The Stone Prince

  He stopped midstride, then slowly turned to face her. "Rules?" he said, his tone deceptively soft.

  "Three rules I expect you to obey if you want to stay with me." She held up one finger. "Rule number one: no telling me what to do. I've noticed you're a give orders kind of guy. Well, I'm a take-your-orders-and-shove-them kind of girl. That isn't productive. Therefore, while staying with me, you obey me. And that's not negotiable."

  As she spoke, Jorlan slowly unfolded the multicolored cloth at his waist. His nakedness had disconcerted her earlier, and he knew it would do so now. He wanted no talk of rules and regulations unless he was the one issuing them.

  Katie's mouth formed a small O, but far from silencing her, his action seemed to propel her onward. "Two," she said. "No touching me without my permission."

  That one he liked even less than the first. "And the third?"

  Another finger. "From now until I'm rid of you, you will always, always wear clothes."

  Jorlan crossed his arms over his chest. He actually preferred wearing his garments. When not coupling, of course. But the little witch sought to place him under her control, and that he did not like. The warrior in him rebelled, for not even the Great-Lord had dictated his actions to such a degree.

  Yet how did one deal with such a brazen female?

  The answer came to him in a flash; he almost smirked.

  "Well?" Her hands anchored to her hips.

  "I agree to your terms, katya."

  A genuine smile of relief lifted the corners of her lips, a smile that softened her expression and lit her features with radiance. The effect was devastating, and his breath hitched in his lungs. No woman had a right to possess such a grin. He resisted this newly discovered allure, vowing to remain impenetrably guarded against that captivating smile.

  "That was easier than I expected," she said, still smiling.

  "I agree to your terms," he added as if she hadn't spoken, "with a few minor adjustments."

  That wiped the grin from her face, and he was once again able to breathe. "You have nothing to bargain with, Jorlan."

  He arched a brow. "Do I not?"

  "If you're planning to use your magic--"

  "No magic, I promise you."

  "Well, then, you're screwed, because I'm not changing the rules." Her satisfaction rang loud and clear.

  Pretending to mull over his next words, he stroked his jaw. "We must journey to your dwelling this night, must we not?" He didn't give her time to respond. "I can do that clothed...or I can do that naked."

  She gasped. "Now wait just a damn minute. I can leave you here by yourself, you know."

  "If you think to leave without me, you will find yourself over my knee getting the spanking you so rightly deserve."

  "If you think to spank me, you'll find yourself getting the beating you so rightly deserve!"

  "You will listen to my adjustments or I will break every one of your rules. Beginning now." With purposeful strides, he closed the distance between them.

  "I agree," she blurted out, her hands raised to ward him off. "I agree."

  He stopped only a heartbeat away. "Number one: I will give you no unreasonable demands, as long as you do the same for me."

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed a little. "That's fair enough."

  "Number two: I will touch you only if you touch me first." Now enjoying himself, he propped his arm against the wall beside him. "Or mayhap I will wait until you ask me, very sweetly, to put my hands on you."

  At first she looked as if she might snort. But then, her gaze raked over him, and her cheeks reddened. "I'll maintain my distance," she said, averting her eyes, "because there's no way in hell I'm asking you to touch me."

  "You did before. In the garden."

  "That was different." Her cheeks burned all the brighter. When he made no comment, she burst out, "It was different. The stone appealed to me. You do not."

  "Say no more, little witch. I would not have you regret more words than you already shall."

  She leveled a glare at him, but didn't deny his claim.

  He pushed his advantage. "Number three: I will wear clothing when the situation warrants it, and only then."

  Silence.

  Stubborn woman. "These are the adjustments I wish. If they are not acceptable..." His voice trailed off, allowing her to assume whatever she would.

  A sigh pushed past her lips with enough force to cast a sweet ripple of air upon his cheeks. "I accept them, okay. Are you happy now?"

  "Not nearly as happy as I would like to be." He reached out, intending to brush a fingertip across her cheek. Then he recalled her rule and his own stipulation. Unless she asked, he could not touch her. With a muttered curse, he dropped his hand to his side.

  She grabbed the sheet and shoved it toward him. "This situation warrants clothing. Since you know nothing of my planet's customs, you'll just have to take my word on that."

  Frowning, he once again covered his lower body with the linen.

  "Thank God we only have to put up with each other until tomorrow morning," she muttered. "I might die from stress otherwise."

  More amused than irritated, he said, "Are you usually this surly with your guests?"

  She swatted at the air with her hand once, twice. "I am not surly."

  "Aye, you are, and argumentative, too. But mayhap by tomorrow's dawning you will be too sated to bicker with me."

  Her jaw clamped together with so much force he feared the bone would snap. But with a visible effort, she managed to relax. "Let's go home," she said. "I'm too tired to deal with you anymore tonight." With that, she turned on her heel and headed toward the door.

  "If I break one of your rules," he called behind her, "I will allow you to give me a severe tongue lashing all over my body."

  She nearly choked on that one, and it required all of his strength to smother his laughter. Ah, life had never seemed so ripe with promised pleasures. For now, he was free from de Locke's curse. In a matter of hours, he would lose himself between a woman's soft thighs. And he would return home on the morrow. What more could a man possibly want?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I'M IN SOOOOOO MUCH TROUBLE, Katie thought.

  She eased into her truck, but she didn't start the ignition; she just sat there, clutching the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Jorlan climbed inside and perched beside her in the passenger seat, oblivious to the riotous sensations dancing through her. Lick him all over? The idea held more appeal than swimming in a giant vat of melted Hershey's Kisses, yet also went against every ounce of common sense she possessed. Contrary to what Jorlan might think, hopelessly chauvinistic men did not heat her blood in a good way.

  Well, not usually.

  His "you will do this" and "you will do that" did irritate her to no end, but that irritation failed to obliterate her attraction to him. He was just so wickedly masculine, so unabashedly male. He knew his appeal and wielded an entire seductive arsenal, which he didn't hesitate to use to his advantage.

  With his words, his glances, and his soft touches, he'd made his plans to have her quite clear. So many times during their interaction, she'd wavered, wondering if she should just give in or continue to resist. And if she did resist, was she simply postponing the inevitable?

  Intuition told her this man could not only give her the wildest night of her life, he could also cure her of First Date Syndrome. He didn't walk bowlegged or speak with a nasally tone. No, he strode with the gait of a hunter, strong and assured. His husky voice produced shivers of delight, not shivers of revulsion. She hadn't seen him eat, but she doubted he ate his peas one at a time. He just didn't have the patience to be a nibbler.

  He wasn't patient, period.

  Yet, that didn't turn her off as it should have.

  "How do you force this vehicle into motion?" At her side, Jorlan opened the car door, but he didn't get out. He simply closed the door again, then opened and closed it, the hinges squeaking with each movement.


  "Keep trying it that way," she muttered, still lost in thought.

  When one overlooked his impatience, his chauvinistic demeanor and his penchant for disobeying, Jorlan was nearly perfect. And he did excite her in a way she'd never experienced before.

  So what if she did it? What if she took the pleasure he was offering?

  One simple brush of his body against hers had almost caused her to experience her very first orgasm. No telling what full-body, skin-to-skin, plunging-deep-inside contact would do to her. Kill her, most likely, but what a way to die! However, despite his I-can-give-you-a-mind-numbing-climax sexual magnetism, he truly annoyed the hell out of her. In attitude, he was too much like her brothers. Katie's brows drew together. Okay, so had she just talked herself into sleeping with him? Or had she talked herself out of it?

  Time to regroup. Pros: 1. She had desired him, both stone and flesh, for the past three weeks. 2. He could whip her body into a pleasure souffle. 3. He was leaving the next morning.

  Cons: 1. He was leaving the next morning. 2. His arrogance grated on her very last nerve. 3. She would be nothing more than a momentary convenience to him--a necessary burden, at that.

  Did she truly want to be a momentary convenience for her first time?

  No.

  She wanted hearts and candy, flowers and music. She wanted words of praise and acceptance, maybe even a whispered, "I simply have to have you. I can't live without you. If I don't touch you soon I'll die. Please. I'm begging you."

  Okay, maybe that was a little extreme. But she knew, knew she wanted more than Jorlan would give her.

  So the cons won. The man beside her, with his lose-yourself-in-me eyes and his to-die-for muscles, would be nothing more than a boarder. A nonpaying boarder, at that.

  "Shut the door and buckle up," she told him with more force than she'd intended. "We're going to move now."

  His expression clouded with confusion, as well as a bit of indignation, and he closed the passenger door with a final snap. "On Imperia, we travel atop horned stags very similar to your horses. This is my first time inside the belly of your enchanted transportation, so I know not of what you speak. Buckle up?"

  She demonstrated what needed to be done.

  He followed her example. A moment passed. He tried to scoot left and right, yet the belt hindered each motion. Frowning, he ripped himself free. "I will not trap myself inside your transportation."

  Here we go again. Katie swallowed a sigh and geared herself for another argument. Lord knew if she demanded that he duck in order to protect himself from a bullet, he would only say, "A woman takes orders, katya, she doesn't give them," and then promptly be blown away by gunshot.

  "The seat belt is there for your protection," she explained. She fluttered her lashes the exact way that made her brothers crumble. Jorlan didn't even blink. "If I come to an abrupt stop and you aren't wearing it, you'll fly into the windshield, crack your head and die." A little extreme, she knew, but she could think of no other way to make him listen.

  His frown deepened, but at least he rebuckled.

  Once they were properly situated, she started the truck and eased onto the road. Warm gusts of wind whipped through the open window, laving her face, lifting her hair. A horn blasted. Startled, she scanned what little traffic occupied the highway and discovered the honk had not been for her, but for a male driver who was swerving from one side of the road to the other. Accelerating, she quickly passed him.

  The faster she drove, the more Jorlan relaxed his stiff posture. "'Tis exhilarating, this speed." His chuckle wafted to her ears, warm, husky and, oh, so inviting.

  This man annoys me, she reminded herself.

  They lapsed into silence. Unfortunately, that silence worked against her. Instead of concentrating on the oncoming traffic and construction cones that lined the median, her thoughts drifted to Jorlan's circumstances. Her insatiable curiosity soon overrode her good intentions. "How long were you imprisoned in the stone?"

  "Nine hundred spans, seventy-two days and twenty-four minutes." He spoke so quickly, so assuredly, as if he'd never stopped counting.

  "A span is a..."

  "Year. A span is a year."

  "That means you're over nine hundred years old." The truck swerved as she jerked to face him. He'd mentioned that several centuries had passed, but she hadn't given it any thought until now. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that. Most people never reach the age of one hundred, and those who do absolutely do not look like you. A thousand-year-old man would be buying Depends, drinking Ensure and worrying about osteoporosis."

  He regarded her strangely. "Most of what you said escapes me, katya, yet will I strive to reply. Once the curse was spoken into existence, I stopped aging."

  "But you'll age now, though. Right?"

  "I will not age at the rate of your world, nay. I am part sorcerer, and sorcerers are eternal beings sustained by magic. Immortal. Aye, we can be killed with physical weapons as any flesh-and-blood creature, but if unharmed, our magic will keep us alive for eternity."

  "But that's imposs--" She clamped her lips shut. On top of everything else she'd witnessed and heard tonight, what was so unfeasible about a thousand-year-old alien who resembled a Calvin Klein underwear model and would live forever?

  "Oftentimes, the myths and legends of one world are the facts of another. Over the spans," he said, "many people came into the garden at twilight, whispering of vampires and werewolves, creatures who do not age. Is it so unfathomable, then, that like these creatures, sorcerers can live forever?"

  Unfathomable? No. Not anymore. Frightening? God, yes. "I believe you, Jorlan. I do. I was just taken by surprise, that's all." She paused as a thought occurred to her. "You said you're only part sorcerer. How long will you live?"

  The corner of his eye twitched. "That does not concern you."

  "I can easily drive you back to the garden, you know. In fact, I'm turning around right now." She jerked the steering wheel to the left, just to make a point.

  "Because you're so obviously fascinated with the workings of my world," he said, his tone stilted, "I will answer this one last question. I am the first and only halfling born between a mortal and a sorceress. My path is uncharted. Mayhap I will live half of forever. Mayhap not." He paused. "Now you answer a question for me."

  "Okay."

  "What think you of love?"

  She blinked at such an odd change of subject. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking. Do you want to know what I think about a man and woman falling in love with each other?"

  "Aye."

  "Well, I think it's great." Her brows knit together. "Why?"

  Instead of answering her, he turned and faced the window with a satisfied smile. Though slight, the movement caused his sheet to part, revealing a portion of his left thigh. Katie's chin snapped forward. Watch the road, she commanded herself. But her gaze repeatedly returned to Jorlan, and every time she glimpsed him, her mouth watered for a nibble of that golden thigh. He's not a bucket of chicken.

  He shifted in his seat, exposing more...more...please God...oh yes! The sheet was completely split down the middle, revealing the entire length of his leg.

  "What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly. "Your face is flushed and your eyes look hungry. Starved, actually."

  Katie's cheeks reddened, and she jerked her attention to where it belonged. "I'm not going to bed with you, okay?" Oh my Lord, she thought the second the words escaped her mouth. She might as well have asked him if he wanted to finger paint her naked body with caramel-and-chocolate ice cream and lick it off.

  A knowing, masculine chuckle filled the small cab.

  Thankfully, he didn't reply and the rest of the ride passed in silence, a silence she was now grateful for.

  At home, she found Jorlan a Dallas PD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants Gray had left behind. While Gray had always looked relaxed and cozy in the clothing, like a man spending a lazy day at home on the couch, watching TV and eating Twinkies, Jo
rlan looked eatable. His rock-solid build stretched the material and showcased every inch of his brawn. Had any other man ever looked so indecent in sweatpants?

  Note to self: Write Hanes a very stern letter about what's appropriate in leisure wear.

  P.S. Never invite Gray over again. His clothes are obscene.

  Katie ambled into the living room, her newly clothed alien not far behind her. His gaze scalded her back, causing heat to percolate just underneath her skin. She stopped, whipped around, ready to demand he glance away. She froze instead. By the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was planning something naughty--like removing her clothing piece by piece. Far from angering her, the thought made her heart leap with anticipation. Damn him! The man was too appealing for his own good, and at the moment he was standing way too close for her peace of mind.

  She needed space and some sort of brain enema.

  She stepped away.

  He followed. Their gazes were locked and the space between them crackled with awareness. "If you ask, I will massage my hands in your hair, katya, and set each strand free from confinement."

  Unable to help herself, she gazed at the hands in question. They were blunt, hard hands, clean yet well-worked. The hands of a warrior. Yet, she thought, under the right circumstances, they were probably capable of extreme gentleness and unending tenderness--a massage being one of those circumstances.

  Before he could sense her growing willingness, however, she planted her hands on her hips and strove for a flippant tone. "The day I ask you to touch my hair is the day I cook you a seven-course meal." Which meant it would never happen. She wasn't his slave, and besides that, she hated, hated to cook.

  But never was such a strong word. She probably wouldn't cook him a meal. No, that didn't work either. She might not cook him a meal. Damn, damn, damn. If only the sexual tension between them didn't generate enough electricity to light the entire state of Texas.

  Jorlan inclined his head. A dark eyebrow arched and his expression was amused, as if he'd somehow listened to her internal deliberation. The corners of his mouth rose in that knowing grin she was beginning to despise. "Now I will not just make you ask for my touch, katya. I will make you beg for it. Over and over again."

  His raspy tone suggested he possessed a sexual knowledge that went beyond the Kama Sutra. When most men spoke, their voice rated no higher than an Encyclopedia Britannica on her Knee Weakening Radar. But Jorlan's sensuality blared like a cataclysmic force of nature, and he definitely tipped the scales.