Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns

and the soft scratch Chase’s knife made on the wood.

      Soon, they’d let the fire burn down and retire for the evening. Soon, they’d lie side by side in their small shelter and try to pretend to be unaware of each other.

      She was tired of resisting, tired of existing half-alive and so achingly alone. She wanted him. And he wanted her. After they were rescued, she’d go home to Naessa and never see him again. Until then, for however long they were stranded here, they only had each other.

      Heart hammering in her chest, she took a deep breath for courage. She touched his arm, bringing the heat of his shadowed gaze to her face. “Chase, I need to ask you something.” Swallowing, she wished her voice wouldn’t tremble so, or sound quite as breathy.

      The knife stilled. Waiting for her to continue, he raised one golden brow.

      Now or never. She felt as though she was diving, head-first, into a bottomless pool.

      “Last night, when you held me, I felt better than I have in months. Less afraid, more secure. I liked feeling that way. A lot.”

      Ignoring his harsh intake of breath, she continued. “I want to sleep in your arms again tonight. Will you hold me through the night?”

      Chapter 6

      Did she know what she was asking of him? Chase couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As Sydney stared at him, her slender fingers pale on his tanned arm, desire slammed into him like a punch to the gut. Gritting his teeth, he used every ounce of willpower to keep from yanking her hard against him, and covering her mouth with his.

      Sydney had become an obsession.

      Earlier, the way she’d watched him had been bad enough. He’d felt the touch of her luminous gaze like a silky caress, teasing his nerves to an aching awareness.

      “Chase?” She scooted closer, filling his nostrils with the scent of warm, fragrant woman. He clenched his jaw. God help him if she were to move her hand from his arm and splay her fingers across his chest. She’d feel his heart thudding like a wild thing as he fought to keep himself under control.

      She had no idea how much he wanted her. Wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and tilt her face to him. Wanted to feel her lush curves, full against him, without even small scraps of clothing acting as a barrier between them. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her and bring her to a ragged, shuddering completion as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time.

      Ever since she’d turned that midnight-blue stare of hers on him, Chase had been battling himself. Now, with her so close, her lush mouth slightly parted, her long-lashed blue eyes dark with a desire that matched his own, he found her all but impossible to resist. His body quickened and he fought to keep from losing control.

      Then her words penetrated his fogged brain.

      She wanted to be held.

      She’d asked in the way of one human asking another for comfort, not someone craving hot, wild sex.

      Chase knew if he touched her, he’d do a lot more than hold her. He suspected Sydney realized this, as well.

      Think of Kayla, he told himself savagely. Kayla had used his lust to blind him to her lies. And she hadn’t had one-tenth the effect on him as Sydney.

      Sydney. How he wanted her. Being around her made him feel as if a potent aphrodisiac had spread with lightning speed through his blood.

      His control slipping, Chase tried to remember how Sydney had planned to use Reginald. Though Chase hadn’t liked the man and even thought he’d deserved to pay the consequences for his actions, Sydney had to have known what she was getting into. No one was that naive. Or that successful.

      Chase, like Reginald, knew a lion’s share of gorgeous, sexy women. None could hold a candle to her.

      Sydney Conner was sex on wheels.

      But the question remained, what did she want from him?

      Though she acted as though it was simple, human comfort, he knew better. She was beautiful, like Kayla. He had to believe beautiful women always had an agenda.

      “Chase?” Even her voice, husky and sensual, seduced him. The mere act of hearing her say his name made him take an unthinking step toward her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

      He had to stop this. Get a grip on his famous iron control. He could do this. He was a pro at handling sexy, beautiful women. With all his experiences, he hadn’t lived the life of a monk after all. Resisting even the most sensual woman, while difficult, was doable.

      Then he made the mistake of looking at her.

      Sydney continued to stare up at him, her heart-shaped face breathtakingly vulnerable, her eyes so dark, pupil and iris appeared to have blended. He searched her expression for the particular confidence sexy women had, that innate knowledge that they could wrap a man, any man, around their little fingers. But either Sydney was different, or she was a damn fine actress. He saw nothing in her delicate features but a hint of sorrow, of pain, and a stark, lonely hunger that matched his own urgent need.

      She wanted, he reminded himself savagely, to be held. So damn it, he’d hold her.

      Somehow, without being conscious of moving, he found his hands on her, sliding across her soft skin, slipping up her arms. She made a sound, not of protest, not exactly, more of welcome, and he answered low in his throat.

      Need, raw and sharp, clawed at him. Still, he made a heroic effort to keep himself from taking her, though she felt warm and supple and willing in his arms.

      Willing. With a hoarse cry, he covered her mouth with his. She met him halfway, lips parted, tongue mating. As before, the taste of her was sweet, like a nearly ripe peach.

      When he pulled back, she made a soft mew of protest, pressing her body against him in a wordless plea. She touched her lips to his throat and he burned.

      He heard another sound, realizing with a curious detachment it was the harsh, uneven rhythm of his own breathing. Or was it hers?

      Was he crazy? Had he lost his mind? She was everything he ran from, everything Kayla had been and more.

      And, as Kayla had been, she was pregnant with another man’s child.

      He gave himself a mental shake, which did nothing to lessen the heat in his blood. She reared back as his body stirred against her, her eyes wide and dark and her face clear, no artifice in her expression, just a sensual, womanly awareness. Awareness of the way her simple, quiet femininity called to him? Awareness of his body’s raging hunger for her, only her?

      Was she like Kayla had been, well aware that the lure she’d cast had reeled in yet another masculine conquest?

      A second later he chastised himself for reading too much into her response. Sydney wasn’t Kayla. She had her own motivations, her own needs. Perhaps she was only tired of being alone, apart, separate. Maybe, like him, she longed to touch, to make contact, to feel.

      Maybe, she really needed him.

      Him.

      He knew a moment of wonder, then his innate cynicism set in. He was reacting to her like a sex-starved soldier, newly returned from the battlefield. Perhaps the sunlight had scrambled his brains. Or more likely it was the feel of her, all soft skin and womanly curves, but he tugged her closer, trying to be gentle when he wanted to be rough, comforting when he wanted the raw rhythm of hot, mindless sex.

      She’d asked him merely to hold her, not make love to her. Was he reading too much into her words?

      Yet she came to him, pressing herself against him for a moment, and as her curves molded to his body he knew he could take her there, on the ground near their fire, and slake his thirst deep inside her.

      Hard, aching, he couldn’t think, could barely stop himself from pushing against her, from laying her down and peeling off her clothes. He wanted to nuzzle her breasts, take her nipples into his mouth and taste