He was not a silent lover. Words she didn’t understand rose in his throat—she thought it was Italian but she didn’t know, didn’t need to know, the intent was clear. The weight of him was intoxicating.
She played her fingers along the waistband of his jeans and Christan rolled, took her with him. His fingers tangled in her hair, gripped her head, guided her mouth against his chest. The scent of his skin ignited tangible, desperate needs and she dragged her tongue across the dark tattoos that writhed beneath the skin. Heard his groan when she traced one dark curling line up to his shoulder and nipped him. It was the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced, touching those tattoos.
Heat consumed her, filled with fascination, lush desire, drawing her into his strength, his potent masculinity. Memories, wild and sensual, rose untamed in her mind, rushed through her veins and into the most feminine core between her thighs. She bit harder and he thrust against her with such a pagan rhythm fire licked across her skin. She needed him inside so badly she whimpered.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his eyes, like his voice, reflecting rough emotion, an impenetrable truth. She was gripping his shoulders, aware that he was pushing her away. Her body cried. Her eyes burned. He released his grip in her hair.
Somehow, she was on her knees beside him, her body bowing in confusion, and she’d never felt more alone in her life.
The low sound he emitted was nothing but violence and rage as he rose into a crouch.
“Christan—” She reached out, but he pushed her hands away.
“Look at me!”
When she did she saw the immortal in his eyes.
“I can’t do this,” he ground out.
“Why?”
“I have lived a long and violent life, without regret until it comes to you. Look at me—see what I am.” The death of something vital was in that voice. He set her farther away, a reminder that he had little humanity left in him while she was too human. “Do not hope for happy endings with someone as far from you as I am.”
He shifted so suddenly her heart took flight. She was staring again at the lion from the forest path, an apex predator beyond her reach, and the force of that reality disintegrated all common sense. He was magnificent, and so wildly unconstrained she curled into herself to keep from touching him. She had loved this man so many times, lost him. He was as much human to her as he was immortal, but part of him had gone over an edge she couldn’t see or begin to understand. He was slipping from her grasp as she watched, slipping as he had so many times before, and when she looked into those primal, distant eyes, she knew. Knew that they had forced each other down this twisted road for so long, and so far, there was no finding the way back.
Lexi pushed herself upright, her body raw, exposed with no defense except the clothes she’d tossed around the room. Fingers trembled as she picked up the pieces and stumbled to the bedroom. Humiliation compressed the air so thickly she couldn’t breathe, the sexual ache so deep she pressed the heel of her hand against herself for relief. She was dragging on a pair of dark jeans and matching sweater when he came into the room.
“We have to go,” he said with tight emotion. “Now.”
CHAPTER 25
They were in the warm night, running down a shadowed street before Christan could speak to her again. He didn’t trust himself. The delusion in the kitchen was over. He’d expected her to react; she’d been too damn aware of him not to be aroused. But when she responded with such wild hunger Christan hadn’t known which of them was the aggressor. He’d wanted only to absorb her, taste that sweet pleasure, feel her tiny bites against the tattoos beneath his skin.
She hadn’t known which ones would arouse him, the way they would arouse him, and her tongue had been indiscriminate. Even now he fought the aggression, the imperatives from another time. The demand for blood. Or for her, naked and spread beneath his hands while he trembled with carnal needs.
She made him crazy—he had no other excuse. But he wanted her, knew she would have joined him willingly. Knew, also, that despite the heat and mutual need, it would have felt like making love to another man’s wife.
He’d felt that way before, when the secrets had gone too deep and Gemma turned her back to him. When their bed became a battleground in a war he hadn’t understood until it was too late. The master of war, in all his arrogance, had failed to see the one tactic that would win the field of valor.
It was the connection between two lovers that made the act important. And there was no connection, not yet, not between him and this woman in this lifetime. Only a past bleeding through.
Christan had hidden aspects of himself, kept the secrets in every lifetime, other than the first lifetime, and even then, he hadn’t been totally honest. He wondered, now, if he was capable of honesty when it came to her. He was not the man Gaia thought him to be. He certainly wasn’t the man Gemma thought she knew, not now, and he never would be that man again.
Christan pulled Lexi down an alley, his grip punishing, feeling as if they were further apart than ever before, the gulf between them beyond emotional. It was what they were. What she was. What he was. They were heading toward the Museo di Storia della Scienza. When he stepped around the corner she resisted. Christan glanced down and read the wariness in her eyes.
“Arsen called,” he said.
“I didn’t hear the phone.”
“Telepathically.” As if that was normal. “He found Katerina Varga. She’s sitting in an outdoor café.”
Christan pulled Lexi closer, but it wasn’t from the desire for physical contact. They merged into a crowd of tourists and he didn’t want to lose her. Moving around the piazza, he kept to the shadows, avoiding the lights that spilled wavering shafts of yellow onto the cobbled stone. In this area of Florence, the streets were narrow and the traffic was limited to pedestrians. There were small alleys, rows of bikes stacked like dominoes. Arched tunnels connected buildings, creating dark spaces where enemies could hide. Non-violent defense would be impossible.
Lexi’s hand trembled, delicate beneath his grasp. Christan looked down and loosened his hold slightly. He didn't want to let her go.
“Christan.” Arsen’s voice was clear in his mind. “Ahead of you, café on the right. She’s sitting at the back table, out of the light.”
“I see her,” Christan answered. “How did you track her?”
Arsen didn’t answer.
To Lexi, Christan said, “She’s there, wearing the blue top, black hair at her nape.”
“I see her.” The girl was in her early twenties but with a guarded expression, making her look more experienced than her years. “Do you want me to approach her?” Lexi asked. “Or is Arsen going to do it?”
“Not Arsen.” Christan knew his second wouldn’t want to do it. He felt Lexi try to pull her hand from his grasp.
“Is there a photo of Kace on your phone?” she asked. Christan looked down at her, puzzled.
“Why?”
“I’ll go. I can show the photo to Kat. Will you let me do that? Borrow your phone?”
Christan didn’t answer.
Her voice was soft, gentle. “Christan, do you want to go instead?”
“We’re not sure it’s safe.”
“Then I’ll be the least obvious. I won’t be reckless.” Her fingers stroked against his arm. His eyes narrowed when she reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved the phone.
It happened so quickly, she was across the piazza before he could react.
As Lexi hurried across the cobbled distance, she heard Christan's muttered curse and didn’t stop. He hadn’t wanted her out of his physical control. She ought to feel angry about it, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt as unsure with their relationship as he appeared to feel. What had happened in the kitchen had been impulsive, she realized it now, as much her fault as his, but they still needed to work together.
Katerina was watching her approach. She looked young and wary, but confident. As Lexi slipped into a vacant chair at the small table, the girl rose to her feet.
“Please wait, Katerina” Lexi said. “I only want to talk.”