but mean to give you one last gift,” he said, his voice raspy.

  Was he testing her to see if she truly trusted him? Sarita couldn’t read the look in his eyes. “What will this one cost me?”

  “A gift freely given requires no payment.”

  She let him drag the sheet to her waist. Before she could say anything about his generosity, she gasped as he pressed his palm between her breasts.

  His hand glowed orange, and the heat of it was close to unbearable.

  “Freyjr, what are you doing?”

  “I give your heart the ability to always find Avalon. You now possess the skill of the Sentinels—to be able to find your way home.”

  Damn, but she hadn’t thought of that. She could do something none of the other Amazons had ever been able to do. She could leave Avalon and return. Rebecca and Megan had to depend on their husbands, and Gina usually called to her goddess, Ix Chel. Only Sparks had left and then found her way back, but that was after Freyjr had given her Seior, a gift he’d now shared with Sarita.

  Her task was to make sure it didn’t corrupt her the way it had Sparks.

  The god pulled his hand back.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I want to stay. I want to show you all the wonderful ways of love. I care not that you are no longer a virgin, although I had always hoped to claim that prize as my own.” His voice held a hint of sadness.

  “Not happening, Freyjr. I told you no.”

  “You do not fear my punishing you for your refusal?”

  She shook her head, and he actually grinned in response. “I see good in you, Freyjr. I always have.”

  A snap of his fingers saw him fully clothed in a dark suit and his arrogance back in place. He tucked her pillow behind her back. “I cannot abide by your imperfections any longer. I am on to find a lover who is not so—” a shudder ripped through him, “—pure of heart.”

  On that pronouncement of what he obviously considered her true “flaw,” he disappeared in a burst of light.

  Sarita couldn’t help but smile. Sure, he might present himself to everyone as the Hugh Hefner of the Ancients, but deep down, he was nothing but a big teddy bear.

  Her thoughts shifted to Ian. She was ashamed that her body had responded to Freyjr’s touch. The moment she’d realized he wasn’t Ian, she felt as though ice water ran through her veins.

  Taking another lover simply wasn’t possible. Not only because of her love for Ian, but because she could never be as free with anyone else. Love gave her that freedom.

  But he didn’t remember her.

  Closing her eyes, she sniffed back the threatening tears, wanting nothing more than to see him again, to be able to touch him—to love him again—if only one more time.

  Sarita tried to picture him, to see his face. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  The smell of Avalon’s woods faded as the aroma of saltwater filled her nostrils. Her eyes flew open, and she gawked.

  She was on a beach, odd because that wasn’t what she’d expected since the last place she’d seen Ian was at Helen’s temple. The only thing that had filled her thoughts when she came to this place was Ian. Checking her new surroundings, she let the roaring sound of the waves rush through her as she dug her toes into the wet sand, fighting the urge to jerk her nightgown over her head and sprint into the water.

  A small cabana stood where the beach met the trees. It wasn’t any larger than her stark cabin at Avalon, but it seemed cozy and inviting. There wasn’t a door, just an entrance into what couldn’t be any larger than one room.

  Figuring her power brought her here for some reason, she went to see what she’d find inside. She followed a trail of footprints in the sand as they led toward the cabana. Placing a foot inside one of the prints in the damp sand, she smiled at how much larger the footprint was. Her heart suddenly knew why she’d transported herself here.

  There were only three pieces of furniture in the cabana. A table with a porcelain pitcher and bowl. A small bureau. And a rather large bed upon which Ian slept.

  His chest was bare to her, and a light sheet covered the lower half of his body. The moonlight eased the fierceness of his features, making all the anger in his face disappear to leave behind a man so handsome, she drew in a sharp breath. Her body flooded with heat as memories of what they’d shared filled her.

  Sarita stepped closer to the bed until she could have touched him. “I love you, Ian,” she whispered before she leaned down to press her lips to his.

  * * *

  Sarita had come to visit him in his dreams again.

  Again?

  Ian tried to grasp at the fragments of what had to be memories. Images hit him from every direction at the same time soft hands smoothed over his chest. The scent of jasmine seemed so familiar, as did the long braid his fingers trailed down.

  His dream lover had come to him.

  A torture designed by Helen?

  Probably. She loved to work mischief, and no doubt she’d sent this nymph to tempt him.

  Hell, even his thoughts seemed to be drowning in some odd déjà vu.

  Warm lips caressed his neck as her tongue tickled across to his ear. Her breath was hot as she whispered, “I want you.”

  “I want you too, loving.” The endearment fell from his mouth with a familiarity that cleared the last remnants of sleep from his brain.

  This wasn’t an erotic dream. Ian opened his eyes to stare at the woman sitting on the side of his bed. Her exotic beauty stole the breath from his lungs. “I know you.”

  She nodded.

  “You’re Sarita.”

  “I’m Sarita.”

  “You broke into Helen’s office.”

  “Yeah, I broke into Helen’s office. Do you remember more than that, jaanu? Do you remember...us?”

  Of course he did, but none of the recollections were tangible enough to use as the proof that he needed to confront Helen. While he was sure she’d tampered with his memories, he didn’t understand the extent of her damage or her reason for doing so.

  For all he knew, the bewitching creature could be using him to find Helen’s weakness. “Nay, loving. I remember naught of us.”

  His words seemed to wound her. Sadness filled her eyes and a frown bowed her lips. She tried to rise to her feet, but Ian grabbed her wrist to hold her where she was. Unable to stop himself, he snatched the tie from the end of her braid and unwound the plaits. Combing his fingers through the thick, dark hair, he let the tresses spill over her shoulders. She made no move to stop him, and he saw no reason to refuse what she offered. By keeping her close, perhaps he could find some answers to the questions that haunted him.

  “Show me what we shared, Sarita,” he coaxed. “What should I know?”

  Sarita hesitated, her eyes holding a kind of pain that touched his heart.

  He tried some honesty, not sure why he trusted her. But he did. “I want to remember, but I cannae. Every time I reach for a memory, it drifts away like smoke in the wind. I need you to show me what we felt. Then I might bring more back.”

  Damn, if that didn’t sound like a lame attempt to lure the lass into his bed.

  Sitting up, he shook his head. “Never mind. ’tis a silly notion.”

  Instead of answering, she leaned in, her eyes watching his as if to give him a chance to pull away before she would kiss him.

  Not only did he want to kiss her, he needed to. He met her halfway.

  The first touch of her lips to his, and he was lost. This, he remembered. He knew her taste, just as he recognized she was some kind of fever in his blood. Her tongue slid between his lips to stroke his.

  Holding her face between his palms
, he returned the ferocity of her kiss. When she finally ended the kiss and pulled back, he was arrogantly pleased her breathing was every bit as choppy as his.

  Without a word, Sarita rose then tugged her thin nightdress over her head. It fluttered to the floor. Her lacy panties followed.

  Ian threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Drinking in every exquisite inch of her body, he savored the heat pulsing to his cock. His mind might hold hazy memories of this woman, but his body recognized her as his lover.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as he took possession of her mouth again, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he desired her as he had no other woman. Her kiss was every bit as fierce as she grasped his tongue between her teeth and pulled. A growl rose from his chest. Ending the kiss, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  Setting her on the white sheets, he smiled as more memories flooded his brain. He’d seen her, just like this, spread on his bed like a succulent feast for a starving man. Her arms opened to him in welcome. With a contented sigh, he covered her body with his and settled himself until his erection was nestled against the juncture of her thighs.

  “Do you remember this?” Sarita’s voice was a sultry whisper.

  “I remember this...and I remember that husky voice.” She stiffened under him, causing a fleeting glimpse of a similar conversation. “’Tis a beautiful voice, one meant for seduction.”

  “You do remember me.”

  “Aye.” He had much more pleasurable things in mind than talking about what he did or didn’t recall. “I remember that in these slim arms I found paradise.”

  Ian kissed her again, letting his tongue lazily reclaim her mouth as he cherished the familiarity that had been out of grasp. This woman belonged to him—even though he wasn’t sure how or why he knew that.

  Rational thought tried to crowd its way into this world of bliss, but he banished it. Now wasn’t the time to think of justice or his brother or Helen. Now was the time to indulge in the passion flowing to him from the soft and very feminine form beneath him.

  Sarita’s fingers flitted down his back until she palmed his buttocks, pulling him hard against her core. Her moans were music to his ears, and although he wanted nothing more than to answer her call and bury himself deep inside her, he owed her more than a quick romp.