Dragon's Lair (6 page)

Removing her cotton summer dress proved no obstacle, as the thin fabric tore easily in one fluid rip from hem to neckline beneath his two-handed grasp. Emboldened by the action, she'd shouted at him.

Before the first curse fully left her mouth, Braeden threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her head and jerked her closer, cutting off her words with his mouth. The unyielding kiss curled her toes.

Alexia sighed raggedly at the memory as her toes now curled inside her sneakers. She'd meant to set Braeden's mind awhirl. But her own heart hammered and the sound of her unsteady breaths mingled with his.

He'd claimed her that night. The Dragon of Mirabilus had marked her as his mate. Ignoring her unvoiced fear, his hands, lips and tongue had set fire to every inch of her
body until she writhed on the bed unabashedly begging him for more.

Alexia closed her eyes against the spinning in her head. The memories, the feelings, came faster and faster. Her cheeks burned. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she tried to swallow. What had she done? The loneliness and longing she'd locked away inside burst free, nearly knocking the wind from her.

Braeden now groaned with frustrated rage before sliding his hand to the back of her head. His touch tingled hot and cold down her neck. Yet a part of her welcomed it, yearned for more.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he whispered on a near growl, “You should have stayed away.”

He was right. She should have stayed away. She'd been insane to come here.

His lips covered hers and Alexia's heart pounded so hard she truly thought it would burst. She swallowed his warning and clutched at his shoulders for support. She knew he didn't want her here—any more than she'd wanted to come to the Lair.

She should pull free of him and leave. It would be better for everyone. And much safer for her.

But the desperate need created by her memories wiped away any rational thought of self-preservation. Even as confusion washed through her mind, her body suffered from no such confusion.

He'd been angry at her that night, too. But while his demanding touches had surprised her and drawn cries from her lips, they hadn't harmed her. In truth, she'd done more harm dragging her fingernails across his flesh.

Braeden flinched beneath her touch. He
was
sharing her memories.

Did he see how much that night meant to her? To them? Did he know how much she'd loved him then? And trusted him? She'd known full well the magic he possessed and yet she'd given him free rein to do whatever he wanted.

Her throat tightened. Regardless of the danger—physical or emotional—the need to feel his touch, to lose herself in his kiss, urged her on. Alexia leaned against him.

Braeden pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her like bands of steel.

Nearly drunk with the headiness of her first taste of power over him, Alexia teased him deeper into her memories. No matter how rough their lovemaking had been that night, the next morning he'd awakened her with gentle strokes and near-reverent kisses.

And she'd—

Braeden froze. He tore his mouth from hers and slammed the palms of his hands against the wall of the elevator on either side of her head. “Enough.”

Alexia swayed from the harshness of his exit from her thoughts. But she stared up at him, refusing to be bullied by his nasty tone of voice or the evil glitter in his eyes. “What?”

“Don't you ever try anything like that again.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Then stay the hell out of my mind.”

Braeden lowered his arms and stared down at her. How had she learned to intentionally direct her thoughts in a manner that beckoned him to follow? When had she become so calculating?

He stepped away. While he now knew what had driven her to the Lair, not once had he sensed the presence of another. If someone had sent her the pages, or as she'd
insisted they'd magically appeared and the sender had broken through her wall of protection, she'd managed to bury that information so deep he couldn't find it.

Before she could sense his growing unease, he pressed the button to restart the elevator. “I'll show you to your suite.”

As the elevator came to a stop, Braeden heard her sudden intake of breath and turned to see her crumple. Without a second thought, he caught her.

“Alexia?”

He frowned at her unfocused gaze and when her head lolled forward, spilling long, blond waves over her face, he lifted her into his arms. Silently cursing himself for probing her mind to the point of exhaustion, Braeden headed toward his suite and paused briefly at the door.

His original plan had been for her to stay in the suite next to his. But he wasn't about to leave her alone until she'd had enough rest to function normally.

Since the key card to his door was in his jacket pocket, Braeden quietly ordered, “Open up.” He heard the latch click before the door silently swung open.

Alexia jerked awake, struggling in his arms. “Put me down.”

He tightened his hold and ignored her until reaching his bedroom.

She took one look at his bed, gasped, then asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

“We may still be married but—” Alexia pushed against his shoulder “—I am
not
sharing your bed.”

“You're right.” He held her over the bed a moment and stared into her near-wild gaze before dropping her the short distance onto the mattress, then heading toward the door.

Over his shoulder he said, “I'll be sleeping on the sofa.” He didn't bother to mention that it was the middle of the afternoon and he wouldn't be sleeping anywhere for quite a while.

He paused in the doorway. “There are T-shirts and sweats in the dresser—help yourself.” He hitched a thumb at the door on the far wall. “The shower is that way.”

“Braeden?”

He turned to look at her. “What?”

Alexia frowned, looked away, then shook her head. “Never mind, it was nothing.”

Her hair hung about her slumping shoulders in disarray. And her normally bright blue eyes were drained of their brilliance. She looked so damn weak that it was all he could do not to cross the room and gather her into his arms.

He quickly reminded himself that she'd brought this current fear and confusion on herself. He wasn't about to get so wrapped up in his attraction to her that he lost sight of the simple fact that because of her, good people had died. He didn't trust her, especially not after that little game in the elevator, and he couldn't let himself forget that, not even for a moment.

Yet it was beneath him to torment someone who couldn't fight back. “Alexia, that wasn't my Phantom. Mine was delivered early this morning. Go to sleep.”

 

Nathan leaned against a tree and shivered from the cold damp of the mountain fog. He hated the damp. But he didn't want to risk detection by the Dragon, so entering the Lair hadn't been a consideration.

Instead, he'd taken the form of an inconspicuous squirrel and hidden in this tree to watch events unfold against the face of a smooth-polished scrying mirror.

Not only hadn't the Dragon detected his presence outside the Lair or in Alexia's mind, Drake had fallen prey to an uninitiate's manipulation. A woman, no less.

Amazing.

But truly excellent for him.

A cold breeze ruffled his fur, making him shiver again. Why anyone would want to build a resort in this godforsaken land was beyond his understanding. Why not someplace warm and sunny? Someplace with a beach and the pounding ocean.

Although he had to admit, the rugged terrain and the forest provided excellent concealment.

In truth, the climate didn't matter in the least. Because if all went according to plan, Braeden Drake wouldn't be opening his resort anytime soon—at least not in this lifetime. However, at the moment things were not exactly going according to his plan.

Certain the Dragon was too engrossed with Alexia to sense him, Nathan morphed back into his normal form and dropped lightly to his feet at the base of the tree.

What was he going to do with these two?

He hadn't thought for a moment that they'd fall into each other's arms. In the past he'd put up too many roadblocks to keep them apart for that to happen.

But he hadn't expected quite this level of confusion, anger and mistrust. Nathan patted the box in the pocket of his cloak. “Damn you, Aelthed, for binding such nonsense about love to the grimoire.”

When the elder wizard had set the binding into motion, Nathan had laughed, thinking it would be a simple spell to break. Now it seemed the laugh was on him. But soon he would have his way.

He was tired of waiting. This had to be the right couple.
Every instinct he possessed told him that this was finally the generation that would give him what he sought. He didn't want to wait yet another lifetime before gaining the power he deserved.

If this plan failed, if he did not gain the knowledge of the grimoire, there was only one way he could be Hierophant, the most powerful Druid alive. The Drakes and their kin would simply have to die.

He'd been denied the position of High Druid far too long now. Unable to change the course of history, he'd spent all these centuries watching one Drake after another attain what was rightfully his.

The thought of killing gave Nathan no cause for concern. They would die just as easily as the others. With one major difference—if he killed them slowly enough, Nathan knew he could drain them of their powers, absorbing the energy, the strength, from their souls until they heaved their last breath.

The entertainment value alone almost made forgoing the translation worth it. But he'd waited too long for this chance. He would try once more before ridding the world of the last remaining Drakes.

Silently reaching up, Nathan snatched a dove from its perch and slit the bird's belly with a fingernail. He let the body fall from his hand, then squatted to read the entrails.

A hushed sigh of relief whistled through his lips. Yes, he most definitely had the right dragon and the right mate. They needed only to rediscover the love they'd lost.

Unfortunately matchmaking wasn't his forte. So there had to be another method to get the Dragon and his wife in bed together. Surely if they renewed their physical lust, they would soon come to recognize their love.

But how—

A smile slowly curved his lips. He stood up, then chanted a spell before stepping off the side of the mountain path into the mist-laden air.

A
lexia jerked awake and sprang upright on the strange bed. She stared nervously around the semi-darkened room. Her pulse beat rapidly as she tried to clear the fog of sleep. Where was she?

A quick study of the room revealed heavy, dark furniture. Extremely masculine, suited to a man. And as an all-too-familiar spicy scent rose from the bed, it came flooding back.

This wasn't just any man's bedroom. It was Braeden's.

She groaned and shoved the covers aside. The cool air raced across her skin. Her…very…naked…skin. Alexia didn't remember undressing herself. Actually, she didn't remember anything after Braeden dropped her on the bed and left the room.

“Why that…” She swallowed her curse at the sound of someone moving around on the other side of the closed bedroom door.

“Are you awake?”

She glared at the door a minute before answering, “No.” She didn't want to deal with him right now. She was tired of being angry, frightened and confused. And he'd only intensify those emotions.

“There are clean towels in the bathroom and a robe hanging on the door.”

Warmth flowed into her limbs at the gravelly sound of his voice. Alexia frowned. More than anything else, she was extremely tired of
that.

How was it possible that a grown woman had no control whatsoever over her physical responses to a man she disliked so intensely? She wasn't at all certain she could even trust him not to harm her. Why couldn't her head explain that to her body?

Until the past couple of days, she'd done just fine without him—most of the time. After a while she'd even been able to put thoughts of him from her mind—more or less. But the second she saw him again, her body went into some lust-crazed overdrive mode she couldn't seem to control.

Whatever happened to keeping this impersonal?

With an exasperated sigh, Alexia rose and headed to the shower. There was no need to put herself through this turmoil any longer than necessary. She would just translate the manual, then get away from the Lair and Braeden as soon as she could.

Tripping on what felt like clothes, she reached over and flipped on the overhead light. Her clothes were strewn on the floor.

Braeden hadn't undressed her. Unless something had changed, and she doubted it, he never would have tossed clothes on the floor. Not even if they were dirty. He would have folded them up and stacked them neatly on the dresser.

In a strange way, it was nice to know that some things never changed. She scooted them into a pile and went into the bathroom.

To her surprise a small basket on the double sink held all her usual toiletries. Braeden had obviously gone shopping while she slept. Or he'd sent someone.

Either way, she now had her brands of shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, toothpaste and even lavender soap. She rooted through the basket and found a wide-toothed comb, a purple, soft-bristled kid's toothbrush, body lotion, powder and a pack of various sized barrettes for her hair.

This wasn't fair. He couldn't go and get all domesticated on her now. She didn't want to owe him anything more than what was absolutely necessary.

She rushed through her shower, then slipped into the robe before going back out to the bedroom—and coming to a rocking stop. Light streamed in from the doorway and a shadow stretched across the floor.

The rustle of bags preceded Braeden into the room. Without looking at her, he dropped the bags on the bed, the contents spilling out onto the covers. “Get dressed. Dinner is waiting.”

When he turned and paused to stare at her, Alexia recognized the anger etching frown lines across his forehead. Yet, while he was no less mad at her, something else simmered beneath the rage. An emotion she recognized, because it flared to life within her, too.

She swallowed past the dryness in her mouth as heat flooded her body to settle between her thighs. Her cheeks burned, and from the hungry look darkening his eyes he knew they shared the same response.

Before this unwelcome desire could convince her to do something she would only come to regret, Alexia searched
for something to say. “I…thank you for the…shower things…I…” She ran her tongue over lips trying to ease the growing tingle as they anticipated his kiss.

He didn't say a word. His steady stare didn't waver. It felt as if he pierced the thick fabric of the robe with his gaze.

The cool air shifted against her belly, bringing with it the realization there was no fabric to pierce. The robe had fallen open.

She should pull the robe closed. Order him to leave. But she couldn't make her hands and voice obey. Instead, she stood there, her heart pounding, her breath ragged, frozen in place by the heat of his gaze.

He walked slowly toward her. Steadily, purposefully, like a beast intent on obtaining its prey.

The fire on her cheeks burned hotter. The maddening pulse low in her belly beat harder, faster.

Braeden curled his fingers through her still-damp hair and tugged her head back.

Alexia closed her eyes and parted her lips, intent on telling him to leave. But as he caressed her breast, his strong fingers expertly stroking and teasing the already tightening tip, the only sound that escaped her throat was a soft moan.

His lips covered hers, accepting the wordless invitation.

Breathless and on fire, she grasped his shoulders, not caring what tomorrow would bring. This moment was the only thing that mattered.

The buzz of a cell phone cut through the thickness of lust. Braeden tore his mouth from hers on a groan. Without releasing his hold on the back of her head, he whipped the phone from his chest pocket and flipped it open. “What?”

Alexia's pulse slowed at the sharpness of his voice.
What the hell was she doing? Had she lost all ability to think rationally?

This was not the way to keep herself safe. Giving in to uncontrollable lust would gain her nothing more than heartbreak.

Braeden's frown returned as he nearly snarled into the phone, “It'll keep until later.” He snapped the cellular closed and slid it back into his pocket.

Her knees shook when he looked back down at her. It would be, oh, so easy to ignore the warnings of her mind and let her passion retake control.

Braeden stared at her for just a moment before relaxing his hold on her head and stepping away. On his way toward the door, he pointed at the bags. Without pausing, he said, “Get dressed and come eat.”

Her knees shook so badly and her legs felt so rubbery it was all she could do not to slip to the floor. But she was afraid that if she didn't get dressed and go out to the other room to eat, he'd come back in to see what held her up.

That was the last thing she wanted. She didn't have to think twice about it, for she knew that her response would be the same and that he'd not make the mistake of letting anything interrupt them.

Alexia hesitantly tipped the bags upside down and watched the garments tumble onto the bed.

It appeared he'd purchased everything she would need for at least a week, if not longer.

Everything was there—jeans, blouses, sweaters, socks, a pair of hiking boots, bras, panties, pajamas, two pairs of sweats, a heavier jacket than what she had with her, a robe and slippers.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Everything he bought was something she would have picked up for herself.

How dare he have such a good memory! She rolled her eyes. The man filed away every little thing. If he couldn't instantly remember something, all he had to do was search his own mind and whatever he wanted would be there.

After slipping into some underclothes and socks, she pulled on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt before putting the other items back in the bags.

Alexia turned to pick up her dirty clothes from the floor and saw that they were now folded and stacked on the dresser. He just couldn't help himself. The man was a neat freak, methodical and predictable. Too bad she couldn't predict anything else about him.

She paused at the bedroom door and took slow, deep breaths, trying to find a way to calm the uneasiness washing over her.

Not a few hours ago she'd wondered if this risk was worth the pain it could cause. She still didn't have the answer.

Although now she knew exactly how much pain and heartache this trip would gain her. She desperately needed to find a way to shield her heart from what Braeden did to her.

She wished they could be like two normal acquaintances—polite, yet distant from each other. But that would never happen. There was far too much between them to maintain any measure of distance. And too many unsolved issues for them to be polite to each other.

Why hadn't she realized that before pulling through the gates?

Simple. Because she hadn't considered how much she had missed his kiss, his touch and the very sound of his voice. She hadn't considered everything they'd once shared—the passion, the love or even the pain.

If nothing else, she needed to be honest with herself. This man, her husband, could crush her heart more easily than anyone alive, simply because a part of her still cared far too much.

He said she couldn't leave and Alexia believed that he would stop her. So that stripped away the option of getting into her car and driving off. Even if she did, where would she go?

As far as she could tell, she was left with only two options. Either let things continue the way they were and remain silent, as the passion, the caring and the longing tore her apart.

Or face the past head on. Yes, Braeden would then know how much she still cared, leaving her wide open for the heartbreak she dreaded. And yes, she would be forcing herself to relive the pain of the accident, losing the baby and her husband all over again.

And in the end she still might find herself facing the loss one more time.

But if it was all out in the open, wouldn't she be better able to make her peace with the past and move on?

Alexia shook her head. All her wonderings and all her silent questions only left her with more unanswerable questions.

She jerked open the door and wandered toward the living room. She stopped in the center of the room and stared at the view before her.

The panoramic vista of fog-shrouded mountains wiped away her confusion, anger, fear and still-lingering desire. Untamed wilderness tumbled into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Had Braeden not moved forward to slide open the door and step out onto a balcony, she wouldn't have realized anything existed beyond the sheer wall of glass.

To her it appeared the view was unobstructed. What would most likely be a spectacular panorama on a clear day was now veiled by mist as the sun began to set. The murky view added new depth to her sense of foreboding.

The fog swirled around Braeden. While seated behind his desk, he'd been the picture of Lord of the Castle. He swung his gaze to her and Alexia's breath caught. Now he looked every inch the High Druid. As uncivilized and wild as the untamed nature surrounding them, Braeden could easily have stepped out of the Dark Ages.

Beneath his tailored suit, expensive shoes and the businessman's polish beat not only the heart of a dragon, but the soul of a warrior—a warrior trained in wizardry.

If the academic world knew half what she did, the history books would need to be rewritten. There was so much she could have included in her paper, but she'd held back purposely. Knowing what chaos could be created by the truth, she'd intentionally danced around small lies and half-truths.

And she'd done so without guilt—at least, none where the university was concerned. They'd coerced her into writing the paper to begin with by dangling her degree just out of reach. They'd been desperate. So desperate she'd chosen lying and concealment, instead.

In her what-if scenario on the Dragonierre's Manual, she'd not mentioned that the book did indeed exist, nor had she even hinted that the Druids of Gaul had not fallen into extinction.

Had she claimed either to be true, Alexia knew that her life and the life of the man now staring at her so intently might have been over. A risk she'd been unwilling to take.

She'd thought she'd held back enough. She'd worked so hard to edit out any line, any word, that might have hinted at the truth.

But her painstaking work hadn't been enough. Now, she and the Drakes were all in danger—from an enemy she knew nothing about. Abruptly she asked, “Who is the Learned?”

He didn't turn around, but said from over his shoulder, “You're working with them. You tell me.”

She flinched. “They may have left me the pages, but I am not working with them. You know that.”

“Do I?”

“You saw what happened.” She ignored the flush warming her cheeks as she remembered the episode in the elevator. “How could you think I'd work with someone who threatened me?”

Braeden leaned on the railing, his mood as murky as the fog. “I saw what brought you here, nothing more.”