Jordan (42 page)

The stranger was edging up her body, and her senses rioted. Never had anything felt this indescribably good. She wished she
could see his eyes and his expression. Even her empathic gift was failing her. Her own excitement was preventing her from
reading him. Was he enjoying the feel of her as much as she was him? Did he have any idea that her hearts were racing? That
her skirt was above her knees?

Ever so slowly, he crawled to her waist and his head slid between her breasts, his warm breath fanning her flesh. His mouth
had to be inches from her…oh, sweet Goddess.

“The air duct really isn’t made for two,” he joked.

Her pulse leaped. Her nerves were on fire. “There isn’t enough air,” she gasped.

“It’s fine.” He wriggled until his cheek pressed hers and she could feel the fine growth of a beard one day past a shave.
His broad chest warmed her. Her hips nestled his, and she felt him harden against her.

She stiffened. So he wasn’t unaffected, and that fact secretly pleased her. Although it shouldn’t have.

Apparently not the least embarrassed by his physical reaction, he chuckled, his breath warm and tantalizing in her ear. “Don’t
worry. It’s not like we have enough room in here to get any closer.”

She squeezed her eyes tight. “You don’t know who I am.”

“You feel…beautiful.” He reached above her head and ran his hand along her hair, his fingers strong and gentle. “I’m going
to remove the grate so we don’t have to cut your hair.”

His muscles flexed, and he popped the vent from the duct. “Now let’s free your hand.”

He skimmed his other hand up her body, lightly teasing her waist, the side of her breast, her cheek. She sucked in her breath
as a ripple of pleasure washed through her.

“I’ll be happy to do more of that after I get you out of here,” he murmured and ran his fingers up her arm to her trapped
wrist. “Hmm. I’ve got a screwdriver in my back pocket. Think you can reach it?”

She licked her bottom lip and moved her free hand across his firm hip to his curved buttock. Her fingers itched to explore.
After all, she had to find his pocket, didn’t she?

“Try a little higher, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice amused.

“If you want to live, don’t call me that,” she said in her best High Priestess voice. But instead of sounding authoritative,
her tone was breathy and light.

She fumbled her fingers over his buttock, enjoying the hard muscle and the sensuous curve, and finally found and unsnapped
the pocket. Oh…my. The material inside that pocket was so thin she was almost touching his bare, warm flesh. At the thought,
her breasts tingled and, certain he could feel her nipples hardening against him, she flushed.

“What should I call you?” he teased.

She hesitated. If she told him her name, he might not finish freeing her. “I’ll introduce myself once we’re out of this mess.”

“Honey, we’re way beyond the need for formal introductions—not when your sexy little hand is grabbing my ass.”

She snatched the screwdriver from his pocket. “Got it.”

He gave instructions with an easy self-confidence that told her he was enjoying himself. “Reach up my back, over my shoulder,
and place the screwdriver into my hand.”

She did as he asked and found herself admiring his broad back, the muscular shoulders. She was wrapped around him, and the
feel of his hard male body had her trembling. She hadn’t known a man could feel so good.

His maleness was erotic, exotic. Exciting. Her blood rushed though her veins with a heat that made her feel more alive than
she’d felt since she’d first taken to the skies in flight.

“You’re awfully quiet.” The rough texture of his words was almost as exciting as his muscles straining over her. “Am I too
heavy?”

Too heavy? He was perfect.

She swallowed hard. “How much longer…”

“Until we’re done unscrewing? Now, there’s a question I haven’t been asked before.” She could hear the grin in his wry tone
and was grateful when he changed the subject. “How’d you get stuck in here, anyway?”

Every time he turned the screwdriver, his pecs tensed against her breasts and his erection pressed hot against her thigh.

She tried to distract herself by talking. “I thought I heard a bird trapped in here.”

She expected him to tell her she was silly, but he paused in his handiwork. “So you’re the adventurous type?”

Was she? She had no idea. From the moment she’d been born, her destiny had been set. The Elders had trained her as High Priestess.
It was her duty to perform religious ceremonies, to bless babies, to mediate high-level disputes. But she’d wanted to connect
with people, so she’d insisted on becoming a healer, too. That was the reason she worked on the Avalon Project, hoping to
find the Holy Grail and cure her world of all illness. Was that the same as adventurous?

He popped out the last screw, and she tugged her hand free. Her fingers landed in his thick, soft hair. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

“You might be really sorry—once we get out of here.”

“Why’s that?” He began to wriggle down her body. “Are you married?”

“I’m never getting married.” The High Priestess wasn’t allowed to wed. Even if it wasn’t forbidden, who would want a woman
who had the strength to kill her own mate?

“You have seven big protective brothers who’ll want to beat me up?” he teased.

“There’s just me and my two sisters.” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness from her tone.

“No husband. No brothers. And you don’t want to marry. Honey, you’re ideal,” he said, his tone soft and husky. Finally, he
jumped down, and she found herself missing his warmth. Then his strong hands slid up her legs.

“I can get out…by myself.” She tried to wriggle away but couldn’t, of course, with the duct restricting her movements. “Is
anyone else out there?”

“No one. It’s past midnight.”

“Thank the Goddess.” His large hands almost spanned her waist. He lifted her from the conduit and set her down on her feet.
Her skirts dropped to the floor, and she smoothed them while avoiding his gaze.

As the ceremonial robes swished around her legs, her customary decorum returned. “Thank you. You saved my life. But I won’t
tell anyone, so please don’t worry…” She raised her head and met his eyes.

“I’m not worried.” Cocking his head to the side, he’d spoken as if he found the idea absurd. He smiled as if he was seeing
Cael the woman, not the High Priestess, and it charged her with intense awareness. Of him.

In the dim light she recognized him. Lucan Roarke. The new archeologist on the team had dark hair, compelling blue eyes, and
a sculpted jaw. And he wore glasses. Obviously he needed a new prescription, since he didn’t seem to recognize her.

“If anyone learns that you touched me, the State will execute you.”

“Really?”

“The only exemptions are during my healing duties or for blessings bestowed in religious ceremonies.”

She expected him to back away, tremble, even grovel as others in his position would have. Automatically, she braced for the
normal blast of fear, but instead he leaned toward her, his voice seductive. “Lady Cael”—obviously he
did
recognize her—“I wouldn’t mind if more than my fate was in your hands.”

L
UCAN HAD SCREWED UP
. So much for keeping a low profile. He knew better than to flirt with any woman… much less Pendragon’s High Priestess. So
much for taking an inconspicuous walk around the complex to clear his head. What had he been thinking?

That she was soft and toned. That her hair was like silk. And her scent…her scent reminded him of summer rain. Lucan had seen
some unusual things during his thirty-two years, but nothing as unsettling as Cael’s irises, which he could have sworn had
flared with tiny golden flames.

“Get back to work,” he told himself.

He couldn’t let the experience sidetrack him. It didn’t matter that she was the most fascinating woman he’d met…ever. Or that
every time he closed his eyes the memory of her soft curves pressing against him made him forget how much work he had to do.
And how little time he had left to do it.

His career had taken him to dozens of ancient archeological sites and thrown many puzzles his way. But Lucan had not spent
five years flying across the galaxy, then three more learning a new language and establishing himself as a respected Dragonian
linguist, to settle for anything less than the Grail. He’d endured years without the companionship of his friends and family,
the taste of spicy Buffalo wings and cold Corona, the smoky sounds of hot jazz and the smooth roar of his Classic Harley,
deprivations he’d tolerated, all for the sake of finding the Grail.

He shifted his gaze to the large observation port that filled one side of the lab. Just beyond the wall of glass and illuminated
by floodlights, Avalon punched into the night sky, an alien gray marble obelisk. Only a third of the massive structure was
visible above ground, and the entire edifice was shielded by a mysterious energy that allowed no one and nothing to penetrate
its secrets. Lucan was certain the Grail lay behind the shielded wall.

“The answer to breaking through that shield has to be right here in front of me.” He scowled at a copy of the ancient, alien
glyphs that the Avalon team had discovered on the obelisk’s wall earlier the previous day.

These same glyphs were on the star map he’d found on Earth, suggesting that there had been travel between Earth and Pendragon
over fifteen hundred years ago. According to Arthurian legends, King Arthur left the Grail in Avalon. But this Avalon was
across the galaxy from Earth. The idea seemed outrageous, yet Lucan couldn’t ignore the facts. This moon bore Arthur’s last
name. And the ancient Dragonians had named the imposing obelisk Avalon.

Coincidence? Lucan didn’t think so.

“Think.” He glared at the symbols, willing them to respond. Was he looking at an alphabet, or did the glyphs stand for individual
sounds? “What are you hiding? What’s your secret?”

“If only I had a coin for every time someone asked
me
those questions.”

Holy hell.
He’d assumed Cael had left for the evening. How long had she been in the lab? What had she seen?

Like an idiot, he’d left the star map in plain sight. Had she seen enough to recognize the parchment hadn’t originated on
this moon?

Forcing his mind out of a tailspin, Lucan leaned over his desk and deliberately knocked over his mug of tea. Then he whisked
the damning star map into a drawer while the dark, hot liquid oozed into papers of much lesser value.

Lucan forced a smile at Cael, as if he welcomed her interruption. “
You
have secrets?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She strode across the lab, her steps graceful, her bearing regal. “Maybe I can help.” Cael spoke with
casual confidence, and Lucan couldn’t pull his gaze from her. The light danced in her eyes in a way that mesmerized him. He
saw not only intelligence, but a vibrancy, a mystery. “Or do you prefer to work alone?”

He shrugged and wiped at the mess on his desk. Lucan wasn’t a loner by nature but by necessity. The less he shared with his
coworkers, the less chance he had of slipping up, blowing his cover story and fake résumé, and revealing his true identity.
And if these Dragonians figured out he wasn’t one of them, they’d make sure he never got within a thousand yards of Avalon.
They wanted the Grail as badly as he did. For Cael and Pendragon, finding the Grail would be a boon that would eliminate disease
and suffering and the need for hospitals, medical research, and drugs.

“Right now I need to decipher these glyphs,” he said.

She glanced at the symbols. “You think they’re the key to breaking through the shield?”

The Dragonians had been trying for centuries to bring down Avalon’s outer protective shield so they could search inside for
the Grail. Modern technology, bulldozers, acids, and blasting had failed to win them access.

Lucan threaded his fingers through his hair. “If I could translate the glyphs, I could answer your question.”

He poured more caffeine-laced tea and offered her a mug.

“No, thanks.” She eyed the almost empty pot, and her hair brushed her shoulders. With the two of them alone in the lab it
was impossible not to recall her hair in his hands, or her fresh-rain scent, and his pulse raced as she raised her eyes to
his. “You think going without sleep will help?”

He sipped the tea, and over the brim of his cup he read concern in her eyes. And female curiosity that he couldn’t afford
to encourage.

He was so aware of her, it was almost as if pulling her out of that vent had ignited something between them. “I can’t waste
time sleeping, not when that subsurface cavity might open up and swallow Avalon tomorrow.”

Last summer’s drought had created a massive water shortage. The Dragonians had pumped water from the subterranean aquifer
into their cities until they’d emptied the underground reservoirs, leaving a vast sinkhole beneath Avalon, one that grew larger
and more likely to collapse the ground above it by the day.

“The latest estimates say we have weeks, maybe months.” She hesitated as if she didn’t want to say more but then continued,
“But even if the ground holds, General Brennon’s newest satellite data show that the expanding sinkhole has weakened the area
so much that it may be dangerous to bring down the shields.”

“How dangerous?”

“The shields are reinforcing Avalon’s stability. If the ancient walls collapse, the adjoining part of the city might fall
into the cavity.”

Lucan’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s he want us to do? Give up?”

“We won’t.” Her curious gaze settled on his desk and the copy of the runes. Her eyes, a startling mix of old soul and pure
innocence, drew him in. “Are you any closer to an answer?”

He set his cup aside and chose his words carefully. If he gave Cael a reason to report anything suspicious, Sir Quentin, Avalon’s
chief archeologist and head of the government’s Division of Lost Artifacts, would take her seriously.

“I’m no closer to translating the glyphs than when we uncovered them yesterday afternoon.”