Forbidden Craving. Gena Showalter

carved with—what else?—naked females.

      So far Valerian had proved to be a man of his word—which meant he would remain guard just outside the door all freaking night.

      He would always tell her the truth, huh?

      “This is your personal love shack, right? And those three women, you bagged and tagged them?” she called.

      A pause. She expected the silence to continue.

      Then he said, “Yes.”

      Well, well. The truth, even when it hurt. A rarity. A trait she admired greatly and had always hoped to find in someone else.

      Maybe I should stay with him? Just for a little while.

      Okay, wow. Part of her had to be looking for any reason to stay. Which was the very reason she had to escape tonight. No way she should stick around until morning, when he and the other warrior, Joachim, would fight for ownership of her, as if she were property.

      “I’m not a trophy,” she muttered. “I’m not a prize for Valerian and his sex squad to battle to the death over.”

      “Yes, Moon, you are.”

      The huskiness of his voice gave her a jolt of pure pleasure, making her heart skip a beat and heat coast over her skin.

      Trembling now, she jumped to her feet and traversed one of the bridges, careful to avoid the pits. She paced. A large, sunken tub had been filled with bubbling water. Or the water never drained. Tendrils of steam curled to the vaulted crystal ceiling, which showcased the now turbulent ocean above. Waves churned and swirled, leaving wisps of foam behind, no horny mermaids in sight.

      Maybe...maybe a night with Valerian could go on her bucket list?

      What! What are you doing? Stop! Escape!

      Right. She traced a fingertip over the vanity. The rings in the wood actually warmed to her touch, a slight vibration rising up her arm.

      An eerie voice suddenly whispered through her mind. Love heals; it doesn’t hurt. Love is the answer, not the problem...

      With a gasp, she yanked her arm away, severing contact. What. The. Heck?

      “You mentioned...lovers.” Valerian spoke up again, his tone dripping with irritation. “Are they the reason you want to return home?”

      Ugh. She’d yelled at him for misleading her, but she’d done the same to him. “I have a business. I have dreams.”

      “What’s your business?”

      Genuine interest? “I sell anti-cards.” Did Atlanteans celebrate holidays?

      “Or, more accurately, I sell sarcasm to people who have stopped romanticizing life.”

      A pause, as if he needed a moment to store every bit of info about her. “Give me an example of an anti-card.”

      She thought for a moment. “Congratulations on your new job. Before you go, would you mind taking the knife out of my back? You’ll probably need it again.”

      He chuckled, surprising her, delighting her—arousing her. Which was so freaking frustrating!

      “Now tell me about your dreams,” he said.

      A safe topic. One she embraced. “Well, while I was busy drowning, I admitted I’d like to write a book.”

      A soft growl. “You were never in danger of drowning. And you can write a book here.”

      “I have a feeling just do it here will be your answer to everything,” she told him dryly.

      “Yes, I’m very wise.”

      She had to cut off a laugh.

      Twice, she realized. Twice he’d amused her—the moody, broody cold fish—in a way no one else ever had.

      “I notice you mention nothing of your family,” he said, his tone now careful. “Not your mother and her new husband. Not your father.”

      “We’ve never been close,” she admitted.

      Love heals; it doesn’t hurt.

      Argh! Those words!

      “Their loss,” he said.

      Love is the answer, not the problem.

      “I...thank you?”

      Another pause stretched between them. “I’ll be your family,” he said, and she could picture him banging his chest with his fists. “It will be my honor and my privilege.”

      She rolled her eyes. “See! Told you just do it here would be your answer to everything.”

      Let’s say she agreed to date Valerian. Would she ever be able to trust him? Was he capable of being faithful?

      Shaye despised sharing. She’d shared her parents with their ever-changing lovers. She’d shared her childhood and her toys with stepsisters and stepbrothers.

      If ever she gave herself to someone, it would be to a man who wanted her and only her. A man willing to give up his life just to make her happy. And she, in turn, would do the same for him.

      Was she asking and offering too much? Maybe. But it was what she wanted, and she wouldn’t settle for less—even though she knew it was an impossibility. Perhaps that was why she wanted it in the first place. If she couldn’t really have it, she never had to worry about heartbreak.

      Valerian talked a good talk, and granted, he could probably walk a delectable, mind-shattering walk all over her body, but how long would his affections last?

      “As my queen,” he said, “you’ll be wealthy beyond imagining.”

      “So. You think you can buy me?”

      “I wish I could buy you,” he grumbled.

      She wanted to laugh again. What is wrong with me?

      She valued her independence and being with a nymph—the nymph, actually—would strip that independence away layer by precious layer. How many times had she seen her father’s girlfriends change their personality to fit him? Countless! Shaye refused, absolutely refused, to allow the same fate to befall her.

      And yet, she told Valerian, “As long as I’m a prisoner, you won’t be a viable date for me.” As if there could ever be hope for more.

      “No. I refuse to believe that. One day you’ll forgive me. And our children will love the story of our meeting.”

      She nearly choked on her tongue. Children?

      “Tell me a secret,” he said. To distract her?

      Her shock must have loosened her tongue, because she admitted, “I like the color pink. Which is borderline humiliating! Pink equals girlie. A frilly princess.”

      “And you don’t want to be a girlie princess because...”

      “I’m tough, as hard as nails?” A question? Really? She hurried to remove the focus from her. “What about you? Tell me a secret.”

      “One moment, Shaye,” he said, then muttered something she couldn’t discern.

      Her brow furrowed with confusion until a male replied, “Yes, Majesty.” Footsteps rang out.

      “All right. We’re alone again,” he told her.

      Her first thought? Good! He’s mine, all mine.

      I need help.

      “As a boy,” he said, “I liked to nap in fields of lavender.”

      “Because being so beautiful was exhausting?”

      “You think I’m beautiful?” How happy he sounded.

      “You know you are.”

      “More beautiful than Joachim?”

      Not