Dark Peril (17 page)

She looked startled. Her eyes went dark. Her heart began pounding again, filling the small chamber with its frantic beat.

7

Can you come to trust a man once again?
Can you come to love an old one like me?
Let my strong arms protect you, let me sing you to sleep.
Let my song bring you healing, like the earth and the sea.

DOMINIC TO SOLANGE

S
olange’s heart nearly burst out of her chest. Tremors ran up and down her body, and icy fingers of fear slid down her spin. Dominic filled the room with his power. She couldn’t look at his face, not those piercing eyes that could change color like a storm. She actually wrung her hands together. The distance between them seemed to be miles, although it was only a few steps. It might as well have been miles. Men weren’t supposed to be like him—except in dreams. She could handle him in dreams, but this was crazy. What did he want from her?

He waited. He always seemed to be waiting so patiently for her to make up her mind. He never raised his voice, his tone soft and compelling. She stared at his chest for a long time before she could make her frozen foot step forward. One. She counted to herself. Two. He seemed to loom larger than ever. Three. She could see the muscles ripple beneath his shirt. Four. Head down, refusing to meet his eyes, she took the last step to stand in the exact spot he’d indicated. It was the best she could do for him.

“The dawn is approaching fast,
päläfertiil—
lifemate. I need to make certain I have adequately taken care of you.”

Her stomach somersaulted. What did that mean, “Taken care of you”? She licked her lips, trying to get enough moisture to do more than squeak. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself if she could find a way to move. She felt paralyzed.

He caught the hem of her shirt and simply pulled it over her head before she had a chance to stop him. She gasped and covered her generous breasts with her hands, her face going from bright red to nearly a translucent white.

“Your bath, Solange,” he reminded.

She swallowed twice. “I can undress,” she blurted. It was a blatant lie. She couldn’t take off her clothes in front of him to save her life.

“And deny me the pleasure of doing it for you?”

She stared mutely at his chest. He would
see
her. There was nowhere to hide in the small cavern. He took her wrists gently, and pulled her arms down and away from her body. A blush spread from her toes all the way to her face. She could feel warmth running under her skin, and worse, moisture gathering between her legs. The cool air in the cave teased her bare breasts, so that her nipples reacted, forming hard nubs that drew his attention.

He took a breath, his gaze drifting over her with a hint of possession. “Why would you hide your breasts from me? Are they not part of my woman? Do they not belong to me just as she does? Is my body not yours?”

She heard a strangled sound emerge from her throat, but it was the only sound she could get out. She felt mesmerized by him, standing there trembling while he stepped close, so close she felt the brush of his chest against her sensitive nipples. With every breath she drew the scent of him into her lungs. If she raised her head, she knew she would see those fierce green eyes instead of his calming blue ones. He was every bit as aroused as she was, his heat setting her on fire. She closed her eyes when his hands dropped to the front of her jeans.

“I’m not beautiful,” she managed to warn him, hoping that if she said it first, he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

His hands stopped. “Solange.”

She winced. His voice was stern. Still pitched low, but very stern.

“Look at me.”

She wanted to look anywhere but at him, but she couldn’t stop herself from raising her eyes to his. It was pure compulsion. Her entire being crumpled at the displeasure plain on his face.

“This is a very important rule, Solange. My lifemate is the most beautiful woman on this earth to me. Anyone who says differently insults her, which is a capital offense and insults me. I do not think you want to do that, do you?”

She shook her head. To her horror tears burned behind her eyes. She could
not
do this. She hated disappointing him, but what would be worse? Letting him discover on his own, or trying to tell him? “I was trying to be honest.”

His hand cupped the side of her face, his gentleness nearly her undoing. His thumb caressed her cheek and jaw. “
Kessake
—my little cat. Do not look so distressed. When a man has waited a thousand years for the one woman who is his alone, she is the very definition of beauty to him. What others see cannot matter. Only what I see matters. And I want you to see yourself through my eyes. You should see the woman I see.”

His fingers trailed down her throat to her collarbone and then down to the swell of her breasts. “Look at you. The very epitome of a woman.” His fingers touched her nipples.

She drew in her breath, held it, shocked at the electricity sizzling between her breasts and belly, moving lower still to tease her thighs with arousal and catch fire to the very center of her core.

Abruptly his hands dropped to her jeans again, to push them down over her hips. Solange caught her breath again, closing her eyes as she obeyed the pressure of his hand to step out of her clothes. Jaguars couldn’t wear underwear as a rule because they couldn’t get out of their clothes fast enough when they shifted. She stood absolutely naked in front of him, grateful for the softening effect of the candles, unable to look at him. She kept her arms where he’d positioned them and bit down hard on her lip to keep from blurting out anything else that might disappoint him.

No matter what he said about being beautiful, she didn’t feel that way. And she wanted to be beautiful for him. She was going to die soon. There was no way to live in a fight with Brodrick; he was too strong. She’d accepted that she had limited time left, and in a way, she was grateful. She was so weary of days like this one, days of failure, of killing. Of not having anyone . . .

She wanted these last moments with Dominic. She respected him above all other men. She would never have been able to accept another man. But she wanted so much, for once in her life, to belong. To be cared for. To be a woman, not a warrior. This was her chance, now at the end of her days . . . if she could stand him looking at her scarred, repulsive body.

“Solange.”

She winced. He was definitely reading her mind.

He shook his head. “Not your mind. Your expression.” He traveled in a slow circle around her. She had a strong urge to shift into her jaguar, but now it was somewhat of a challenge. Did he tell the truth? Was he an honorable man? She needed to know. He was the first person she’d trusted enough to allow him to lead. She’d never even allowed her beloved cousins to do that.

He returned to stand in front of her and her legs nearly went out from under her. He was naked. Magnificently so. There was no way to breathe. Her mind came crashing to a halt. There was nothing small about Dominic, and right now, there was no doubt that he was aroused—for her. He drew a deep breath and she knew he could smell her own arousal. His eyes went darker green.

“I love the way you blush,” he said. “So enticing. I had no idea my little wildcat would be so sexy.”

She felt light-headed. Dizzy. Faint. The room tilted.

He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “You forgot to breathe,
kessake
. It helps.”

She was fairly certain
nothing
was going to help, but she took a breath anyway. “I can’t . . .” She gestured vaguely. There was not going to be sex. She couldn’t go that far, could she?

“I can’t either,” he replied, amusement in his voice.

She relaxed a little, comforted by his humor. He was much like the man she had conjured up. Patient. Relaxed. Content with who he was and who she was.

“You look like you could,” she pointed out.

His gaze flicked over her and there was definite amusement. “I
feel
like I could. You are not ready, no matter what your body says. And I have vile parasites in my body. I cannot take a chance that I would pass them to you.” He stepped into the basin of water.

She caught at him. “The water’s cold.”

His eyes went deep emerald. “Would I allow my lifemate to be cold when she is exhausted and wounded? I see to your needs,
minan
, at all times.”

They sank into the blessedly hot water. She didn’t care how he’d managed it, but every cell in her body thanked him. The heat surrounded her, easing the terrible strain on her muscles that the physical exertion of the day had brought, as well as the tension of meeting the man she believed she’d made up. She ducked her head under the water, but when she emerged and reached for the shampoo she kept tucked into a small rock ledge, his hand was there before hers.

“Let me. It gives me pleasure.”

Maybe if he didn’t sound so completely sexy all the time she could handle being with him. It was the tone of his voice. His choice of words.
Pleasure.
She could see his hands, big and strong like the rest of him. He dealt in death, just as she did, but there was knowledge in his eyes—knowledge of her, of what she craved and never believed she would have.

He just took up so much room. He filled the entire chamber with his presence. She felt petite beside him, and she was a sturdy woman. He made her curves seem lush and sexy instead of too much. Everything he did was deliberate and precise. He positioned her exactly as he wanted her, turning her back to him, fitting her snugly in his lap so that her head could rest against his chest. She could feel him, hard as a rock, long and thick, unashamed against her buttocks.

She desperately tried not to think about sex. Her cat wasn’t close to heat, and she
never
thought about a man touching her. It would be unthinkable to allow a man’s hands on her body after all the terrible things she’d seen that men did. Yet, lying in the water, her body warm and surrounded by liquid heat, her head back, her breasts floating and his obvious erection in mind, she had to struggle to keep erotic thoughts from her mind.

He gently rubbed shampoo in her hair. His fingers settled into her scalp, beginning a slow, magical massage that sent her body into a near hypnotic state of relaxation. She felt the tingling in her scalp spread through her, a pleasant sensation that grew into pure pleasure. He took his time rinsing her hair thoroughly before his hands dropped to her neck, those strong, marvelous fingers massaging every knot and tight muscle.

Solange sighed, shocked at how good she felt. The hot water, his hands and feeling clean eased most of the tension out of her.

“Aside from the entire naked thing, why is it so difficult to talk to you?” She heard her own voice musing aloud, and was slightly shocked at herself. It was his magical hands, now working on her shoulders, that seemed to make her less inhibited. “I talked to you all the time before.”

“You were safe. The man you believed you conjured up couldn’t expect anything from you.”

That made her seem such a coward. Was she a coward? She didn’t think so. But she was afraid. He lifted her arm out of the water to begin using his strong fingers to ease the tension from those muscles as well. Defined muscles. Ropes of muscle beneath her scarred skin. She could see the hundreds of white indentations, tiny ones that reminded her of the painful stabs from her father’s knife as he worked over her entire body in his determination to provoke her cat into revealing itself.

She hated looking at her body. She hated those polka-dot scars marring her skin. She couldn’t look at herself without remembering the slaughter. If she closed her eyes she could smell the blood running through the house and outside into the ground. Her brothers’ bodies thrown carelessly aside, arms and legs sprawled out, little Avery lying partially across Adam as if in a garbage dump. Bile rose and she fought not to be sick. Her friends. Her family. She made a single sound, inarticulate, and tried to jerk her arm away from him.

He didn’t let go. His gaze leapt to her face. “Do not turn away from me, Solange. We share this. The slaughter of your family. The slaughter of mine.”

His soft words allowed her to breathe away the images.

“Do you wish to remove the evidence from your skin?”

He asked the question quietly, his voice so gentle she looked away because she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. She’d never been so emotional. Or maybe she had when she’d talked to him, thinking he wasn’t real. She’d felt safe enough to cry in front of him. He had been her only outlet. Juliette and Jasmine had often helped her with the rescues, Juliette more than Jasmine, as they both tried to protect her. But they relied on Solange and she looked after them with fierce protectiveness. She blamed herself that she had been away when the jaguar-men found her aunt Audrey and dragged her away. They’d mounted a rescue but . . . The damage had been done. Just as with Jasmine.

She tried desperately to stop her thoughts. She was in a hot bath with a shockingly handsome man—larger than life—and she was so emotional she’d nearly forgotten that small detail.

“Solange?” His fingers continued to work their magic down her arm. “Would you do it if you could? Remove these tributes?”

She closed her eyes and allowed him to draw her head back until it rested against his chest as he lifted her other arm and began that slow, soothing massage. She’d never thought of the scars as badges or a tribute. Were they? She’d thought of the scars with hatred and anger, a reminder of who her father was, of what blood ran in her veins. She’d never once considered the small white dots as something beautiful—a tribute to her love of her mother, her family.

“Could you remove them?” Was that even possible?

“Perhaps.” His tone was noncommittal.

Solange didn’t try to look up at him; she merely relaxed, her head resting on his chest as he massaged her arm, knowing he would wait with infinite patience for her answer. She’d loved that calmness in him, the lack of anger and need for revenge. She was driven by both destructive emotions, and desperately needed that calm in the midst of the wild fury that drove her so hard. When she was close to him like this, she felt steadier. Safe. Comforted. She might be off balance, but as long as she wasn’t thinking in terms of man and woman, she could lay down the fight and just be still.