Before Casey could hear her Greek god’s response, the world went black.
Theron was wedged into the hottest, tightest, slickest place in Argolea. And he was loving every moment of it.
He lifted his hips. Twisted to get higher inside the gynaíka straddling his lap and breathing heavy against his neck. She tightened around his length until he was sure he’d explode. On a moan, she moved so the pressure eased. He groaned in frustration, thrust up into her burning wetness as she began to ride, and in reward, the climax he’d been seeking came screaming back, tightening his nuts to almost painful levels.
Where his climax hung. Teasing him. Taunting him. Just out of his reach.
With a curse he rolled her onto her back. Thrust deep, as sweat slid down his temple and dropped onto her face. Her nails scored the base of his spine as he pumped hard over and over. She kicked her dark head back against the pillow and screamed out her release. But he couldn’t get there with her. No matter what he did, he couldn’t finish. Frustrated, he kept pounding away at her. Reaching. Seeking. But nothing worked.
On the verge of screaming himself in agony, he flopped onto his back again. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the distance brought his eyes immediately open.
His heavy breathing was the only sound in the dark room. Footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. Slowly, he pushed up on his elbows and realized he was in bed. Naked. Alone.
Skata, he’d been dreaming. Dreaming of screwing some sexy, faceless gynaíka. And judging from the state of affairs between his legs, he hadn’t just been dreaming, he’d been humping away at the mattress to no avail.
Strange memories filtered through his hazy mind as he eased back down. A dark-haired beauty saving him from a group of daemons. The same mysterious gynaíka tending his wounds. A soothing voice. Kind, violet eyes. She, leaning over him, wearing nothing but a white lace bra that at the time hadn’t seemed significant but that now made his dick harden into a rod of steel.
Who was the gynaíka who’d left him in a fit of sexual despair the likes of which he couldn’t remember experiencing? It definitely wasn’t his bride-to-be. Isadora didn’t exactly excite him. He was weak, knew he’d been in some kind of fight and that sex should be the last thing on his mind, but it wasn’t. At the moment, all he could think about was his dream gynaíka and where the hell she was when he needed her most.
He kicked off the hot covers with his good leg, closed his eyes and saw her body. Slim waist. Small, firm, plump breasts that fit his hands to perfection. Luscious lips an ándras could sink into.
A tingle ran down his stomach as he imagined those beautiful lips of hers wrapped around the tip of his erection. The torturous erotic vision tore a groan from his chest. He threw his arm over his eyes and nearly came right there without any kind of physical stimulation.
Knock, knock, knock.
His eyes popped open when he realized he wasn’t alone after all.
“I heard you moving around in there,” a sultry female voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”
Holy skata. What in Hades was this?
He scrambled for the quilt and pulled it over his very aroused body. And as the sexual haze cleared from his mind and his night vision sharpened, he realized this wasn’t his bed.
No, not his bed, not his house, and that definitely wasn’t a voice he recognized.
“Are you okay in there?” That voice now held an edge of panic. The doorknob rattled and turned.
Theron’s nerves kicked in as he pushed himself up against the headboard. He gritted his teeth at the stab of pain in his leg and glanced around the room. He couldn’t see his clothes. Or his weapons.
Double skata.
He caught his breath as the door pushed open. Then exhaled on a smothered groan when a tall, dark-haired beauty with eyes like a violet sunrise stepped into the room.
She wore faded jeans and a white V-neck sweater. Dark wavy hair fell around her shoulders. Her nose was straight, her chin slightly pointy, her cheekbones sharp as they caught what little light was coming through the windows. But none of that was what made him swallow back a resurging burst of lust.
No, it was looking at those plump, delicious pink lips framing a sultry mouth, which curved into a nervous smile. A smile he recognized. Just the sight sent his cock screaming for release once more.
His dream gynaíka.
It all came back in a rush. She was the one who’d rescued him in the parking lot behind that club. The same one who’d brought him to her home, tended his wounds, tucked him into her bed and whispered reassuring words in his ear.
Just breathe.
His skin went hot at the memory of her sexy voice. She was the one he’d fantasized about only moments before. The same one he desperately wanted to get inside right now.
Only she wasn’t Argolean. No, this gorgeous beauty was human.
Human.
Just the word revolving around in his brain dimmed his arousal and set off a buzzing in his chest that set him on guard.
She stepped to the end of the bed and stopped. It was then he noticed the plastic bag in her hand. His spine stiffened. “You look better. Your color’s already perked up. Are you hungry at all?”
His eyes narrowed on her face. Her familiar face. He’d seen her somewhere before—he just couldn’t quite place her.
As if she could read his mind, she dropped her gaze to his legs, covered by the blanket. He lifted his knees to form a tent to hide what was still going on under the covers and crossed his arms over his bare chest. She looked back up and tried to smile, though he could tell it was forced. “My name’s Casey, by the way. We didn’t exactly meet. Officially. Last night.”
He nodded, only because he knew it was expected of him, and kept watching her like a hawk. “Theron.”
“Theron,” she said as if trying the name on for size. “How are you feeling tonight? You’ve been asleep all day. You didn’t even move when I rolled you over and changed the bedding.”
He’d been out? All day? He glanced to the windows and the darkness beyond. His injuries must have been worse than he remembered. “I’m fine,” he said. “A little stiff.”
Craaaap. Great word choice. He was more than stiff in places he was sure she didn’t want to know about.
Silence fell between them. He knew his lack of conversation was making her uneasy, but he wasn’t entirely sure of her motives just yet, and the knowledge the gynaíka he’d been fantasizing about had turned out to be human was still wigging him more than he liked.
She glanced around the room as if she didn’t know where to look and was embarrassed about meeting his eyes. As she did, he remembered the way she’d gently stroked his hair after stitching up his wound. The way she’d wiped the blood from his face and leaned over him in nothing but that sexy white bra.
His erection came pounding back, though he fought like hell to keep it down.
She lifted the bag in her hands. “I got you some things to wear. Your pants were ruined, so I threw them away.”
A blush rushed over her cheeks. And he realized then she was the one who’d stripped him bare. He glanced around again. What in Hades had happened to his weapons?
She looked away from his eyes. “You had some, um, strange tools in your pockets. I put them on the dresser.” His eyes followed the sweep of her hand, and he felt instant relief. Everything was there. Still in their individual holsters. As if she hadn’t even opened them. The only thing that was missing was his blade. And that, he remembered in a rush, he’d stuck under the bed when he’d ripped off his shirt last night, while she’d been gathering supplies.
She peered into the bag. “I wasn’t sure on the size. I couldn’t find a label on your, um, pants.” She set the bag on the foot of the bed and stepped back. “I made some soup, if you’re hungry.”
His eyes narrowed on her face again. What did she want from him? In his experience, humans took what they wanted, thought only of themselves and rarely ca
red about others. So why, exactly, was she helping him?
She folded her hands in front of her in a hesitant move when he didn’t answer. “I could bring it in here if you’re still too tired or sore to get up.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I will get out of bed.” And get his weapons. Check out the house. See where he was. Get the lay of the land. Make sure she wasn’t planning on slicing and dicing him in his sleep. Just to be safe.
She nodded. “I checked your leg a while ago when you were sleeping. It looks a lot better. I’m still not sure how that’s possible, but…well, I’m glad to see you’re recovering so quickly.”
She seemed sincere, as if she’d honestly been worried about him. He thought back to the panic in her eyes when he’d been half-conscious and dealing with the pain of his wounds. Remembered how together she’d been and how she’d done what needed to be done without freaking out. And though he didn’t want to, he was impressed by her composure.
Then his brain skipped to the visual of those long, slender fingers touching his naked flesh beneath the blanket as she checked his wound. His whole body trembled with a renewed rush of hot arousal.
Which shouldn’t be happening.
She glanced toward the door to her left. “There are towels in the bathroom, if you want to take a shower.” When she looked back, a fresh flush crept up her cheeks. “If you need any help getting up—”
“No,” he said quickly, knowing he didn’t need any help in that department. He was already far too up for his liking. “I can manage.”
She smiled in what he could only describe as complete relief, though color still stained her cheeks.
He nodded once but couldn’t bring himself to thank her.
As if she knew what he was thinking, she hesitated. Looked up until her violet eyes locked on his. And stared at him as though she knew him.
That déjà vu flared again. Just where had he seen her before?
She stepped back so quickly, she hit the doorjamb with her shoulder. Then jumped as if the wood had bitten her in the ass.
And he just couldn’t stop it. Amusement lifted his brow. Had he thought this woman was a threat? She was no more dangerous than an ant.
“Okay,” she managed. “I’ll, uh, be in the other room if you need me.” She turned and fled.
Alone, Theron’s curiosity faded as he stared at the open door. Her exit had not only robbed him of her unusual company but also of his arousal.
Confused as to what was happening to his body and why, he decided maybe he wasn’t as well as he’d first thought. He pulled the covers back and looked down at his injured leg. The stitches were barely visible, and the wound was no longer red or inflamed. In another day or so it would be nothing but another scar to add to his collection. Judging from the other marks on his body, they’d healed equally well.
Unfortunately, though, the strange sensations buzzing around in his chest and head warned him he wasn’t back to normal, and given that, it wouldn’t be wise to try to open the portal and send himself back to Argolea just yet. In his weakened state, he’d be a prime target for the daemons, and he didn’t even know if he had enough power to get home once he made the connection.
No, he decided. A better idea would be to stay here tonight. To eat the food this unusual but harmless human had made for him. To relax, to regain some of his strength so that tomorrow—maybe—he could head home.
As he tossed his sore legs over the side of the bed and rolled to his feet, his jaw tightened at the stab of pain in his thigh. He reached out to support his weight on the footboard and bit back a groan. Oh, yeah, definitely not well enough to try to make it home. Even the strongest of the Argonauts had limits, not that he was about to admit that to any of his kinsmen.
He ground his teeth to keep from whimpering like a little gynaíka as he shuffled to the bathroom. Inside he flipped on the light and started the shower, then moaned in relief as the hot water cascaded over his aching body and washed away the last sting from his cuts and bruises.
And though he didn’t mean to, as his eyes slid closed, he couldn’t help but think of the woman in the kitchen and imagine her fingers and lips running down his damp skin, instead of water.
Good gods. A woman? He was definitely more injured than he’d thought. His lusting after a human was clear proof he wasn’t right in the head. It didn’t matter how sexy she was or what her reasons were for helping him. She was human, and for him that meant off-limits. Forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What do I smell?”
The spoon in Casey’s hand clattered to the stovetop, bounced off the surface and hit the tile floor at her feet. Soup splashed onto her sweater and jeans, and she hissed in a breath.
“Skata,” Theron said, moving toward her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Casey reached for the hand towel hooked over the oven-door handle. She swiped at the mess on her stomach and down her thighs.
Smooth, Case. Real smooth.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
Her hand paused at the sound of that sexy accent, then she gave herself a mental shake and continued wiping her clothes. The man moved like a silent shadow, even injured as he was. She was sure she’d only heard the shower turn off moments ago.
“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I was thinking about something else.”
Yeah, right.
He bent at her feet to retrieve the spoon. She looked down and followed him with her eyes as he pushed to stand, then wished she hadn’t.
He towered over her. Nearly six and a half feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. His hair was damp from his shower, brushed back from his face and just long enough to curl at his collar in a way that begged her to run her fingers through the damp mass. The long-sleeved black T-shirt she’d bought for him was snug against his muscled chest and arms, the faded Levi’s riding low on his lean hips. Beneath the cuffs of his jeans, his bare feet peeked out, looking ridiculously masculine against her pale pink tile floor.
She swallowed a groan as she flashed on what that body looked like stark naked. The long roped muscles, chiseled angles, hollows and planes that she could now envision way too well. The scars across his chest lived in her mind now, along with that arrow of dark hair that pulled her attention down until just the memory made her blush.
Injured, she’d found him wildly attractive, but now, semihealed and well rested, he was more than that. He was danger on a stick, dangled out in front of her like candy for a child. Every woman’s sex fantasy come true. And for some insane reason he was standing in her kitchen, watching her with wary eyes.
She still wasn’t entirely sure how that had come to pass, and if he weren’t looking at her right now, she’d probably have chalked it up to a dream. But it wasn’t. He was real, smelling of Ivory soap and a hint of her favorite shampoo. She had to block images of him wet and naked in her shower, using her bath products against his naked skin, because just the thought was too much to handle. And because she knew she must look like a moron right now, practically drooling over him, with soup staining the front of her outfit.
She blinked and turned for the cupboard, forcibly breaking the spell she seemed to fall under whenever he looked at her. “What you smell is soup. You must be starving. Have a seat at the table and I’ll get you some food.”
He shuffled across the floor and dropped onto a chair at the round oak table. Only when he grunted did she remember he was injured. “How’s your leg?”
“Better,” he said as she set a steaming bowl in front of him. His eyes barely flicked over the soup before returning to her. “A little sore.” He leaned over and took a deep whiff while she opened the drawer and pulled out a clean spoon. “What is this?”
“Cheddar broccoli. My grandmother’s recipe.” She handed him the spoon, set butter and a plate of warm rolls on the table near his arm. When he continued to stare at her, she choked on a laugh. “Don’t worry, it won’t poiso
n you. I do know how to cook.”
Frown lines creased his forehead, but he spooned up a bite, blew on it, then cautiously tasted a small amount. His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s good.”
Casey smiled as she pulled the refrigerator open and grabbed a soda. She popped the top and set it in front of him, then spooned up a bowl of soup for herself. “I know modern women aren’t supposed to like to cook, but, well, I do. Makes me feel like I’ve accomplished some small feat during the day.”
She slid into the seat across from him and lifted her spoon to taste it herself. He waited and watched, and she had the strangest sense he was checking to make sure she didn’t keel over from food poisoning. She took a second bite and smiled.
The lines across his forehead relaxed, and he resumed eating. He glanced at the can she’d put in front of him, seemed to study it intently, then lifted it and looked inside the hole on top. “What is this?”
“You don’t like soda?”
“Soda?” he asked, turning the can and reading the side. Again he looked at her, waited while she lifted her can and took a drink. Only when she set hers down and went back to eating did he lift his to his lips and take a long swallow.
Then proceeded to spew Diet Dr Pepper all over the table.
Casey leapt from her chair and grabbed the kitchen towel again. She pressed it into his hand and against his mouth. “Not a fan of diet, huh?”
Hack, hack.
“Let me get you something else.”
She opted for a Coors from the refrigerator, since she never bothered to buy regular soda, and handed him that. He downed half of it before he pulled the bottle from his mouth with a frown and glanced at the label. “It tastes like water.”
She grabbed another towel to mop up the soda. “Well, it’s not a Guinness, but it’s definitely not water. Where the hell are you from that you don’t drink diet soda or light beer?”
He finished coughing and studied the can of diet soda on the table as if it might just jump up and bite him. After polishing off the rest of the beer, he set the empty bottle on the table before he said, “A small village. We…do not have a lot of foreign trade.”