The Nymph King. Gena Showalter

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СКАЧАТЬ Judging by her tone, it was not favorable. “Explain this rape to me.”

      She did. And in the most disgusted voice he’d ever heard.

      He chuckled again. Unconcerned male pig? Unwilling female? “Sweet moonbeam, how you amuse me. I’ve never forced a woman in my life, and I will never have to. No, when I get you into my bed, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me.”

      Chapter Four

      WHEN I GET YOU INTO BED, you will be desperate for it. Desperate for me.

      To Shaye, the utter confidence in his voice was more frightening than if he’d screamed the words. As it was, a delicious heat wove through her blood. A heat that begged her to stop resisting and enjoy every stolen touch, every caress of the man’s breath on her skin.

      Never mind that the other women in the tent were petting the warrior as if he were an innocent house cat. Make that an innocent blow-up doll. They were begging—yes, begging—him to make love with them. Moaning, even, and groaning. Sounds of rapture continually wafted to her ears.

      Give in, her body beseeched. Taste him. One taste won’t hurt you.

      Panicked by her weakening will, Shaye slammed her palm into her captor’s nose. His head whipped backward, and blood trickled onto his lip. “Why did you do that?” he demanded after a shocked pause.

      Thankfully, his hold on her had loosened. Shaye bowed her back, and he struggled to maintain his grip on her. She managed to squirm free and tumble to her feet. Get out of here! common sense shouted, drowning out her body’s ever-growing wails for her to stay. She stepped forward, dragging her wild gaze in every direction, scanning for her mom. Her breath emerged in shallow, ragged pants.

      She saw Preston, lying unconscious on the floor. When he’d protested the warrior’s actions, one of them had hit him. She saw Conner, her mom’s new husband, frantically searching the crowd. But there was no sign of her mom. Damn it! Where was she? They might have a rocky relationship, but Shaye couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her behind.

      Shaye stepped forward, intending to follow Conner’s lead and push through the masses, but the warrior behind her seized her wrist in a viselike clamp. Her blood ran hot from the sensual touch, then cold from fear.

      He’d asked her if she smelled him, and she’d said no. Well, she’d lied. She inhaled his erotic, virile fragrance every time he was near, and it fired her hormones into a frenzy. Now was no different.

      “You hit me,” he said. Undiluted shock layered his words, as if no one had ever dared raise a hand to him before. “Why did you do that?”

      Silent, Shaye turned around and kneed him in the balls. Just lifted her leg and boom. Contact. He doubled over, a strained wheeze gasping from his throat.

      “Not so hot for my body now, are you?” she mumbled, never stopping her search.

      “That…hurt,” he gritted out.

      “Of course it did, and there’s more where that came from if you grab me again.”

      Without another word, she darted away, still looking…looking…There! Finally. In the corner, her new stepdad had his arms wrapped around her mom, locking a struggling Tamara in place.

      Shaye jumped over fallen chairs and skirted around upturned tables, slipping and sliding along a river of red punch. Someone snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her against a stone wall of a chest—and it wasn’t her warrior. This man’s scent was different, not quite as exotic. Even his skin felt different, not quite as hot. His arms possessed a faint dusting of dark hair.

      She screamed and slammed her head backward, hitting him in the chin. Her entire body vibrated with the force of the blow. He growled something, and she didn’t have to know his language to know he was cursing. His arms fell away; she whirled on him, ready to fight.

      She never should have come here, never should have gotten on the plane. Nothing good ever came of her mom’s weddings. Only pain and suffering, and this was the worst of all.

      The he-man regarded her through wide blue eyes. “I only meant to kiss you,” he said, in English this time, his voice so heavily accented she had trouble deciphering the words. When her frantic mind finally deduced his meaning, she slapped him.

      “Ow!”

      “No kissing.” What was it with the Steroid Squad and their carnal obsessions? Let me pleasure you. You’ll be desperate for me. No, no and no! Except for the leader. Or the one she assumed was the leader. Earlier, when they’d first entered the tent, he’d spoken in that strange language and all the men had rushed into action. Him, she foolishly desired.

      Her eyes narrowed. His ethereal, beautiful face formed in her mind. Fuck-me eyes, fuck-me lips. I’ll-fuck-you body. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. How did he wield such a heady, seductive power? Even now, she sizzled and ached and yearned.

      An obviously gay wedding guest dressed in a pink sequined top and black velvet pants approached the warrior in front of her. Without asking permission, the man wrapped his lithe arms around the warrior’s middle and kissed his sun-bronzed shoulder.

      The warrior stiffened, and his mouth pulled into a scowl. “I told you to stop. Do. Not. Touch. Me. You are a man. Act like one!”

      Shaye didn’t hang around to hear the rest of the conversation. She leapt around her would-be captor, closing the rest of the distance between herself and her mom. “Come on, we have to get out of here,” she said at the same time Tamara said, “If you don’t let me go, Conner, I’ll stab you while you’re sleeping and cut out your heart!”

      Lines of strain bracketed the groom’s too-thin lips. Concern and fear gleamed in his eyes. “What should I do?” he asked, looking to Shaye.

      Urgency pounded through her. “Just throw her over your shoulder fireman-style and get the hell out of here. Before it’s too late.”

      “It is too late,” she heard behind her.

      The familiar, husky voice made her shiver. Made her muscles clench, ready for sublime satisfaction. She melted. No, she stiffened. One of the leader’s hands slid around her bare stomach, tanned and hard against her pale softness. Goose bumps broke over her skin. His other hand glided down her shoulder, along her collarbone and anchored on her seashell-covered breast. Both arms tugged her gently backward and locked her against him, muscled chest to welcoming back. That delicious scent of virility and dark, moonlit nights wafted to her.

      She should protest. At the very least scold him for such daring. The words refused to leave her mouth, however, and she counted her blessings that she didn’t lean her head against his shoulder.

      “No more fighting.” His warm breath kissed the hollow of her ear, shooting dangerous sparks across her nerve endings. “My nose still hurts,” he added sulkily, “as does my co—manhood. Perhaps the first thing I need to teach you is how to properly treat the aforementioned manhood.”

      Oh, God. Sinking…sinking…deeper under his spell. If it hadn’t been for the shell barrier of her bra, his fingers would have surrounded her nipple, probably pinched and rolled it. Her knees almost crumbled. Ohmygod, ohmygod, oh…my…exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. СКАЧАТЬ