“Just checking in, making sure you were safe.”
“I’m fine.” Lexi had been hiding out these past two weeks and knew Marge was concerned. But it was too cold to go up to the main lodge. Lexi explained that she preferred to fix something light to eat, and then she would head off to bed.
“Well… call if you have trouble getting to sleep. I’m always here.” It was the tone Marge used when she needed someone to nurture.
“Isn’t Robbie around?” It was the best way to send Marge in another direction, and Lexi heard the soft laugh, then a male voice in the background, the rustle of clothing. “Uh, Marge, we can catch up in the morning.”
And it was as easy as that when Lexi wanted privacy.
But the bath was cold and she was halfway out. Lexi wrapped herself in one of the white towels from the towel warmer. The heat caressed her skin while rain beat steadily against the skylight above the sink. Exhaustion claimed her, physically, emotionally. Normally Lexi slept in the nude, but it was cold and she’d had enough restless nights with the sheets against her raw skin. She needed the tee shirt she preferred, and underwear. They were in the bureau in the bedroom. Wrapping the towel tighter, Lexi opened the bathroom door.
And discovered she was not alone.
Christan was crouched in front of the fireplace, shoving the last few twigs beneath a stack of split logs. At the sound of the door he straightened to his full height. His massive presence held the whispers of the night, warm and passionate and so natural Lexi felt her heart kick.
He remained partially obscured by shadow. Deliberately. Lexi caught the faintest scent of his skin, clean and male and filled with wild power. He was every bit as dangerous as the lion on the path; she saw it the way he stared at her fingers where she gripped the edges of the towel.
She shivered and said the first thing that came to mind.
“I need my clothes.” Her throat was tight with strain. “They’re in the bureau.”
She watched as Christan leaned back against the piece of furniture. He braced both palms on either side of his hips, his gaze drifting down her body, following the trickle of bath water over her calf toward her ankle.
“This bureau?” His voice sounded casual as if she’d asked about the weather. But Lexi heard something dangerous and crystalline beneath the surface. She grew annoyed, which seemed to amuse him.
“Yes, that bureau.” Her chin lifted. “Why are you here?”
“There’s a storm.” He glanced at a small table in a darkened corner. “I brought you dinner.”
Lexi looked at the tray covered with a variety of bowls and dishes, tried to hide her shock at the amount of food. Perhaps he hadn’t known what she liked to eat.
“I brought too much, didn’t I?”
He sounded irritated. Lexi shook her head to let him know the food was fine. Her hair was still wet. Water dripped down her throat and she shoved the heavy mass back, keeping her attention on the way his eyes darkened. He was studying her right hand, the two faint lines curling beneath the skin.
The room grew colder. Lexi couldn’t suppress the shivers across her shoulders. Goosebumps pebbled her arms, and he was studying those, too. With a subtle movement, he gestured toward the fireplace. Flames blossomed around the logs, spreading out the first hint of warmth.
“So,” she said, feeling drawn to the steady pulse in his throat.
“So,” he mimicked, a hardness in his voice that she would always associate with him. Firelight disappeared in strands of his hair, rimmed the edge of his chiseled face with copper and gold. He was looking at the beads of water on her thigh as if he wanted to lick them from her skin. Drawing in a deep breath, Lexi forced herself to remind him of her clothes.
“In this bureau.” He pushed his hips away, a sensual movement that hitched her breath. He had no intention of moving aside and she had no intention of getting that close.
“Yes, in that bureau.”
“And you want them.” He flicked that dangerous hand and the top drawer slid open. He reached inside, and the thought of those hard, male fingers resting on her panties made the muscles in her thighs cramp.
“I didn’t give you permission to touch my clothes.” Lexi’s voice was hoarse. His was just as deep.
“Not in this life, perhaps. But in others.”
“This is the life that requires permission.”
An abrupt indifference as he withdrew his hand. A fierceness in those dark eyes. He moved closer. It took an extreme effort for Lexi not to step back.
“Did you enjoy your bath?” he asked, and she watched as he took another step, then another, as if he couldn’t halt the progress.
“I was wet and cold,” she said.
“Then you were wet and warm.”
“And now I’m cold again.” Her voice became strangled, her breasts beneath the towel growing sensitive to the nubby weave. Christan reached out and lifted a strand of her hair, held it up to the light.
“You’re still covered in soap.”
“I’ll wash it off.” Lexi shied away from the midnight glint in his eyes, turned, ran to the bathroom—ran like a frightened rabbit while he padded after her on silent lion feet.
“Let me help.” His hands landed heavy on the curved edge of the boulder built into the wall, preventing escape. The heat of him reached the most responsive part of her.
“I’m not a child,” Lexi protested, but his hands brushed against her breasts before he lifted her and the protest died an early death.
“Tip your head,” he ordered, settling her hips on the flat surface surrounding the sink. The large carved basin was behind her. Christan turned on the taps. A moment later, he’d filled the sea-glass pitcher with warm water and was tipping it over her hair.
“You’re pouring water down my back,” she pointed out.
“Then don’t struggle.” He reached down and spread her thighs, stepped closer. Then he tipped her head. Water ran down the length of her hair and into the sink. “Better?”
“No.”
“Then don’t make it worse by wiggling. You’re already wet as a dog.” His touch was familiar, their banter easy, intimate, and she knew they’d spoken to each other this way many times before.
“Should I take comfort in being compared to a dog?”
“You should take comfort in being warm and wet.” He was using his thumbs to push the trickling water back from her temples, pressing closer, moving those hands through her hair, stroking her scalp.
Lexi leaned into the caress. She turned her head, let him pour more water, shivered beneath the sensuality of the moment. “I shouldn’t be letting you do this,” she said.
“It’s being done now, so stop thinking about it.”
“I like thinking.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“And maybe I remember more about you than you think.” Her eyes closed, but one hand had lifted to press against his chest when he leaned too close. “I recall a certain ability for manipulation.”
“Never with you, cara,” he said as he squeezed the water from her hair. He settled her on her feet and pushed her into the bedroom, the now drenched towel still clutched around her breasts. It was cold and heavy against the back of her thighs.
“I’m still wet,” she said without realizing the way he took it until she heard him laugh.
“Go stand by the fire.”
“Orders.”
“We’re not dealing like adults?”
Lexi grew wary. This man could put her on the floor, get into her mind and give her dreams worse than the nightmares if he wanted. She’d flung some power he’d given her back into his face and he’d been writhing on the floor. They shared lifetimes together, lifetimes she couldn’t remember. And they hated each other. Lexi shouldn’t forget that part. They hated with a fire that lasted centuries. He was immortal and not completely human and she shouldn’t forget any of it.