The Volatile Amazon Page 8

  For that one moment he’d had her beneath him, Ian had forgotten everything but Rebecca. No revenge burned through him—no need to right the wrongs committed against him so very long ago. All he knew was her.

  Damn it all. That was what he got for thinking with his cock.

  Ian grabbed his plaid, draped it around his hips and headed for his pond. A nice cold swim would help settle his nerves and, hopefully, his body. Perhaps then, he could get some sleep.

  He didn’t make it all the way out into the courtyard when he saw Rebecca’s crumpled shift resting at the edge of the pond. His gaze searched the area as his heart sped to a rough beat. She was nowhere to be seen.

  The pond.

  She had to be in the pond. Below the surface, rinsing her hair perhaps?

  Time passed slowly as he waited for her to appear until panic seized him. Casting aside his plaid, he jogged into the water, fearing he’d waited too long. What if she’d already breathed so much water into her lungs he couldn’t save her?

  He dove, trying to find her shadowy figure in the dark depths of the waters. If only he could shout her name, but all he could do was sweep his hands across the rocks and pray he’d stumble across her.

  His lungs burned for want of air, and his panic grew by leaps and bounds. One horrible image stuck firm in his mind—Rebecca resting lifeless at the bottom of his pond.

  Forced to surface, he gulped in a couple of breaths and dove for the rocks again. He sliced furiously through the water and cracked his forehead against a heavy stone. Dizziness made him lose track of which way was up, and he started thrashing, finding nothing but more water.

  He was going to die, his new life wasted. And Rebecca—the one person who’d meant something to him besides his brother—would die anyway.

  Ian suddenly felt a thin arm wrap around his waist and tug.

  The moment his face broke the surface, he coughed and sputtered to drive the water from his lungs. Only when he could breathe again did he notice Rebecca kneeling on the grass, watching him with wide eyes.

  He hauled himself out of the pond and flopped to his back.

  “You okay now?” Her voice was whisper soft. She picked up his plaid and touched the corner to the sore spot on his forehead before letting it fall back to the grass. “At least, you’re not bleeding.”

  “Aye, although I believe I inhaled most of the pond’s water. ‘Twill have to wait for a good rain to fill it again.” How odd to be teasing after the terror at almost losing her and nearly dying himself. Perhaps it was the overwhelming relief that they’d both survived.

  Then anger swept through him. He sat up to face her. “What were you thinking, lass? Swimming in the dark? Ye donnae know the depths of the pond.”

  “I’m a strong swimmer.” Her reply came in a calm voice, one full of strength and control, things she’d been lacking the last time they’d met. Had she realized she was naked as she knelt beside him, she might have been more cautious.

  It took all his concentration not to reach out and touch the beauty being paraded before his eyes. Her breasts were full, firm and high, graced with dark nipples that had become tight buds in the night’s cold. A V of dark curls hid her treasures, making him lick his lips in anticipation of tasting her. Her waist was slim, her legs and arms lean muscle and strikingly dark skin. Her wet hair tumbled in beautiful disarray around her shoulders.

  “Strong swimmer or nae,” he scolded, “you should be more careful.”

  “You told me I could use the pond.”

  “Not in the wee hours of the morning, I didnae.” When she tried to rise, Ian grabbed her arm. “Promise me you’ll not do something so foolish again.”

  Rebecca jerked her arm away. “Foolish? Seems to me I saved your sorry ass, Ian. You should be thanking me, not scolding me.”

  She had him there, not that he was ready to admit it. The terror that had gripped him when he thought he’d lost her remained so vivid... “Promise me.”

  Rising to her demure height, she frowned down at him. “What do you care anyway? All I am is a way for you to humiliate my...husband.” The emphasis she put on the last word was strained. “I assure you, if you think I’ll betray him—or my sisters—you’re wrong. I’d rather drown than lure any of them here. So I’ll swim whenever I want, and you can’t do a damned thing about it.”

  Whirling on her heel, she only took a few strides before Ian got to his feet and caught her upper arm. She tried to twist away, but he wouldn’t allow it. “Wait. Please, Rebecca. Wait.”

  She wouldn’t face him, but she did stop struggling.

  “I’m sorry, lass. You’re right.”

  Glancing back, she lifted a dark eyebrow.

  “I owe you my life.”

  “And?” she urged.

  “I’ll not be shaming you. That game is over. I owe you that much.”

  She snorted. “But you mean to kill Artair.”

  “He led me to my death. You cannae expect me to set that aside because you saved me from dying. I’ve died before. Once more is not frightening. I give you this favor—the promise not to touch you for revenge or shame. Take the boon, lass, and be satisfied.”

  “How?” she asked, tilting her head back and look him in the eye.

  Ian had to will himself not to take his fill of looking at her body. The moonlight cast down on Rebecca, making her wet hair appear so dark as to be purple. She didn’t shiver against the chill of the night, as if the swim had truly made her stronger.

  Didn’t she realize that he wanted her? If she’d only drop her gaze, she’d see the obvious sign of what being around her did to him.

  “How, Ian?” she demanded.

  “How what?”

  “How did Artair lead you to being burned to death?”

  “He made my clan believe I was practicing the dark arts, that I was a witch.”

  “A warlock,” she corrected.

  “Does it truly matter?”

  “It does to warlocks.” A smile bowed her lips before it quickly faded. “What did he do to make them think you practiced black magicks?”

  The memories were painful, even after all this time. To be betrayed by someone Ian had admired and loved with his whole being would always feel like a part of his soul had been ripped away. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

  This time, when she tried to move away, he’d have none of it. He jerked her against him.

  She gasped when her breasts brushed his chest. “I’m naked.”

  “Aye, so am I. Makes it convenient.” His mouth swooped down to cover hers.

  She bit his lip.

  He let her go and swiped the back of his hand against his mouth. At least she hadn’t drawn blood. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because you broke your promise.”

  “Promise?”

  Taking a step back, she narrowed her eyes. “You’ve forgotten already? You promised you wouldn’t use me to shame Artair.”

  “You think that’s all I want from you?”

  She gave him a curt nod.

  “You’re wrong. I didn’t break my promise. This isn’t about Artair. Not anymore.” Grasping her hand, he tugged her forward. “It’s about us, Rebecca. Just us.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “When I make love to you, it will only be you and me. Artair will never have to know.”

  “And that makes it better?” She tried to take another step back, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “Aye, it does. When I look at you, lass, I don’t see Artair MacKay’s wife. I see the woman I want above all other women.”

  “Yeah, right...”

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, Ian picked her up, pulling her hard against him as her feet dangled. The length of his erection pressed agains
t the juncture of her thighs. “I see you, lass. Just you. Not another man’s wife. Not Earth. I see the beautiful woman I desire.”

  This time, when he kissed her, she relaxed, letting his lips explore hers. She shocked the hell out of him when her tongue heightened the exchange, slipping past his lips to stroke across his as her arms looped around his neck.

  The feel of her bare breasts flattened against his chest, the softness of the curls rubbing against his cock, the taste of her, intoxicated him. With a growl, he ripped his mouth away from hers and tucked his face against the crook of her neck, loving how she tilted her head to let him play.

  Licking and nibbling along her soft skin, he worked to her ear and tickled it with his tongue. “Just us, loving. This is just us.”

  * * *

  Sarita tried to find the strength to push herself away, but she couldn’t. He stroked her body like a talented musician mastered an instrument, and she was helpless to bring the embrace to an end.

  She’d been so frightened she’d lost him and then so angry at his reaction to her pulling him from the pond, she’d forgotten she was naked until he took her into his arms. Now that they were skin to skin, she wasn’t sure she’d walk away from this still a virgin.

  Her stubborn pride kicked in, and despite his words to the contrary, she was sure he wanted to use her as a weapon against Artair. What man would want a woman with such a horrible scar and a shredded earlobe? “Please. No.”

  His face was suddenly in her vision. “No? You donnae want me?” His hands settled on her hips as he slipped his erection between her thighs and thrust across her core. “Don’t deny it. You want me as much as I want you.”

  Heat surrounded her, enveloped her. “I do want you,” she admitted, then wished she’d bitten her tongue.

  “Then let me make love to you, here in the moonlight.”

  He doesn’t want you. He wants revenge.

  “I—I can’t. Artair—”

  Ian released her, giving her only a moment to steady herself on shaky legs before he groaned and stepped away. He snatched his plaid from the ground and tossed her a scowl as he wrapped it around his hips. “I told you, this isn’t about your bloody husband!”

  No longer caring if she was naked, she faced him, hands clenched at her side. “How can it not be about Artair?”

  He just shook his head and marched toward the door.

  “Ian!”

  No response.

  Goddess, she wanted her powers! She’d freeze the dew in the grass and make him stop and listen—as well as explain. There was so much he needed to know. “Ian!”

  Stopping at the archway, he turned back to her. “This isn’t about your husband. This is about you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  This man who had been nothing but cocky arrogance from the moment she’d met him now appeared vulnerable. He gave his head a shake.

  “What do you mean, Ian?”

  “I care for you, loving. That’s what it means.”

  On that puzzling pronouncement, he slipped inside the castle.

  Chapter Eight

  This battle was the hardest Sarita had ever fought. If only she could take up her sword and attack this demon the same way she’d faced Marbas, she would feel as if she had some control over the situation. Alas, this enemy she couldn’t face on a battlefield.

  Hard to fight myself with a sword.

  Her pride warred with the passion Ian inspired. She kept seeing his naked body, slick with water and glowing in the moonlight. The man was a mountain of muscle, his arms and shoulders sculpted as though Michelangelo himself had created him from a block of pristine marble. His face was sharp angles and his cheeks were covered with reddish beard stubble that made her fingertips itch to trace each line and rub against the roughness. His erection had stood away from his body, bobbing with his movements. Firm, thick and long, seeing it in all its glory had sent fire sweeping between her legs.

  I’m an idiot.

  At least she was if she planned to follow through with the scheme her mind was forming. Everything inside her screamed to steal away his power by going to him and consciously making the choice to sleep with him.

  But if she went to him, she’d also be taking him at his word, that this was no longer about making a fool out of Artair—or her, for that matter. Why should she believe Ian? He’d taken her captive as a way to lure Artair out, and no doubt the Amazons as well. She’d yet to figure out exactly what he wanted to do with them, short of knowing his hatred for Artair ran deep. Someone else—someone powerful—was behind this mess, and whichever Ancient it was probably wanted the Amazons dead.

  That god or goddess would have to take a number and get in line. The women were at the top of quite a few deities “must kill” lists. Since being called into service, the Amazons had faced more demons than Sarita could remember. As far as gods, they’d defeated Chernabog and Sekhmet, as well as a few lesser deities.

  No matter how many names she tossed around in her mind this whole nightmare smacked of Helen. Only someone as vindictive as her would be on a quest against Artair. To research his past and discover the sad history of Ian’s death had to require years of dedication.

  Just like the first time she’d stirred up trouble, Helen was bringing the fight straight to the Amazons.

  “That bitch.”

  Helen hated Rebecca more than any of the other Amazons since Earth had denied her what she wanted most—a partnership of sister Earths to rule the world. It had to be Helen who’d ordered Ian to set Marbas loose so he could capture Rebecca.

  The whole puzzle fell neatly into place. Helen had enjoyed quite a bit of time to master her powers since she’d ascended to become an Ancient. Because she was a daughter of Gaia—the mother of all creation—she could learn how to master Seior. Especially its greatest power—to resurrect the dead. That was how she brought Ian back. Sarita had no doubt she’d uncover Helen’s connection if she could get him to open up and talk about what had happened so long ago.

  And there was a good way to coax him into that kind of trust...

  Oh, Goddess.

  She was actually becoming as bad as he was, thinking of seducing him just so she could find the connection between Artair and Ian’s clan.

  No.

  That was an excuse to justify going to him so she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for her own feelings. What flared between them had gone much, much farther than either had expected. She didn’t want to sleep with him to force him let his guard down any more than he wanted to use her to punish Artair.

  Something had bonded them in a way she wasn’t able to fight. But if she let Ian seduce her, she would be the one who was conquered by her own desire for the frustrating Highlander.

  Ah, but if she went to him first?

  All’s fair in love.

  And war.

  With a smile on her face, Sarita headed to the door.

  * * *

  That bitch Helen was playing games with him, sending Rebecca to haunt his sleep again.

  He’d just drifted off when he sank into the familiar world of his erotic dreams. Rebecca slid between his sheets, her hands stroking up his chest as she feathered kisses across his shoulders. She was naked, her skin burning him each place it met his.

  He dug his fingers into her hair, wondering at how the thickness held a bit of dampness... From her swim.

  This was no dream.

  Gripping her shoulders, he sat up, holding her away from him. “What are you doing, lass?”

  “I’d think that was obvious.” With no warning, her fingers encircled his stiff shaft.

  Something between a groan and a gasp fell from his lips. “But ye said—”

  Her hand slid up and down his length. “I want you, Ian.”
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  While he might damn himself for his reaction, the shreds that remained of his honor wouldn’t let him take her until things were straightened out between them. He’d promised not to make love to her out of revenge. He needed to know what purpose she had in coming to him like a wraith in the night.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Instead of answering, she released his erection and straddled his hips. In a tantalizingly slow pace, she set herself down on his groin and rubbed against him. “I want to make love with you.”

  Before he could ask another question, she put her palms on his shoulders and pushed his back to the mattress.

  “But why would you—”

  “Shut up, jaanu.” The sparkle in her eyes took the sting out of her command.

  “Jaanu?”

  She didn’t explain the endearment. “This is my choice. I want you, and I don’t give a damn about anyone else right now except you and me.”

  “Are you sure, loving?”

  “Shut up, jaanu,” she said again, “and kiss me.”

  Her smile intoxicated him, her skin iridescent as it glowed in the light of the fire in his hearth. He’d never seen anything half as beautiful.

  “Yes, m’lady. Anything you ask that I can give you is yours.”

  “You. I want you.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Cupping her neck, he pulled Rebecca down until he could kiss her. Not a gentle kiss, but one to tell her he’d passed the point of letting her walk away.

  His tongue caressed hers as he smoothed his hands up her arms and across her collarbone. Her breasts beckoned him. He savored the press of them against his palms. Soon it wasn’t enough to touch, he had to taste her.

  He sat up and grabbed her waist to set her higher on his lap so her damp heat nestled his erection. Then he ran his tongue across one distended nipple.

  Rebecca arched her back, laced her fingers through his hair and tugged.

  He drew the tip into his mouth, applying suction while she moved against him. Since she seemed so receptive to his touch, he shifted to the other breast, laving and teasing until she pulled his hair rough enough to sting.