Her cries now filled the steamy bathroom. His hips thrust as he began to draw her blood into his mouth. He groaned low and deep in his throat, a rumbling sound that could have been a growl, the sound of a beast taking what was his.

The smell of him rose and thickened in her nostrils. The orgasm rolled down on her hard and she screamed and cried out. He continued to pump, fast now, grunting. His body moved in a slow wave as he released her vein, his shoulders arching back as his hips moved forward. He shouted as he released into her, his cock thrusting and solid.

Another orgasm caught her, her core tightening around him again. It sent a shudder through his body and he groaned again as he bent forward and captured her in his arms. He drew her against him, thrusting over and over until sated.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, stroking his back, the scars a soft ripple beneath the pads of her fingers. She touched her neck with her hand where his fangs had entered her. “There’s so little blood,” she whispered.

“When the fangs retreat, they leave a chemical that seals the wound. Did I hurt you?”

She drew back and met his gaze. She ran a finger over his lips, the one that had been inside her. He sucked the finger into his mouth and licked in a swirl of sensation. You even taste of tangerine, he sent.

Oh, Antony. That was … amazing. You’re … amazing.

He released her finger with a sudden pop then smiled. He pushed her damp hair away from her face. “What am I going to do with you?”

She smiled back, but her heart ached. “I don’t know.” She was suddenly filled with the knowledge that difficult things separated them. Though he could enter her and please her, though he could release into her, life had delivered terrible blows through the years, through the centuries. How were they to bridge the divide?

He was still connected, a large heavy presence in the center of her body. He felt so good. Her legs were still wrapped around his hips possessively, locked at the ankles. She didn’t want to release him. She feared letting him go. Once the connection was broken, where would they be really?

She knew the past haunted him and that Rith’s ability to steal her right off Antony’s property when he was just a dozen yards away had undermined his confidence. Even so, she knew, she knew, that wasn’t the whole story.

And her story? Oh, God. She didn’t want to feel like this.

She leaned forward and once more rested her head on his shoulder. Her eyes burned. She stroked the cadroen, the warrior clasp that bound his hair, then let her fingers drift again to his scarred back. What had happened to mar the perfection of his skin? Had he deserved to be cut and whipped? Of course not. His character was fixed. He was a man of honor. No way he had done anything to earn all those lashes.

But where could any of this go?

She thought Antony should know how uncertain she felt, yet she didn’t want to say it aloud. So instead she unlocked her ankles, drew back, and gave a slight push on his shoulders. He looked at her and frowned slightly. He withdrew his heavy shaft from the core of her, and she barely withheld a gasp. How cold she felt suddenly. And empty. And alone.

But wasn’t that always the way for her?

He smiled, albeit crookedly, and lifted her off the counter. He carried her back into the shower, flipped the lever, and started up all eight heads once more. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She looked up at him. Damn, he was tall. And muscular. And gorgeous. His expression was so tender, so understanding that her eyes burned all over again.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “This doesn’t mean we have to get married or anything.”

Great. Just great. He was going to keep being a nice guy. Great.

***

Medichi was so screwed. One hundred percent fucked … up.

As he poured shampoo into his hands and began to lather up his palms, as Parisa turned her back and he settled his hands into her hair, his heart swelled to about the size of Rhode Island. Jesus, why did he feel so much for this woman?

It was the damn breh-hedden, working his body like a mad scientist who knew every button that needed to be pushed in order to set his libido on fire. The shampoo usually had an edgy smell but he really couldn’t tell because all his nose, sinuses, and brain registered was the delicious scent of tangerines. She was a bowl of fruit he wanted to devour.

He worked his fingers into her scalp and she moaned, her body going liquid again. He tried to keep his distance because his cock was responding to her scent and he was already hard again. Shit, if she saw him like this after he had just filled her full to overflowing, she’d probably land a fist against his mouth.

“Antony, what are you thinking about? I can’t smell the shampoo anymore, just all this sage you keep shedding like a spice factory.”

He laughed. “Well, you’d better get used to it. Let’s get you rinsed off. Close your eyes.” He guided her into the stream nearest her and worked her hair to get all the bubbles out.

She turned into him, and her gaze fell to his erection. Part of him felt an urge to cover himself for her sake, but the other part was proud of what he was. His hips rolled in her direction. “I would apologize, but…”

She looked up into his face and her lips parted. Her eyes flared. Whatever this was, it worked both ways. He had expected Parisa to be shy with him: Her general demeanor was restrained. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

She gave a squeak and a cry as she flung herself at him. Before he could protest, or think, or do anything else, he had her up against the shower wall, plunging into her, and she was raking her fingernails over his shoulders and writhing.

He didn’t last long but it didn’t seem to matter since she was screaming at the ceiling as he came.

Afterward, he took her to bed. She slept cuddled against his side, his arm around her. He wasn’t ready for sleep. The master bedroom was huge, with a den on one side; the other overlooked the back lawn. The shutters were open slightly so that he could see beds blooming with purple lantana and a vine covered with lavender flowers. Yellow verbena punctuated the beds. The occasional hibiscus added its stature.

The landscape maintenance company would be on his property all day tomorrow with several crews. Rith had made his way onto the property months ago with the cleaning crew, which had allowed him to abduct Parisa right from under his nose. Maybe he should take Parisa somewhere else until the gardeners were gone. Yet his property was vast, including an olive grove, several acres of vineyard, and a formal Italian garden with many hidden alcoves. How could he be sure the crew all left? He needed better security, someone to monitor the comings and goings of the service workers and winery personnel. He’d been so busy trying to get Parisa back that he hadn’t thought all that much about what would be required to keep her safe once she got here.

Shit.

He couldn’t trust anyone or anything, and Rith would sure as hell make an attempt to get Parisa back.

When she moved against him and an unhappy sound left her lips, he glanced at her. Her eyes were still closed, and he wondered if she was reacting in her sleep to his sudden tension. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. His gaze rested on her and his heart in turn swelled then constricted. What kind of miracle had happened that had made her extraction possible? How had she suddenly been able to communicate with him, at such a distance, telepathically? How had she even stayed alive?

He released a heavy sigh, weighted with three months of tortured searching. She was here. She was safe. She was home. Tears touched his eyes.

He resisted the impulse to draw her closer, to hold her tighter still, to see if he could press her into his skin so that he would never part from her again. She felt so right against him … but how did she feel about being here?

Earlier she had pushed him away and he had felt her distance, her profound withdrawal from him. She hadn’t said a word and he hadn’t asked, but he’d understood her without needing to ask the question: It was too soon to be this close, this intimate.

He was in trouble in more ways than one, and he suspected she was as well.

His warrior phone buzzed. He slid the card off the marble surface of the nightstand where it always rested, rubbed the front, and murmured, “Medichi.”

“Thorne wants to patch in.”

“Thanks, Carla.” He spoke as low as he could, but Parisa stirred beside him. She lifted up on an elbow, and he ran a hand over her damp hair. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Thorne.”

She nodded.

“You there, Medichi?” Thorne barked.

“Give.”

“We went back. Thought you should know, the whole place was cleared out. But shit, all that equipment was still lit up like they’d just drained someone.”

“That’s what Parisa said.”

“The rumors were right. That place was a death and resurrection facility. We found bags of blood, tubing, defibrillators, a modern-day torture chamber.”

Medichi closed his eyes. Something inside his chest gave way. “Was there any kind of data? A computer? Anything?” His voice sounded almost as gravelly as Thorne’s.

“Not a damn thing. There wasn’t even a trace. There were vehicles parked out back. A van or two. We suspect Rith drove off with his slaves, then probably folded the whole lot to another secure location. Tell me you’re not surprised the place was empty.”

“No. Rith is one clever motherfucker.”

“Sorry, Medichi.”

“Thanks for going back.”

He heard a faint rumbling that might have been a you’re welcome, but he couldn’t be sure. The line went dead. Thorne wasn’t exactly a talkative man.

He pressed the card-like phone to his chest.

“What happened?” Parisa asked.

He looked down at her and hugged her. “The warriors went back to Mandalay but everyone was gone. I’m sorry.”

He felt her sigh, but for a long moment she didn’t say anything. Finally, he asked, “You okay?”

“I want to see Endelle.”

“Sure,” he said, but he felt uneasy. “Tomorrow. Maybe give you some time to settle in?” Of all the things Parisa might want right now, so soon after leaving Burma, he hadn’t expected a request to see the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth.