Forbidden Craving. Gena Showalter

describing love at first sight. Which I don’t believe is possible.”

      “No, I’m describing mate at first sight.”

      “What’s the difference?”

      “Everything and nothing,” he replied cryptically. He waved a hand through the air, a regal command to move on to the next topic. “Did you dream of me?”

      She allowed the subject change because she’d made her point and given him something to consider.

      “Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. She had. She’d dreamed of his hands on her body, caressing her...of his mouth doing delicious things.

      His lush lips inched into a surprised but pleased smile. “Tell me. Every detail.”

      “You were naked,” she told him.

      His grin spread, and his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

      “And you were tied up...”

      He appeared intrigued. “I had no idea bondage would excite you.”

      “Oh, I adore the idea of tying you up.” She paused dramatically, and just like the Shaye in the painting, she fought a grin of her own. Maybe he knew her better than she’d given him credit for, after all. “You were secured to an anthill, being eaten alive.”

      He barked out a charming laugh. “Such a cruel woman, my Shaye.”

      His Shaye. Tremors nearly toppled her, her good humor vanishing in an instant...replaced by stunning desire.

      He propped his shoulder against the side wall, a pose of carnal relaxation. Fall into my arms, his posture proclaimed. I’ll catch you.

      “I dreamed of you, too,” he said.

      Shivers cascaded through her. “Do tell.”

      “You were naked, as well.”

      Suddenly light-headed, she backed up a step. “Is it too much to hope I was tied to an anthill?”

      “Yes.” He stepped toward her, intent and intense. “You were splayed on my dinner table, ready to quench my hunger.” His eyes were heavy-lidded, deliciously wicked. “I devoured you.”

      Breathe; she had to breathe. The oxygen she did manage to draw in burned her throat, singed her lungs. As he’d spoken, his words had painted a picture in her mind. A terribly beautiful picture as vivid as the one he’d painted on the canvas.

      His tongue...on her...in her...

      “Come,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll feed your hunger.”

      Yes, oh, yes. I want him.

      No! She batted at his wrist. “I’d rather starve than feast on your body.”

      “I wasn’t planning to feed you from my body...yet.”

      Oh. Disappointment—

      Did not bloom. Nope. Not even a tiny spark.

      “What about the warrior?” she asked. “Joachim?”

      The muscle began to jump under his eye again. “I’ll deal with him when he awakens. Until then, you need sustenance if you’re to keep up your strength.”

      Well. Maybe if she starved herself, he’d take her home? “No, thank you. I’m good.”

      His eyes narrowed. “We could bargain,” he cajoled.

      What was with the man and his bargaining? “I eat and you’ll...what?”

      “Kiss you anywhere you’d like.”

      Save me.

      She had to force her mind to blank. “Um, you really need to work on your bargaining skills. They suck.” Had her voice shaken?

      “I understand.” His eyes twinkled down at her. “You would rather I offer you an orgasm.”

      “What!” Her cheeks fused with heat, and a tremor stole over her. “No!”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes?” Her cheeks burned hotter. “Yes. Very.”

      “Too bad.” Valerian took another step toward her, his masculine scent wafting to her, filling her nostrils. Strong and spicy—so arousing her tee abraded her nipples and an ache throbbed between her legs.

      She’d never been a sexual creature, and these new sensations rocked her to the core. How long could she fight them? How long could she resist this man?

      “What thoughts are rolling through your head, hmm?” he asked, his voice huskier than before.

      Did he know she was aroused? No, no. He couldn’t. Please!

      “I was—” What? She wouldn’t admit the truth, but she wouldn’t lie, either. “You’re right. I’m hungry.”

      For several seconds he remained quiet. She used the time to cool her molten desires, reciting math equations in her mind.

      Men = Heartbreak × Wasted Time.

      Of course: Heartbreak = Wasted Time.

      So: Men = Heartbreak × (Heartbreak) = Relationship.

      Therefore: Relationship = Pain + Suffering.

      Conclusion? Men = Pain + Suffering.

      “Come, Moon.” Once again, he extended his hand. “I will feed you.”

      “Food?” she asked, just to be certain.

      “Food.”

      Very well. She placed her hand in his. Such heat! Such strength! His calluses delighted her.

      Contact had been a mistake. A big—really big—mistake. But she didn’t pull away. He brought her knuckles to his mouth to kiss...to lick and taste, and she shivered.

      “Valerian.”

      “Shaye.” He smiled at her, a slice of heaven in a life that had been hell.

      To distract herself, she drafted a new card. Roses are red, Valerian is sex. This poem makes no sense. Trouble.

       CHAPTER TEN

      JOACHIM LAY IN HIS BED, his arms propped under his head. He stared up at the glistening ceiling, wishing he could take comfort in something, anything. Or someone. Would he even recognize comfort nowadays?

      Night had long since passed, and morning had arrived. He shifted and eyed the wall of weapons he’d acquired over the years. A weapon for every man, woman or creature he’d slain. Their numbers were so vast, he’d stopped keeping count.

      He wasn’t ashamed of his violent past. Far from it. He reveled in his victories. The bloodier the better.

      He was a man without honor, compassion, or mercy. A mistake, his mother had once said. The true nymph king, his father had then retorted.

      So. Joachim’s behavior with the redhead had shredded his pride.

      After leaving his cousin and the pale-haired female, Joachim had brought the lushly rounded redhead to his chamber. He’d been poised to enter her—ready to burst. She’d been writhing in passion, opening herself wider, pleading for more.

      So of course he’d stopped. Just stopped! Like a trembling lad about to claim his first female, afraid of blowing his load before he was able to sheathe himself completely.

      As he had peered down at her, the sense of all-consuming need had abandoned him, there one moment, gone the next. An image of the dark-headed witch he’d wanted so badly at the selection ceremony had flashed through his mind.

      He yearned to tangle his fingers in her curls, to put his mouth on her ripe little body—to roll her body under