Rion (2 page)

“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.

She should pull away until she knew what he was up to. But she couldn’t. Not when he looked so damn good.

He went still behind her, drawing out a moment of silence that thrummed with tension. Her sizzling awareness of him seemed
to fill the space between them with a rush of heat.

At the first touch of his hands on her shoulders, she had to bite back a gasp of pleasure. Gently, ever so slowly, he kneaded
her neck and caressed her shoulders with a sensual thoroughness that melted away the tension. Circling in on the tight spots
with soothing caresses, he feathered his fingertips over her sore muscles.

Her pulse leaped. She swallowed hard.

Rion eased the heels of his palms into her tight shoulders with lingering, luscious strokes. After several mesmerizing minutes,
he leaned forward and his breath fanned her ear. “You carry tension in the neck.”

“I do?” She sighed and leaned into his hands, grateful for the relief.

He kneaded gently, gradually going deeper, until her muscles melted, until she felt as warm and pliable as taffy. His fingers
were so clever, but as he released one kind of tension, a sensuous anticipation began to build.

“Am I too hard for you?” he asked, almost sounding innocent.

She jerked upright and made a choking sound. He was sitting behind her, but she could see his chiseled face reflected in the
mirrors and caught a reckless I-shouldn’t-be-messing-with-my-best-friend’s-sister-but-I’m-going-to-do-it-anyway gleam in his
eyes. “My hands. Am I rubbing too hard?”

“You feel great. And you damn well know it.” She lifted an eyebrow and shot back her best I-know-what-you’re-up-to look.

But she really had no idea what his intentions were. He might have been a first-class flirt with other women, but with her,
he’d merely been friendly.

“I’m glad you like my touch,” he murmured.

At his flirting, her heart fluttered, but she tamped down her excitement and cast him a curious glance. “From what I hear,
you’ve had lots of practice.”

Rion worked on a knot next to her spine, applying tension until the tightness ebbed. “You have an Earth saying, ‘Practice
makes perfect.’ But I’m not certain if a massage can ever be perfect. After all, there are so many variations of where to
touch… how to touch… when to touch…”

No one could accidentally be
that
suggestive—not even a man from another planet. And while she’d love to find out exactly where and how he would touch her
next, all her caution signals flared.

Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear, “Did you know you have a very sexy neck?” His gray eyes met hers in the mirror,
and she could have sworn they smoldered. When he brushed a wispy tendril from her nape, heat shimmied down her spine.

Damn, he was smooth. Real smooth. Although she’d already been burned by her ex-husband, she was long over the hurt. Yet when
it came to men, she remained cautious, unable to trust her own judgment.

Ignoring the desire surging through her veins, she scooted from under Rion’s hands and stood. “Thanks. It’s been a long day.
I need to hit the sack.”

“Good night, Marisa.” He stood, too, and grabbed his shirt. As she left the workout room, he called out to her. “Sweet dreams.”

Sweet was out of the question. Sizzling hot was more like it.

He will speak at times of things yet to happen… for he has the gift of sight.

—M
ERLIN

A
s always, Rion’s vision flashed before his eyes without warning.

“You dare to defy me?” The Unari raised his whip.

His victim, a man on his knees, bowed his head.

The Unari’s lash swished, cutting the air and biting into a back already scarred from too many whippings, leaving yet another
bloody welt.

At the vicious blow, the victim clenched his jaw but didn’t utter a sound. Eyes dulled by pain, head down, his emaciated body
trembled.

“Get up.” The blasé tone of the Unari suggested he’d beaten many men.

And then the vision widened in scope, like a camera backing up and allowing a wide-angle view. Bright orange Cuttees flapped
their wings and soared over the hellish Honorian desert. And Rion gasped in horror. Beyond the two men were hundreds, maybe
thousands more starving Honorians, laboring to build a giant wall under the Unari lash.

“Get up, slug. There’s work to do.” The Unari landed a brutal kick on the man’s hip.

Deep in a trance, Rion flinched. Willed the man to get up.

The lash descended again, this time shredding skin across the man’s vulnerable stomach. With a primal howl, he pulled his
knees into his chest.

As the man writhed in pain, Rion glimpsed a distinctive three-quarter crescent-shaped burn mark on his arm.

Sweet Goddess. Rion knew him. Avril had once been a giant, a palace guard.

“Back on your feet. Get up, slave.”

“Slave?” Rion snapped out of his trance, head reeling. It took him a few moments to realize he’d had a flash, a gruesome vision
of the future.

Currently a guest on planet Earth in the luxurious Trafalgar Hotel, where the Vesta Corporation had housed him for the last
six months, Rion paced, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Ever since his arrival on Earth, Rion had been employing his diplomatic skills to convince the United Nations to join the
Honorians’ fight against the Unari. So far he didn’t have the votes of enough delegates to swing a commitment from Earth.
Hell, they wouldn’t even agree to open the portal to send him back home, never mind pay for an army to fight the Unari.

But he was now done with diplomacy. Done pleading for Earth to help.

It was time to act. And his new plan was moving along nicely. Running into Marisa last night had been no accident. She’d been
suspicious at first, smart woman that she was, but after the shoulder massage, he was pretty sure she now thought of him as
more than Lucan’s friend.

Sealing the deal might take longer.

His best friend’s twin… annoyingly suspicious of him, downright intelligent, blessed with rare telepathic talent, she was
definitely a woman with curves in all the best places. She deserved to be taken to London’s best restaurant, wined and dined
by a real gentleman.

His conscience stabbed, but he didn’t have the luxury of questioning his scruples. Not after the horrors he’d seen.

By the Goddess, he’d had enough of political squabbling, indecision, and England. The visceral need to get home to prevent
the disaster he’d envisioned flared hotly in his core. Only long years of discipline allowed him to contain his rage. But
he’d do anything to save his people.

With communications knocked out on Rion’s home world, Marisa was the key to his plan to free his people of the Unari invaders.
A rallying cry sent to every dragonshaper on Honor would make it possible for Rion to organize a revolt. And Marisa had the
rare talent to send that message.

Leaving his room, Rion strode down the hall to the suite next door and knocked on the door. “Lucan… you there?”

Marisa cracked open the door and slipped off the security chain. With her mass of chestnut hair—highlighted in various shades—vivid
blue eyes, and slender body, she resembled a picture he’d once seen in a childhood book about a fiery mountain sprite.

“Enter at your own risk.” Marisa’s eyes sparkled with humor, as if he’d caught her at the tail end of a joke.

Tendrils of her luscious mane curled over her slender neck, and he was reminded of feeling that smooth, silky skin beneath
his fingertips last night. She shot him a friendly grin as if their encounter had never happened. “Welcome to chaos.”

“Isn’t Lucan around?” Pretending to search for her brother, he forced his gaze from her provocative gem-studded earlobes to
look around the hotel suite.

She hadn’t been exaggerating about the chaos. Two baby dragons hopped across the carpet. Not yet strong enough for true flight,
they took a few running steps, fluttered their wings, and toppled over, only to get up and do it all over again.

“Shut the door quickly before one of them escapes.” Marisa scooted a baby away from the door.

Rion stepped into the turmoil of boisterous baby dragons, a barking dog, and a ringing phone, but Marisa seemed unfazed by
the confusion.

Wearing high heels, jeans, and a snug tank top, Marisa swayed her hips with a sensual ease as she stepped between the furniture,
the yapping dog, and the baby dragons’ hopping test flights. “Lucan and Cael are out to dinner.”

Watching the babies cavorting on the rug, Rion grinned at one major side effect of the sterility cure. Some people who took
the vaccine now had the ability to morph from human to dragon and back. As did their children. And the babies shifted back
and forth at will.

His smile faded as he recalled Earth’s struggle to accept the dragonshapers. During the last six months, parents, governments,
and schools had adjusted to a baby boom and three-month gestation periods. In order to adapt to the cultural changes, many
people had made sacrifices. Marisa had given up her reporting job to work at a London university and now used her telepathic
abilities to teach adult dragonshapers how to contain their powers and strength.

Thank the universe, the rambunctious little ones couldn’t breathe fire yet. “You volunteered to watch the twins?” Rion asked,
careful to simulate surprise.

“I must have been out of my mind,” Marisa said with a laugh. Ignoring the ringing phone, she pivoted and leaned over to pick
up a dragon. The pose drew his attention to her perfectly rounded ass, and he found himself battling the urge to yank off
her jeans and nibble his way down to her panties.

She plucked one of the twins off the dog’s back. “Condor, sweetheart, you can’t ride Buster.”

Rion laughed. “Why not?”

She set the baby dragon on the carpet and shook a finger at Rion. “Don’t start.” Her voice was stern, but her lips twitched
into a smile. “Their claws might scratch him.”

Rion raised an eyebrow. “Through his fur?”

“I don’t know.” Marisa shrugged. “Even their mother doesn’t know. Cael says she didn’t dragonshape until she was five and
had a little common sense.”

As baby dragonshapers, Rion and his cousins had often ridden the Honorian equivalent of dogs and horses. The young dragons’
instincts were right on target. Lifting Condor, Rion gently placed him on Buster’s back. The dog wagged his tail. “See, he
doesn’t mind.”

“But Nessie’s throwing a fit. She wants up, too.”

Rion patted the little girl’s neck. “Nessie, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Nessie squawked and flapped her wings.

“Uh-oh.” Marisa reached for Nessie.

But the dragon dodged, evading her aunt’s hands, and Marisa clenched empty air. She stepped forward to catch her balance,
and her heel caught in a dog toy. Rion grabbed her shoulder and pulled her against his chest to steady her.

The sweet scent of her hair and the feel of her soft, toned body inflamed his senses and tempted his fingers to explore. He
yearned to plunge his fingers into her hair, yank back her head, and taste her sweet mouth.

If she’d been unattractive, he still would have pursued her. But she was gorgeous, alluring, thank the Goddess, so lying,
at least about his attraction to her, wasn’t necessary. However, holding her this close had him all fired up. Both his hearts
pounded out a rhythm.
Take. Take. Take.