Jordan (43 page)

Despite years of study in ancient runes and hieroglyphics, he hadn’t been able to make any sense of the connection between
his map and ancient Avalon.

“You might want to give yourself more than a day to solve one of our moon’s ancient puzzles.” With an encouraging raise of
her brow, she moved aside several of his books, and together they finished mopping up the spilled tea. When their hands accidentally
touched, his flesh tingled in response. Her violet gaze jerked toward his in surprise. “You’re driving yourself too hard.”

That was so not his problem. The only thing too hard around here, suddenly, was his dick.

Damn it. Not now. He needed to play this cool. He bristled, then tried to hide his reaction. But a telltale flicker in her
eyes told him she’d noted his irritation.

The lady was perceptive. Too perceptive? He raked back his hair to give him time to cool his jets. The last thing he needed
was her ordering him to come in for a checkup. “I’m sure I look like hell. But a shower and a shave should—”

Cael placed her hand on his shoulder. “Relax.” What was she up to? She seemed to be deliberately touching him now, and it
occurred to him that she was scanning him with her empathic ability.

He prayed to God she couldn’t read his mind, then forced himself to relax. She read feelings, not thoughts. For now, his real
identity was still safe. And if she was picking up any of his lusty yearnings, she was pretending otherwise.

Cael knelt, scooped the rest of his books from the floor, and placed them back on his desk. “I won’t send you to the medical
bay—”

“Thanks.”

“If you promise to sleep for a few hours—”

“Agreed.”

“In your bed. Not at your desk.” She smiled, perhaps to take the sting out of her words.

He cocked his head to one side and shot her his most charming grin. “You want to come tuck me in?”

Damn it. He’d been keeping the conversation on a professional level, and then he’d blown it again. He kept forgetting Cael
was not just a colleague. No Dragonian he knew would venture such an innuendo with the High Priestess, even in jest. But then,
he doubted any other man had shared an air duct with her, either.

When she placed her hands on her hips and frowned, he thought she was offended. Then the corner of her mouth quirked to form
a saucy grin. “Will that be necessary? My tucking you in?”

Necessary?
No.
Pleasurable?
Oh, yeah.
He envisioned her leaning over him, her eyes widening as he tugged her into his arms for a kiss.

Stop.
He had to stop fantasizing. Stop looking at her.

He cast his eyes down to his desk. “Maybe if I hit the sack, the answer will come to me in my dreams.” Fat chance. He was
going to toss and turn. And think about her.

“I’m glad you’re optimistic. It’s terrible to think these glyphs might be our last chance…”

She looked worried, and not asking what was on her mind took all his willpower.

He cleared his throat and put the remaining items on his desk to rights, willing her to step away so the rainy scent of her
hair didn’t flood his lungs, so the light in her eyes didn’t dazzle, so her lips weren’t close enough to tempt him.

Too much was at stake to think about anything but his mission. He must have been more tired than he’d realized. But exhaustion
was no excuse. What the hell was wrong with him? And what was wrong with
her?
He might have admired her long, long legs and flowing blond mane since he’d arrived at the lab, but she’d never shown him
more than a passing glance.

When she spoke, Cael’s voice was low and silvery, threaded with sorrow. “You know, finding the Grail means…everything…to me,
too.”

Looking away, perhaps deliberately avoiding his gaze, she fingered her necklace beneath her tunic’s collar. “My nephew…is
sick. He’s”—her voice broke—“only five.”

The hint of desperation in her voice revealed a deep, black agony. One he knew all too well. “You can’t heal him?”

She shook her head, her fingers rubbing the necklace. “I shouldn’t have said anything. The last thing you need is more pressure.
I’m sorry.”

Lucan nodded in understanding. “My sister’s unable to have a child. All her life she’s wanted to be a mother, and her dream
was ripped away. I’d hoped the Grail…”

Marisa’s doctors had eventually declared her barren after the last miscarriage, and watching her be torn apart by grief was
almost more than Lucan could handle. More and more people on Earth were being given the same diagnosis. Infertility was reaching
epidemic proportions. Without a miracle, people on Earth faced extinction.

That’s why the Vesta Corporation had funded his mission. That’s why Lucan had crossed a galaxy to achieve his goal. Always
in secret. Always alone. Always hiding his real past from everyone around him.

Cael touched Lucan’s arm, infusing him with an awareness he was certain could be his undoing. “Then you understand,” she whispered.

Reluctantly he pulled away from her touch. “More than you’ll ever know.”

She who lives without taking risks dies without love.

—E
NGLISH PROVERB

1

London, the near future

Y
ou call that relaxing?” A deep male voice reverberated through the exercise room, and Marisa Roarke opened her eyes. “Meditation
is so overrated.”

Rion Jaqard stalked with predatory zeal across the Trafalgar Hotel’s workout room, flung a towel onto a chair, and whipped
off his shirt before sliding onto the weight bench.

During the few times Marisa had run into Rion at her brother Lucan’s apartment, she’d noticed Rion was built. But she hadn’t
realized he was so solid. Talk about walking testosterone. She’d bet even his sweat had muscles.

Rion always emitted a sexy aura. But tonight he seemed to have turned his charms up a notch. Almost as if his alluring appeal
was a veneer. And beneath was an undercurrent of banked urgency. Intensity. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different
about him but her tired mind was reluctant to question, preferring simply to appreciate his…

She had to stop looking.

Even if he was totally irresistible, she should have been immune. He may have been a first-rate flirt with other women, but
he’d always treated her like a pesky kid sister. And who could blame him? A nasty divorce many years ago had left her with
the expectation that most relationships were built on a mountain of lies.

Trying to ignore the size of Rion’s very broad, very muscular chest, she frowned. “These days I find relaxing pretty much
like trying to fly with only one wing.”

Conversation over. She shut her eyes again. But the image of his ripped chest and totally toned, totally etched abs remained.

Marisa imagined those powerful arms around her. Strong, yet gentle. Warm and tight with a current of need. She imagined his
eyes filled with desire… for her.

Stop it.

Stop imagining.
She didn’t imagine.

Not anymore.

She halted her wandering thoughts with hard facts.

Rion was from the planet Honor. The first chance he got to leave Earth, he’d be gone. But if all Honorians were built like
him, Earth’s women would be rioting for interplanetary travel visas. Of course, no such documents existed. Not since the United
Nations had shut down travel from Earth to the rest of the galaxy.

For the moment Rion was trapped on Earth. She sneaked another glance. All that sculpted maleness was dazzling. Seductive.
A woman could have a night to remember with a body like his. She suppressed a sigh. Too bad she wasn’t that kind of woman.
Since her failed marriage she’d become even more careful. Maybe too careful.

If he’d ever, even just once, shone any of his alpha sex-machine machoness in her direction, she might have succumbed to temptation
and flirted. But he wasn’t interested. He’d never been interested.

Stop drooling. Just look somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Marisa had thought herself past the age of ogling men who showed no sign of ogling back. She figured her reaction was due
to work-related stress from her new career.

Just six months ago, Marisa had been a successful correspondent at the
St. Petersburg Times
in Florida. She’d covered everything from war in the Mideast to the story about her brother Lucan and his wife, Cael, who
had brought back a cure from the planet Pendragon for Earth’s fertility problems, which had been Marisa’s last assignment.

While the cure had saved humanity from extinction, it had side effects, a genetic shift that required some people to periodically
morph into dragons. But humans were not accustomed to their new dragonshaping abilities, which required controlling their
more primitive side. So after discovering her own telepathic powers could be used to calm the dragons’ highly sexed and predatory
tendencies, Marisa had switched careers.

A fifteen-hour shift, exhaustion, and her not-so-successful attempt to erase the emotional aftereffects of dealing with her
oversexed dragonshaping clients had clearly upset her equilibrium.

She closed her eyes.
Out. Out. Out.
Rounding up the stray emotions, she corralled them into a tiny corner of her mind, then squashed down hard.

But she still couldn’t block out the man across the room. The weights clinked as Rion raised and lowered them, and Marisa
peeked again through her lowered lashes. The guy was gorgeous.

He slanted a glance in her direction. The gleaming interest in his eyes startled her. “Hard day?”

“Uh-huh.” She looked away. The one-on-one telepathy she’d originally signed up for wouldn’t have made her this susceptible
to Rion’s sexuality. But after Marisa had begun to work with the dragonshapers, she’d discovered she could simultaneously
communicate with an entire group of dragons. Her unique ability to help many dragons at once made her a valuable asset to
the Vesta Corporation. Unfortunately, the side effects subjected her to all of the dragonshapers’ angers, fears, jealousies,
and passions at once.

Don’t think about work.

Left with residual sexual tension, all her cells hummed with need.

Let it go.

Unclenching her teeth, she forced her lips to part, breathed deeply through her nose, and told the muscles in her aching neck
to loosen. Or at least to stop throbbing so she could go up to her hotel room and sleep.

“Maybe lifting would relax you.”

She arched an eyebrow. Something had to be wrong with her hearing because his voice sounded coaxing.

“If you need help, I could spot you,” he continued.

“No, thanks.” Surprised by his persistence, she spoke without looking at him.

Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Surely by now even his oversized biceps had to be burning, his lungs aching for oxygen.
But he didn’t sound out of breath.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” His tone held a hint of disappointment.

Disappointment?

No way.

Her tired mind had to be misinterpreting his signals. As much as she’d have liked to believe he was interested in her, she
knew better. So she had to accept that the dragons’ residual passions were affecting her judgment.

“Meditation works better in silence,” she said calmly, pleased that her voice didn’t give away how aware she was of the way
his buttocks tightened and relaxed in a fascinating rhythm that made her mouth go dry.

“Seems to me your meditation isn’t working.”

He was right. She couldn’t stop staring at him. A light gleam of sweat glistened on his skin, emphasizing his muscles as he
set down the weights.

He straightened and raked her with a gaze that settled on the vein throbbing in her neck. “Your pulse rate must be over one
thirty,” he said.

Hell. Any woman within ten meters of him would have an elevated pulse. “Are you deliberately trying to annoy me, or do you
come by it naturally?”

She expected him to take off, but he grabbed his towel, slung it over his shoulders, and wiped the sweat from his brow. And
gave her a look brazen enough to heat every flat in London—for the entire winter.

Whoa. She might be tired. But not that tired. No way could she misread his male interest. Just what was going on here? He’d
never looked at her like this before. What was he up to?

His tone oozed charm. “There are better ways to relax.”

“Like?” Marisa couldn’t prevent a tiny smile raising the corners of her lips.

His dark gaze flicked to her mouth, tracked it with hot male interest. He’d taken her smile for an opening. Of course, he
would. She doubted anyone had ever told Mr. Irresistible no. Approaching with a long-legged saunter that made her eyes narrow
with speculation, he sat on the mat behind her and placed his palms firmly on her shoulders.