5

Chantel wasn’t exactly ready to listen to reason, but she stopped fighting. As she did, the warmth of the crystal eased at her breast, and its psychic summons seemed to still. It was at peace. She could find no other explanation for it.

“Derek, get the jeep,” Devlin ordered from above her as he still held her securely to the ground. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the sun comes up.”

A shuffle of movement from her right had her turning her head. She watched as a dark figure loped out of sight.

“Shanar, contact the jet. Have it running and ready to go. Inform them of our ETA. Joshua, keep those damned soldiers in the city as long as you can. All limits are lifted for the time being. Her safety is top priority.”

Nothing he was saying made any sense. She heard a vehicle start up nearby, and though no lights cut through the darkness she was aware that it hadn’t been far away.

“Now,” he breathed out roughly. “Are you ready to get the hell out of here, or do you want to try for another shot at de-manning me first?”

“I’ll refrain for now,” she promised sarcastically. “Now get the bloody hell off my back, you sadistic son of a bitch.” His cock still pressed against her. The imperceptible movements of his hips were making her insane.

He moved away from her. A flowing, graceful movement accomplished so quickly that at first she was unaware he was gone. When she realized it, she struggled to her feet, fighting not to limp as her thigh burned in agony. She faced him then, barely able to make out his features with the cover of clouds that had moved in once again.

“James called us in.” He spoke of her brother with easy familiarity. “He found the files and the notes used to draw you in after your call to him. Now, are you ready to trust us?”

“James?” she whispered. “Not Daddy?” She was unaware of having reverted to the cherished title that she hadn’t used for her father in nearly a decade.

“I haven’t spoken to your father,” he assured her carefully. “Did he know you were here?”

She shook her head, disbelief rolling through her, a part of her howling out in misery.

“Know?” She whispered the betrayal. “I contacted him days ago. Days ago…” She shook her head, the last hope she had held in her heart that there was softness in his heart for her, dying. She raised her eyes to his as she fought to keep her body straight, to keep from collapsing to the sand in pain. “He knew Jonar had me. He knew, because I was on the phone with him when they took me.”

Rage washed over his features. He started to speak, but the jeep pulled in beside her before he could. Moving swiftly, he jerked the scabbard off his back and tossed it to the back floorboard. He gripped her arm, pulling her with him as he jumped into the front seat and lifted her into his lap.

“There’s no room for you in the back.” His voice was clipped as he held her still against him while the other two jumped in.

Within seconds, the jeep sped across the slight distance to the highway. Once it met with smooth pavement, it accelerated quickly, eating the distance with a surge of power.

“Rest. We’re an hour from the jet at least.” His hand moved to her head, pushing it against his shoulder.

“Why did you come?” she asked him, exhaustion and fear wearing her down. Her father’s betrayal though, weakened her as nothing else could have.

“I came for you,” he answered her simply as he turned his head to stare down at her, his expression still in the dim lights of the dashboard. “Didn’t I tell you in your dream that I would come for you? Didn’t I warn you that you wouldn’t escape me for long?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked up at him, barely aware of the fact that she was fighting for breath, that panic was slowly building inside her chest.

“It was a dream,” she protested hoarsely.

“Prove it,” he growled an instant before his lips lowered to hers. As though he could no longer fight the need, or perhaps he knew the building hysteria was slowly filling her. Whichever, the dominant, possessive thrust of his tongue and the carnal hunger of his lips replaced it.

Chantel could only moan in protest as her hands gripped the arm that held her to his chest. Pleasure swamped her senses now, desire firing in her body until her cunt clenched with moist, desperate need.

She whimpered, forgetting that they weren’t alone, forgetting that he was a stranger, a dangerous unknown entity that could kill her in the next breath. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, fury filling her body at her father’s betrayal, and he was offering her an escape. A heady, pleasure-filled experience that engaged all her senses. His hand moved from her waist, smoothing up her arm. His fingers cupped her cheek as his lips moved slowly, sensually on hers. His tongue licked at her lips, twining with hers as though learning the taste and texture of her kiss. The caress touched not just her lips, but her soul.

In this, he was familiar. In this, the passion of those vivid dreams returned full force, reminding her of the heady ecstasy to be found in his arms. Her breasts became swollen, her nipples throbbing beneath the material of the shirt. Her cunt, silky and bare, her intimate hair waxed away in an uncomfortable procedure that left her wondering at her sanity, ached for his touch.

Breathing roughly, he pulled back from her, gazing down at her with heated desire.

“Soon,” he whispered.

She shook her head, fighting the attraction, fighting demands that pounded through her system as his head lowered, his lips taking hers once again before she could deny the passion between them.

* * * * *

His lips slanted over hers. Devlin couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t deny the demand that he touch her, that he assure himself she was truly there and that he wasn’t mistaking the hot, desperate lust rising inside him. It had been too long since he had felt such lust. Too long since he had touched, had needed. Had he ever needed like this? He knew he had. He could feel the knowledge that he had. Yet those memories were hidden, dark and distant.

He should be revolted, he knew. He had despised Antea, though he had never been certain why. Her men had not bothered him. Who touched her, who shared her bed, never concerned him. But this woman… He growled as her lips opened beneath him, accepting the hard stroke of his tongue, the demand in his kiss. He would kill the man who attempted to touch this woman.

Beneath his lips, silk and satin moved enticingly. Her tongue twined with his as a soft whimper of female longing sighed from her throat. Her arms twined around his neck, her breasts pressing into his chest as she fought for air beneath the hard demand of his caress.

She was fire and light. Heated need arced through his body, making his cock throb in a hard beat of passionate demand. He wanted to rip the jeans from her body. He wanted to push his cock hard and deep inside her and hear her cry out his name as she begged him for more. Lust was a wild, untamed beast inside him, fighting for supremacy over the logic that had always guided him.

His hands gripped her waist as he pulled her closer, his thighs bunching as he pressed his cock against the rounded curves of her ass. Those sweet curves were a temptation all their own. But first, first he needed to slide inside the tight, velvet grip of her pussy. She would be slick and hot around him, fist tight. He knew this as he had never known anything. And he wanted her.

She was never still. She gave him no time to consider the lust that suddenly flared between them, no time to rein in his control or his desires. Her hands smooth over his shoulders, gripped them, tested the muscles there as she tried to get closer, to draw deeper into his body.

“Chantel.” He groaned her name, knowing that now was not the time, not the place for such overriding physical demands.

He pulled back from her lips, as greedy as his own, and fought for self-control.

“Rest,” he growled again, his hands threading through her hair, experiencing the soft, silken feel of the thick mass. Like silver moonlight. The fall of silk brushed her shoulders with the loss of her cap. The cap had shielded her expression, hid the glory of her hair and the unique line of her delicate face. She rested against him now, her breathing still fast, shivering in the cold night air of the desert. He reached back to the floorboard of the jeep and pulled free one of the large jackets they carried to hide the swords they wore at their backs. He wrapped her in its warmth, held her to his chest and began to pray. He prayed that the shifting shadows hid her identity, for he knew if she was indeed Antea, then his life would be a greater hell than it had been for the past thousand years.