“Not scabbed over, no.” She paused. Was she ready to tell him what she was? He already knew she wasn’t a Vampire so she couldn’t give that excuse. Was being the physical embodiment of death worse than being a blood-sucking fiend from beyond the grave? What the hell…he already knew she wasn’t human. “It had healed over.”
The silence between them stretched out. His gaze locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away. Even if the bombs had fallen all over again, she wouldn’t have been able to move a muscle.
His expression was level and emotionless, apart from his eyes. His eyes blazed with suspicion and a deep, dark something Andy wasn’t sure she was reading right. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was…interest?
That couldn’t be right, even when she’d been human men had never found her interesting, much less attractive. Too short, too skinny, pale skin, dark hair. An all-round plain Jane.
Great. The first guy she was interested in and who just might be interested in her, and she was about to tell him she was the female version of the Grim Reaper.
The battle continued to wage in his eyes, the knuckles of the hand that held the knife white with pressure. His voice was tight and contained.
“I’ll ask again, for the last time. What are you?”
Mason’s heart did a tango in his chest as he waited for her answer. He’d come out to look for her because he’d been worried. Concerned about her safety out here all alone and injured. Concerned about a woman who’d taken down three fully shifted Lycan’s without so much as breaking a sweat.
Well done, Mason. That’s what thinking with your prick does for you.
Her dark eyes flicked to the blade in his hand. One by one he forced his fingers to relax. She might be about to tear his face from his skull but he felt a strange need not to scare her. She was small, female…and that delicate curl in the curve of her neck was driving him nuts. Of all the women he’d met—why did the only one that sparked an interest in him have to be a paranormal?
“You sure you want to know?”
Her arched eyebrow was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. Throwing caution to the wind he flicked his wrist and half threw-half thrust the knife into the dirt by his knee. With the speed she’d displayed earlier, no knife was going to help if she wanted to hurt him.
“The truth,” he said firmly. He’d had enough of being given the run around by this one. However pretty she was, with her masses of dark hair and soft lips that made a man think wicked things, he had a limited supply of patience.
Again that maddening half smile flirted with the corner of her lips. “The truth? You can’t handle the truth.”
Amusement rolled through him at her quick-fire reply. For a moment all of it fell away—the war, the hard fight for survival since, the fact the town was running out of food. For a few blessed seconds he could forget and just enjoy being in her company.
“You ever going to give me a straight answer, or just more movie quotes?”
“Depends.” She grinned, a quick flash of teeth against her pale skin.
He knew she wasn’t a Vampire, but still Mason did a quick dental check. No elongated canines or anything that could be remotely described as a fang.
“Depends on what?”
At his words the atmosphere between them changed. Her eyes darkened and he was stuck, caught in a web of fascination. Heat and smoke coiled in puppy-dog brown, changing her eyes from pretty to breathtaking. Need and desire hit him low down in the gut, sending shivers along every inch of his skin.
“On whether you kiss me or not.”
Chapter Five
The bold statement threw a shudder along Mason’s spine. His gaze dropped to her lips. Plump and perfect with a slight sheen across the lower one. A cupid’s bow of temptation. He shouldn’t, he knew that...there were a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t.
“Is that so?”
He leaned forwards by slow degrees, teasing them both with anticipation. Her breath caught as she went still, her gaze locked on his mouth. His lips brushed hers. An introductory touch that whispered over the surface of her skin.
She moaned. A soft sound in the back of her throat, but it fuelled his male pride. With a groan he claimed her mouth fully. Crushing her lips under his, he dominated the kiss, demanding a response from her.
His hand delved into the thick hair at the nape of her neck and held her head still as he explored every inch of her lips. This is heaven. Her lips were soft and seductive, clinging to his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d heard flowery descriptions from old books about this moment...about women tasting like champagne and strawberries and other such nonsense.
Andy didn’t taste like that. What she did taste like was indescribable. Like a taste that extended through his whole body and affected each part of him from the top of his head right down to his toes, and certain portions of his anatomy in between. Bollocks to champagne and strawberries—she tasted of heaven and coming home.
A taste he wanted more of.
Wrapping his arms more securely around her he pulled her forwards onto his lap. She whimpered again, that little half-moan in the back of her throat that called out to everything male within him. Sweeping his tongue over her lower lip he demanded entry. Like a flower opening to the sun she let him in, and then it was Mason’s turn to bite back a moan.
He slid his tongue against hers, teasing and tempting, and then, when she responded to him, he took control again. His free hand roamed down her back, and the part of his brain that was functioning noted how well she fit against him. Her slender curves were a perfect match for the harder plains of his body.
Within seconds the kiss wasn’t enough, was never going to be enough. The need to roll her under him and slide deep into her welcoming softness almost overwhelmed him, and banished all other thoughts. The crotch of his jeans tented, the savage ache there reminding him just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. How long it had been since he’d even wanted to be.
Gentling his movements with an iron control he didn’t know he had, Mason lowered her to her back and stretched over her. One large hand looped about her wrists and he pulled them slowly over her head, alert for any sign of discomfort.
Her breathing caught, a delightful little hitch as her eyes darkened another notch. Her back arched as he held her hands captive. Her br**sts brushed against his chest, and caused a cascade of fire to roll down his spine.
She was smaller than he’d thought. Now, with that sassy tongue quiet and her eyes watching him with an unreadable expression, he realized just how delicate she really was.
A warm breeze gusted over them, catching a stray curl and blowing it over her face. Slowly, gently, he reached out and brushed it back. The look of wary trust in her eyes nearly unmanned him.
“If you don’t want this, say something now.” His demand was raspy and rough-edged, but he didn’t care.
Swooping in, he claimed her lips again, letting go of her hands. He didn’t know, didn’t want to think, what he was going to do if she said no. Okay, so that was a lie. Somehow he would find the strength to release her from his arms. He’d never forced a woman before, and there was no way he intended to start.
Her lips pursed in disappointment when he pulled away to look at her.
“As I recall I asked you to kiss me.”
She stroked a soft hand up his arm, finding the edge of the worn T-shirt and sliding under it. He sucked in a ragged breath. He was harder than he could ever recall. What was it about her that drew such a reaction from him?
“Yeah, but a kiss isn’t the same as…um…”
Just like that Mason found himself speechless. What the hell did he say next? Having sex…f**king…doing the dirty? Making love? Startled, he damped down on that last thought, not sure where it had come from. He’d known her all of forty-eight hours. Love didn’t come into it in any way, shape, or form.
“Mason?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up, and get your kit off.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The speed Mason scrambled to obey her softly spoken order massaged Andy’s feminine ego. Within a heartbeat he hauled his shirt over his head to reveal a muscled and scarred torso that made her mouth water. His T-shirt had barely hit the ground before he started on his belt buckle.
She chuckled softly. “Slow down, tiger. We have all night.”
His second boot thudded into the dirt next to the first. Andy paid it no mind as Mason crawled towards her. The inferno in her veins threatened to engulf her, burning everything else away apart from the arousal that clenched her stomach and made her ache.
Her skin was too hot and tight. Pulling at her top she fought down the urge to tear it away from her. She needed to feel the cool night air against her skin, needed to cool the fires that raged through her at the look in his eyes.
“Oh, I know. I’m counting on it.”
His voice was a silken whisper as he reached her. Then he was in her space, something she guarded jealously, not allowing anyone within it. He didn’t seem to care, crowding her with a dominance, which took her breath away. “I’m planning on using that time to explore you. Taste you…and make you scream my name.”
A soft moan of need and arousal escaped her before she could stop it.
His hands bracketed the sides of her head, capturing her between the hard ground under her and his hard male body above. His nostrils flared as a tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed tightly. He wanted her but still he held back. The air around them swirled with sexual tension, yet he was taking things slow rather than falling on her like an animal.
“If you want me to stop, say something,” he begged hoarsely. “Because if you don’t say something in the next two seconds, then it’s gonna be too late.”
She smiled—the mysterious little smile of a woman who knows she has her man. Arching her back she let her br**sts brush against the hardness of his chest. He was lean and solid, with the kind of muscle that said he didn’t spend his days sitting comfortable at a guard post. No, he had muscles that could only have been built by hard work and hunting.
The scent of warm, clean man filled her senses. Andy lifted her hand and trailed her fingers down his chest and then beyond to explore the ridge at the front of his jeans. He shuddered and closed his eyes.
She smiled, enjoying her sensual hold over this powerful man. Again that disturbing feeling, that he was more than human, came back to haunt her. She squashed it in favor of dipping the tips of her fingers under his waistband.
“How about you quit talking and make good on your promises?”
His lips crashed down on hers. Without thinking she opened up, allowing him access. His tongue thrust past her lips, and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow.
Their hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing, touching and teasing. Clothing fell away as though it were no more substantial than mist. His skin slid against hers and she was lost. They moved in concert, part of a dance as old as time yet made new all over again because this was their dance. Heat and need welled up from her core as his hair-roughened knee slid between her thighs. They parted automatically, his weight cradled by her hips.