“That’s all?” he insisted.
“That’s the gist of it, yes, and all I’m willing to admit at the moment. Interrogation or not.”
That wasn’t so bad.
Then, she added, “Dr. E suggested I leave you behind to rot.”
His hands fisted, and he could feel the drugs begin to drip into his bloodstream.
He wanted to talk to both creatures right there, right then. He wanted to ask how and why, what else had been said, and command they leave his woman alone. She wasn’t to be bothered with their antics.
“Let’s change the subject,” he said. Before the sedatives got the better of him.
He stretched out beside her and she immediately snuggled against him, angling her head to watch his lips and sighing with what seemed to be satisfaction. He toyed with the ends of her hair, content.
“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked.
“No. Why?” Golden light danced over her, making her look as if she’d just stepped from some ancient painting of a magical land with fairies and pixies and a happily-ever-after.
“I . . . hurt people today.”
“In an effort to help others. Trust me,” she said with a yawn. “I’m beginning to understand the difference.”
Thank the Lord. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Close your eyes now, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”
“But I’m not tired.”
She was, but she was fighting it. Too much adrenaline, perhaps. Too much concern for what the future held. “Want to play the question game again?”
Her features brightened. “Yes, please.”
“Good, because I’m wondering . . . what’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” she’d said, and then admitted softly, “the exact shade of your eyes. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”
He stilled, not even daring to breathe.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
“Vika.”
“Yes?”
“No,” he said, fighting a grin, “that’s my favorite color.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion, the same way it had done in the cage when he’d said something she couldn’t quite figure out. “But I’m not a color.”
“Are you sure?”
A pause. A second later, a laugh bubbled from her. A laugh that heated him far more thoroughly than the fire.
“You know, that’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever not heard,” she said, petting her fingers through his hair. “You’re the first man to ever truly compliment me, and I think I’m already addicted to it.”
“I’m truly the first?”
A beat of silence. “You will be,” she whispered, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about the compliment.
Instantly the tide of need he’d experienced for her all these many days flooded him, his body reacting to her on a primal level. He’d known she was a virgin, but here, now, the knowledge caused a sense of possessiveness to rise up—one stronger than before.
This woman was to be his, and only his.
“Forget the game. I want to kiss you,” he croaked. They were alone. No one was watching them, no one was listening. There was no better time.
Her lips fell, the humor draining from her.
“But I won’t,” he forced himself to add. Clearly, she wasn’t ready.
Well, he would have to get her ready again.
“Why not?” she said. Then, “Oh. That’s right. It’s my turn to kiss you.” She leaned over and licked her way into his mouth.
Surprise hit him first, followed closely by intensified desire. Their tongues met, rolled together, and the sweetness of her taste arrested him. Heat blasted through his entire body, his cells coming alive, his nerve endings shooting out electric sparks, and he groaned as the absolute, utter devastation of his need consumed him. This woman . . . he had to have her, all of her, and soon.
“Vika,” he said.
“Solo.”
He gave her sweet and he gave her tender . . . at first. The more they nipped at each other, the more concentrated his motions became. He played with the edges of her shirt, running his fingers along the hem, teasing the bare skin of her belly, trying to prepare her for a more intimate invasion.
Soon she was moaning, following his every movement for more prolonged contact.
“I want to touch you, sweetheart.”
“You are,” she whispered.
Such an innocent comment, reminding him to go slowly, to be careful—no matter how great his need. Her peace of mind was more important than any fleeting pleasure. “I know, but I want to go higher, to touch your br**sts.”
Out came the pretty pink tip of her tongue, swiping over her lips, leaving a delicate sheen of moisture.
“I won’t touch anything else,” he told her. Not until she was ready.
A moment passed. She gulped, nodded.
Slowly he slid his hand under her top and cupped her, flesh to flesh, palm to female. Her skin was cool, but he quickly warmed her up. He grazed his thumb across the center peak, drawing a moan from her, this one straight from the deepest depths of her. All the while he watched her expression. Fear never registered. Only pleasure.
And when she arched into his clasp, a silent request for stronger pressure, he fought the urge to bellow with sublime satisfaction.
He would get her there.
“Do you like this?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Oh, yes.”
“I want to replace my hands with my mouth, all right, and—” Solo’s ears twitched, and he stiffened.
“What—”
He withdrew his hand and placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. With his other hand, he doused the flames. Darkness descended.
His eyes adjusted in seconds, and he watched as a fox pranced into and out of the clearing. No threat, then. Still. The intrusion served as a necessary reminder. He was Vika’s sole means of protection, and that had to come before anything else.
Solo met her gaze. “I have to put a stop to our extracurricular activities. We can’t risk any kind of distraction, and besides that, we’ve got a big day ahead. Sleep.”
“No.”
“Yes.” He relaxed into the stump and pressed her head into the hollow of his neck.
“Fine. Night, Solo,” she said with a bead of frustration, warm breath caressing his neck.
“Night,” he replied, even knowing she couldn’t hear him.
Only a few minutes later, she melted against him, signaling that she’d fallen asleep, as ordered. But just as he was about to rise to hunt the morning’s game, she began to toss and turn, before jolting upright, gasping for breath.