Taking the Stage: Soulgirls, Book 2 (9 page)

Wet hair clinging to his face and plastered along one cheek didn’t detract from the broad smile on Anthony’s face as he surged through the water. Tigers apparently liked to swim. Or maybe it was just him.

Roseâtre struck out for shore when strong hands wrapped around her thighs and pulled her under. She didn’t imagine the scrape of his beard against her ass, the T-shirt floating up to leave her nether regions bare. Nor the yelp as teeth nipped her rear.

Scissoring her legs, she found purchase against that magnificent chest and kicked herself free, surging up and out. She scarcely made it to the rocks when Anthony propelled himself out of the water, landing just a few feet away.

Her rump stung.

“I’d call that three, but I didn’t use my blade.” Cheeky bastard. “So, sorry.”

The damnable thing was, Roseâtre wanted to laugh. The teasing heat of his mouth on the curve of her ass provoked dangerous thoughts. Her gaze skated over his broad, glistening chest. Water droplets skirted his nipples to race down his abs. Despite their exertions, he was barely breathing hard.

She’d compared him to a god when she’d first seen him and looking at him, barefoot, soaking wet with a wild grin on his mouth, she was more convinced than ever.

Surrender could be so easy.

She banished the thought as he pounced, darting right at the last moment and pivoting to kick him. Unfortunately, he learned faster than most of her opponents, catching her ankle and flipping her into a roll midair and catching her left foot to his shoulder for the trouble. He fell on his ass even as she landed on her hands.

They stared at each other, Roseâtre’s lips curving upward to match his grin.
Damn, he’s fun
.

“Still two to one in my favor.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Ready to surrender?”

“Worried you can’t take me?”

“Oh, I can take you.”

“Then catch me if you can.” She threw the verbal gauntlet even as she launched herself, but instead of attacking him, she raced up the path through his forest. For a brief few seconds, as her feet struck the hard dirt surface and she twisted through the trees and crashed through the foliage, she marveled at her own insanity. Anthony was a cat.

She was running.

Of course, he would chase her.

Her cheeks ached from grinning. But that was what she wanted him to do. She wanted him to catch her, to prove that he could take her in battle.

Then in lust.

Her heart thundered a powerful back beat to her headlong run. She couldn’t hear his approach over the wild beat of her pulse. She burst through the trees to see a great bed cradled by a smaller, squat tree pushing up from the forest floor. Thick branches curled over the head and the base, creating a four-poster sensation that was both natural and erotic.

A whishing of sound was all the warning she received before Anthony’s hard male body collided with hers, tumbling them both onto the bed. He caught his weight on his arms, the wild heat of him blanketing her back. His arms closed around her front, seizing the wrist that held her blade, turning it so even as she impacted the bed, her cheek flush with the silken sheets, her blade-wielding hand was pointed away, doing no damage to either of them.

The soft brush of his breath against the back of her neck teased her. The T-shirt rode up, leaving her bottom exposed to the roughness of denim, but instead of chafing, he settled his hips firmly against her, removing any and all doubt of his arousal straining the front of his jeans.

Anthony’s lips caressed up the column of her throat, blowing lightly until the hair parted to reveal her ear. His teeth closed gently around her earlobe, a nip of admonishment.

“You shouldn’t have run.” His voice was gloriously dark and edged with hungry passion. His hand tightened around her wrist, the pressure demanding she release the blade, and when her fingers went numb she surrendered it. A thump sounded on the far side as it fell from her nerveless fingers.

Excitement trilled through her insides. His heat burned through the shirt as if it weren’t there. She could feel the movement of his muscles as his chest expanded and relaxed with every breath. He nuzzled her ear, gentle nips sprinkled with sharper tugs.

Who knew an ear could be an erogenous zone?

His tongue traced each curve, stroking gentle laps that sent tingles zinging down her spine. She arched upward against the caress, an invitation that her tiger-man seemed to understand, his weight settling with force, legs bracketing hers, his arousal snug against her ass.

“Surrender?”

“We’re still two stripes to one.” Where the sass came from she didn’t know and she didn’t care. She enjoyed the growl that vibrated through him, damn near purring into her ear.

“Look again.” His voice was low and husky, allowing her just enough freedom to turn her head. A third stripe paralleled the first two. Three cuts.

“You won.” Wonder and delight cascaded through her. It was such a ridiculous thing to be happy about, but he’d done it and not just because she’d wanted him to. She’d certainly been giving as good as she got.

But he won.

To the victor the spoils. She clenched her thighs in anticipation. The length of his cock was hard where it pressed against her. All he needed to do was release the denim and he could be inside her. She nearly groaned at the thought. It’d been a long time since a man had been fast or furious enough to even take up the challenge, much less best her.

“Stop.” His hands released her wrists, gliding up her arms as he arched up. His hips pressed hers into the bed and she curved her back, lifting her bottom in invitation. But the damn cat ignored it, cupping his hands under her and massaging her breasts. “To the victor the spoils.” He echoed her earlier thought. “And as much as I’d like to strip you bare and take you right now, that was not what we were competing for.”

Seriously?

Desire thudded with every pulse between her legs and when he pinched her nipples through the shirt, rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers, she wanted to weep. She bumped her bottom against his groin, grinding ever so slowly.

“Bad girl.” He bit down on her ear, the tug on her nipples both enticing and rebuking. “Behave and maybe I’ll help you out with your little problem.”

My little problem?
She was going to kill him.

His right hand abandoned her breast, stroking his way down the shirt to dip between her thighs.

“You do want help with this?” His fingers teased through the curls shielding the entrance of her sex. Warm wetness flooded between her thighs, it took all her control not to whimper as his thumb slid past the wet lips to tease her clit. And by the gods, what teasing. He wouldn’t quite touch it, circling it gently, just allowing her to feel the slightest pressure.

“What…” Was her voice really that husky? “…do you want?”

“Truth, remember?” His tongue glided down the curve of her ear before grazing his teeth over the soft spot just behind it. Her pulse roared. She tried to spread her legs, to invite his hand deeper, but he locked his legs on hers, rocking his thumb in a teasing cadence.

“Why the slave bands? Why did you surrender?” The questions beckoned her as his fingers continued their slow torment. His left hand stroked away from her breast to brace against the bed. His heat abandoned her as he pushed himself upward. She undulated, writhing, straining to reach his thumb, but he always whisked it away, not giving her the satisfaction her body hungered for.

“You’re killing me.” She gritted through her teeth. There was no loss of pride in admitting her desire. He’d won that right. He’d taken her in fair battle, proving his worth for breeding. She had every right to take him as a lover.

She couldn’t wait to run her hands over every muscle, taste the quivers of his passion and explore the deliciously concave formation of his abs. All he had to do was roll over, or better, just slide his fingers to the right. Maybe then, she could think clearly.

“Not yet, princess. I’ll happily fulfill every fantasy, drive into you until the only thought in your head is
more
.” His words stoked the heat in her belly hotter. “I’ll run my tongue around your nipples, nibble your breasts and then gorge myself on the scent of you.” His thumb grazed the side of her clit and her body exploded.

He petted her through the orgasm, peppering kisses along the dampness of her neck, hand cupping her sex as he teased her higher and faster. She came apart for him, unabashed in her release. Her fingers dug into the sheets, holding on as the world spiraled away. The scent of him was everywhere. She was drowning in the rich blanket of cedar, rosewood and oak. Rain threatened in the distance, but it couldn’t quench the heat billowing through her.

She wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel the first stab of his cock as it slid home, driving deep into her womb. Amazons only engaged in sex to bear children. That was the rule. Blasphemy aside, she didn’t want to conceive.

Because she wanted the excuse to do it again.

And again.

When the last tremor rocked through her, she became aware of the soft purring against her back and ear.
Gods, he even purrs sexily
.

“Better?” he asked, finally slowing his fingers to allow her an odd rest amidst the drenching pleasure soaking every muscle.

“Hell yes, it’s better. But I want more.” The words squeezed past the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung with wetness, and she closed them lest he see the unexpected tears flooding them. The hell she was going to cry or to beg, no matter how much she wanted him.

“Was that so very hard to admit?” His hands seemed to be everywhere, stroking her thighs, ass, back and then up under the shirt until a warm, callused palm cupped her bare breasts. Her body softened under the attention. He rolled onto his side, spooning her, exploring.

“You have to ask?” It was a stupid question and they both knew it. She wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t understand Amazonian customs.

“Actually,” he murmured, massaging her breasts in lazy circles, “yes. I’ve never met an Amazon who would acquiesce to slave bands. They are anathema to you, aren’t they?”

Roseâtre shrugged, enjoying the sensation of his callused fingers, curious about letting her hands wander, but he was still playing the dominant, lying behind her, controlling the direction she faced, what she could reach. So she settled for just rubbing her bottom against the stiff front of his jeans.

“To an Amazon, our sisters are everything. To a princess, the tribe is all. There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for them.” She hadn’t expected the honest confession, but it was easier to dislodge that great boulder from her chest than she’d imagined.

“So it’s for the other Amazon that you sacrificed your freedom?” He peeled back the T-shirt, baring her shoulder for his bite and she closed her eyes. It was a terribly possessive maneuver, a display of dominance, control and ownership.

Where else would he like to leave his mark?

“Do we have to talk about this now?” It was a distraction, he’d wrung enough from her that she couldn’t be humiliated by his need to delve into what remained of her pride, but at the same time, she was far more interested in exploring him.

“We have all day, Ruth.”

Day.

She scissored upward, startling him into releasing her.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly dawn, why?”

“Oh hell.”

It was more than nearly dawn. She felt the first shiver of the sun’s ascent in the languor of her muscles. The cold followed it, swift and pervasive, punching through the lazy heat of desire, drowning the pleasure-warmed muscles.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, sitting up with one leg hanging off the bed, she twisted to face him. Her position allowed her to see the alarm that stole across his features as the grayness swamped her and winked Anthony out of existence.

And then she knew nothing.

Chapter Ten

Anthony’s nostrils flared. Where once tangy citrus, dates and the musk of feminine desire had caressed his nose, only a whiff of porcelain remained. Roseâtre sat frozen, his blue shirt bunched around her waist, one long leg stretched out on the bed, the other hanging loose.

She didn’t breathe.

She didn’t blink.

She didn’t
live
.

Coiled rage vibrated through his cat, claws raking the inside of his skin. The beast demanded that he fix it, that he return Roseâtre. Anthony couldn’t agree more. With tender fingers he touched the three slices he’d cut horizontally across her biceps. They were red, discolored and angry against the pale, doll-like porcelain state of her skin.

The surface of her flesh was ice to the touch. Too smooth. Too lifeless.

“Come to life again,” he ordered, gruff emotion clogging his voice. The gold wristbands and collar glowed, warming imperceptibly, but she didn’t move.

Lunging off the bed, he was careful not to disturb her. What would happen if she fell? Would she, like ancient statues in half-forgotten temples, simply crumble? Would she shatter? His mind whirled with violent possibilities. He found the house phone tucked away in the base of another tree.

Damn clever magicians masking common items in the rainforest suite.
He dialed the Midnight Mystery Lounge, gaze pinned on the slender column of Roseâtre’s neck. She faced away from him.