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  His nostrils flared in a way that proclaimed he knew, knew, exactly how she felt about him—and knew the lust was entirely her own. “If we did not have so much to do this day, I would take you back to your home, sweet Grace, and explore this magic lust spell. Very, very thoroughly.”

  While she floundered for some type of rejoinder, he at last bit into his food. He stilled. Utterly and completely stilled. Chewed slowly. Closed his eyes. Opened his eyes, revealing a joy tantamount to orgasm. Chewed some more. Swallowed. “This is—this is—”

  “I know,” she grumbled. She finished off her granola. “It’s not mud.”

  The taste was amazing, Darius thought, and helped restore more of his vigor. What had Grace called this culinary treasure? An ay-klare. The delectable morsel wasn’t quite as flavorful as Grace herself, but close. Were he to slather her body with it and lick away every trace, he might find release before he actually entered her.

  For so long he’d tasted nothing, and now he tasted everything. He knew Grace was responsible, that she was the catalyst. He just didn’t know how. Or why. And he was no closer to the answer than he had been before. But he didn’t care. He reveled in these new experiences. When she was dead—was gone, he corrected, not liking her name associated with death—he wondered if he would ever taste again. Or if he’d want to. Without Grace…

  He took another bite of the ay-klare and noticed Grace eyeing his mouth with longing in her turquoise gaze. His stomach tightened. Did she crave him? Or the food he ate? Most likely the food, he mused, and he bit back a self-deprecating chuckle. She’d very nearly bitten off his hand when he’d snatched the dessert from her, reminding him of a female dragon who’d gone far too long without food.

  He waved the remaining piece under her nose, and her eyelids became heavy and sultry. “Would you like to share this with me?” he asked.

  She moaned as if he’d just offered to make her dreams come true. Dreams that were forbidden, coveted. Dreams she couldn’t acknowledge but craved with every ounce of her being.

  “No,” she said, that single word sounding raw, like it had been ripped from her throat.

  She obviously wished to partake, and quite desperately, so why did she think to deny herself? No matter, he thought in the next instant. Before she could pull away, he placed the food at her lips. “Open,” he commanded.

  Automatically she obeyed. Then she gasped. Bit. Savored. As she chewed, she made noises of pleasure. Breathy noises he’d only heard from women in his bed. His blood heated, rushing from his head and into his shaft. He wanted this woman. His responses to her were coming more quickly now. A bit more intently, too. Where she was concerned, he was all beast. Primitive and unapologetically barbaric. One moment he wanted her slow and easy, tender. The next he wanted her rough, hard. Now.

  He needed to sate himself on her. Soon.

  Her fingers curled around his hand, holding the ay-klare in place. “Oh, Darius,” she said, and closed her eyes. “That is so good.”

  At the first touch of her fingers, white-hot heat speared him. He jerked away from her, then found himself reaching out again, reaching to take her by the base of her neck and yank her to him. Reaching out to kiss her, hard and deep and wet. He dropped his hands at his sides. Teeth grinding together, he increased his speed.

  He had to remain focused where this woman was concerned. The time for making her desire him would come after he’d learned all that he could from her and the other humans. Damn this!

  “Slow down,” she huffed after a few minutes.

  He tossed her a glance over his shoulder and noticed a dark smudge marring the edge of her lip. Before he could stop himself, he extended his arm and swiped the smudge away with his fingertip. He kept the contact light, quick. If he lingered, if he prolonged the contact, he would strip her. Penetrate her. He was near his breaking point already.

  He turned his face from her so she wouldn’t see him lick the morsel he’d swiped from her off his finger.

  “Slow down,” she said again. As she dictated directions, she had to pump her arms and jog to keep up with him. “Will you slow down already? I’ve had enough exercise these last few days to last me a lifetime.”

  “You may rest when we have completed our mission.”

  “I’m not one of your men. And just so you know, the outcome of this is just as important to me as it is to you—if not more so—but I’ll be no good to anyone if I collapse.”

  He slowed down.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t even move that quickly when I thought I was being followed yesterday.”

  Darius ground to a halt, causing the couple behind him to slam into his back. He remained in place, absorbing the impact without moving an inch. With muttered curses, the glaring pair scurried around him.

  “You were followed?” Darius demanded, glaring. “By whom? Man or woman? Were you hurt?”

  When Grace realized he was no longer beside her, that she’d actually passed him, she had to stop and backtrack, hopping over a piece of chewed gum, then scurrying around a vender selling pirated DVDs until she reached his side. “I’m not sure,” she said. “A man, I think, though I never saw him. And no, he didn’t hurt me.”

  “Then he might be allowed to live another day.”

  Oh, my, Grace thought, breathless again for a reason that had nothing to do with exercise. Sunlight couched Darius’s features, giving his cheekbones and nose a harsh sort of radiance. When he turned on the intensity like this, going all commando, her belly did strange things. Her mind did strange things. Like try to convince her to throw herself in his arms, sweep her tongue into his mouth, and rub herself against him, all over him, and forget about the rest of the world.

  “I will hold sentry at your side,” he said, his gaze already scanning the area, searching. “If this man comes near you today, I will eliminate him. Worry not.”

  She nodded, fighting an involuntary shiver. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, she knew Darius would keep her safe. As they jolted back into motion, he continually watched the world around him, taking in every detail and missing nothing. Like the guard he’d promised to be, he remained on alert.

  If they were being followed, he would know—and she pitied whoever it was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ONLY TWO MINUTES passed before Darius dragged her into a nearby souvenir shop, shoving people aside in his haste to enter.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Grace said. “You, too, sir.” To Darius, she demanded quietly, “What are you doing?”

  The fierce gleam in his ice-blue eyes made her swallow a lump of apprehension. “You were right,” he said. “You were being followed.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You still are.”

  “What!” she gasped, just as he pinned her against a rack of T-shirts. She’d felt no menacing presence today, felt no watchful eyes on her back.

  “I would have noticed sooner,” he said wryly, keeping his gaze trained on the store window, “but my mind was not where it should have been.”

  “What should we do? Who is it?”

  “A human male. Short. He’s wearing some type of coat, yet the day is warm.”

  Grace tried to peek over Darius’s shoulder, but it proved too broad and too high. “Can he see us?”

  “No, but he’s waiting outside this shop.”

  “Let’s go out the back. He’ll never know, and we can—”

  “No.” Darius skimmed his hands inside his pockets, gave a flick of his wrists, and plucked out two daggers. The thickness of his hands and forearms kept the blades concealed from the public, but she knew they were there. He gripped each jeweled weapon tightly. “I wish to have a…conversation with the man.”

  Stunned, horrified, she only managed a choked gasp in response.

  Good Lord. There might be a bloodbath this day.

  “You can’t kill anyone,” she whispered fiercely. Her gaze darted around wildly. Tourists were staring at them like they were the morning’s entertainment. “Pl
ease,” she added more quietly, “put the knives away before someone notices them.”

  “The knives stay,” he said, his voice cold, unfeeling.

  “You don’t understand. This—”

  “No, Grace.” He pinned her with a glare. “You don’t understand. Purchase something from this store. Anything. Now.”

  Too nervous to care what she bought, Grace shakily lifted a plastic replica of the Empire State Building. After she paid for it, she gripped the bag and walked with Darius to the door. Her stomach had yet to settle.

  “Good choice,” he said, motioning to the small building. “Use the tip as a weapon if you must. Jab his eyes.”

  Jab his eyes? Grace gulped. I should have bought a snow globe. She didn’t mind using Mace; that was a spray, for goodness sake. But using a model of the Empire State Building, the centerpiece of Manhattan, to blind a human being…

  I’m just a flight attendant on extended leave, she thought dazedly. I do not jab people.

  Darius must have sensed her unease because he stopped just before they stepped outside. Facing her, he said, “I would leave you here if I could, but the binding spell does not permit it.”

  “Having a conversation with this person really isn’t necessary.” Even to her own ears, she sounded timid, and she winced. She just didn’t want Darius injured or in trouble with the law. “I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know that sometimes the safest course of action is to retreat.”

  “And sometimes the safest course of action is the wrong one.”

  “When I asked you to help me find Alex, I never meant to place you in danger.”

  His features softened at her admission, but that flash of guilt was back. “This man might have information about your brother. He could be the one who tried to take the medallion, the one who locked him away. Do you really want to let him go?”

  “No,” she said quietly. Then more firmly, “No.”

  “I will be safe. And so will you.”

  “Let’s use violence as a last resort, though. Okay?”

  A long, protracted silence enveloped them. “As you wish,” he said reluctantly. “In return for that concession, I want you to stay behind me. And do not speak again until I give you permission. You will distract me otherwise.”

  Resisting the urge to link her fingers through his, she followed him into the sunlight. A warm breeze greeted them as they began stalking forward. At first she thought Darius meant to lead their tail to a private alley, but her warrior didn’t even try to pretend ignorance. He approached the man clad in a brown trench coat who was standing in front of a store window pretending to look inside. At maternity dresses? Puh-lease.

  Watching their reflections, the man realized Darius meant to grab him. He stiffened, gasped and jolted into motion, running from them as fast as his booted feet could carry him.

  “Run, Grace,” Darius called over his shoulder, as he, too, started running.

  An invisible force wrenched her behind Darius, forcing her body into action. Her feet barely touched the ground as she flew, literally flew, after him. Damn this binding spell!

  Darius followed the man through traffic lights and around cars, past people and over commerce tables. Irritated grunts and surprised screams echoed in her ears, blending with the sound of her own panting. Was that a police siren? Air burned her lungs. She clutched the plastic Empire State Building as they ran on and on.

  If this kept up, she just might be a luscious size six by the end of the month.

  When Darius finally came within arm’s reach, he grabbed his target by the neck, quickly cutting off any screams of protest. Using only one hand, he lifted the man up and carried him into a nearby alley. There, he dropped him, watching the flailing man fall onto his butt and scramble to the wall. Darius crossed his arms over his chest, daring him to make a move.

  Behind them, Grace huffed and puffed to a standstill, then hunched over, gasping for breath. If she survived the day, she was going to treat herself and Alex to a triple dip hot fudge sundae. Or perhaps a banana split. Or maybe fresh doughnuts dripping with chocolate glaze. Maybe all three. She straightened and saw several men huddled against the brownstone wall. Their clothes were threadbare, and their faces dirty and scared. Did they think they would have to face Darius next?

  Forcing a smile, Grace handed one of the men her Empire State Building—she was not jabbing anyone today—and reached into her wallet. She withdrew several bills. At the sight of cash, the alley men lost all interest in Darius.

  “For you,” she said, paying them to go away and keep this “their little secret.” I’m aiding and abetting a criminal, she thought, an unexpected wave of excitement crashing inside her.

  Excitement? No, surely not. Skiing in Aspen hadn’t excited her. Paragliding in Mexico hadn’t excited her. Most likely what she felt so intently was fear. Any second she expected the police to show up and haul her and Darius away.

  “I’ll scream.”

  The threat came as the man pushed to his feet.

  Both of Darius’s brows winged up. A sheen of sweat glistened on his neck and face, but his expression did not portray a hint of weakness. “Are you a woman, then?” he said. “First you hide in the shadows, and when you are caught, you scream?”

  “You lay a single hand on me, the cops will be all over you.”

  Darius grabbed him by the shoulders, angling his wrists in a crisscross and pressing his knives subtly into the man’s carotid artery. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting.

  That’s when Grace received her first good look at the man. Shock held her frozen for a long while. “Patrick?” she said when she finally found her voice. This man worked with her brother; he’d even escorted her to the boat, and had engaged her in several conversations about her family afterward. “What’s going on? Why were you following me?”

  Silence.

  “Answer her questions,” Darius demanded. When Patrick still refused to speak, Darius increased the pressure of the blades, making small pricks and drawing blood.

  “You won’t kill me,” he said smugly.

  “You’re right. I won’t kill you. Not with blades, at least.” Darius dropped his weapons and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck. “You would die too quickly.”

  “I—I wasn’t following her. I swear,” Patrick sputtered, his face slowly fading from pink, to white, to blue. He kicked and clawed, losing his smugness with his need for air.

  Eyes wide, she glanced from Darius to Patrick, from Patrick to Darius. Intimidation was a good tactic for getting what they wanted, but she knew Darius wasn’t trying to intimidate. He really would kill Patrick without a single qualm.

  “You are lying, and I do not like liars,” Darius said, his voice so bored he could have been commenting on the mating habits of flies. But then his eyes narrowed and his voice deepened, no longer dripping with boredom, but with rage. “I recognize you. You are the one who touched Grace while she was sleeping.”

  Patrick’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “No, no,” he gasped, struggling to loosen Darius’s grip. “I didn’t.”

  “I watched you do it,” he said, his teeth bared.

  Were those fangs? She shivered as she stared at the long, sharp incisors. Then their words sank into her brain. “He touched me?” she gasped, hands anchoring on her hips. To Patrick, she ground out, “Which part of me?”

  “Your cheek,” Darius told her. “But he wanted to do more. Would have, if his friend hadn’t stopped him.”

  Her jaw gnashed in fury.

  “You couldn’t have watched me,” Patrick said to Darius. “You weren’t on the boat.”

  No, he hadn’t been on the boat, but then, Darius hadn’t needed to be. He’d used his medallion on her like he’d done to Alex, she realized, not liking that he’d seen her and she hadn’t known.

  Patrick made a gargled sound, and his battle for freedom intensified. His legs flailed, and his hands slashed.

  “Were we in my
home,” Darius said, “I would have your hands removed for such an offense.”

  “I didn’t hurt her,” Patrick squeaked. “You know I didn’t hurt her.”

  “Wrong again,” Darius said. A flash of green scales pulsed over his skin. “You touched my woman. Mine. For that alone I want to kill you.”

  Grace’s heart stopped. Literally stopped, suspended in her chest. Which should she react to first? The scales or the “she is my woman” statement? Neither, she decided. Only Alex mattered right now. Not her shock at the fact that there were actually dragon scales under Darius’s skin, and certainly not her unwanted joy at his words.

  Tamping down her emotions, she forced her attention to Patrick. His lips were moving, but no sound emerged. “I think he’s trying to say something, Darius,” she said.

  Several seconds passed before Darius loosened his hold. “Have you something to say?”

  “I—” Patrick sucked in a deep breath. “Just need—” deep breath “—a moment.”

  “You’re supposed to be looking for my brother,” Grace told him. “Why aren’t you in Brazil?”

  “Alex might already be dead. We found evidence to suggest it right after you left. I’m sorry.”

  Had Darius not shown Grace proof that Alex lived, she would have sunk to her knees and sobbed. Of all the things to say, of all the things to feign remorse about, that was the cruelest. She didn’t ask what evidence; she didn’t even ask why no one had given her such news before now. She didn’t want to hear more upsetting lies.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You may kill him, Darius.”

  Darius flicked her a startled glance, staring at her lips as if he couldn’t quite believe what they’d proclaimed. He grinned slowly, then turned that grin to Patrick.

  “What the woman wants,” he said, “I give her.”

  Both of Patrick’s palms pushed at Darius’s chest, but the action had no effect. “I can’t tell you anything. I’ll lose everything, damn it. Everything!”

  “So you would rather lose your life?”

  Darius increased the pressure. Patrick gurgled, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to suck in air. Grace snapped out of her murderous inclinations. Thinking about a death and actually witnessing it were two totally different things.