Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Krychek teleported out on that chilling statement.
Soleil, her fur yet ruffled, snarled. “It’s like talking to a shark. No, strike that. I met a changeling shark once—she was ruthless, but she was also passionate about her clan. Krychek, on the other hand …” She shivered.
“He has what changelings would call a mate,” Ivan said after a pause to allow the waitress to deliver their food; it was obvious no one had wanted to approach their table while Krychek was present.
“I know.” The ocelot retreated from her gaze. “So does Hawke of the SnowDancer wolves. Some women must like to flirt with death while they’re naked.”
Ivan stared at her.
She looked back, blinked. “Oh.” A grin. “Oops. I keep forgetting I’m one of them.” A fading of her smile, her eyes sliding from human to ocelot again as she said, “I’ve been alone so very long, Ivan. I have such an ache within. But only for you.”
Inside Soleil, her cat curled up into a tight ball. Its pain was intense. The lack of intimate touch in her life … of any affectionate touch over the time since she’d woken in her hospital bed, it had hurt, and it still hurt.
Skin privileges were an integral part of an adult changeling’s life. Changelings weren’t human or Psy, needed the physical contact to thrive. Soleil had been lucky enough to have had affection and friendship in her life, but she’d never found a true lover. Any intimate skin privileges she’d exchanged had been with generous and kind friends who’d sensed her touch hunger and offered to assuage it.
A thing of comfort rather than carnal pleasure.
Soleil treasured their gift of touch, but she’d always wondered if there was something wrong with her that she’d never experienced the carnal heat that so many of her kind talked about, the storm of the blood that made a cat want to scratch and bite and mark her lover.
Her eyes flicked up to meet those of searing iceblue, the banked heat in them scalding. And her panties went damp, her cat arching its back inside her. Nope, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her. She’d just had to find the right man. “I want to bite you,” she said, the words falling out of her mouth before she was aware of thinking them.
He said, “I’ve never been naked with anyone.” Words potent with tension, that dangerous gaze never moving off her. “Sex was verboten under Silence.”
The entire world retreated, the silence a paradoxical roar in her ears. Breath coming faster, she just stared at him, unable to imagine that this lethal, beautiful man had never shared his body with a lover. But then … he didn’t share much of himself at all, did he? Shields and walls, those were the things that composed Ivan.
“What?” It came out a strangled sort of word, her voice rough. “Not even after the fall?” Her cat snarled in jealousy at the idea of anyone else touching him, but it was also mad that he’d denied himself the comfort of such intensive physical contact.
As a healer, she knew just how much touch meant, not only to changelings but to humans. Humans didn’t need it to the same extent as a changeling, but they withered without it all the same.
Psy couldn’t be so very different.
And fact was fact: the man was gorgeous and sexy and even if he’d never dropped his mask of frigid ice, a lot of women liked dancing with danger. He would’ve had no problem filling his bed every night had he wished it.
As if summoned up by her thoughts, their waitress returned to the table. “Is everything all right?” she asked brightly, subtly angling her body toward Ivan. “Do you need anything else? Anything at all?”
“Everything is fine,” Ivan said, his tone polite but empty of any ounce of emotion. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed that the woman was all but salivating over him. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Of course.” The waitress gave a tight smile and walked away.
Soleil almost felt sorry for her. Ivan Mercant packed a serious punch.
“To answer your question,” Ivan said after the waitress was out of earshot. “The only woman I’ve ever considered in that context is sitting across from me. You walked out of the forest and something inside me hungered. For your smile, for your words, and for your touch.”
Her cheeks went hot at what was outwardly a cool and curt recitation, her breasts heavy and taut. “Eat,” she rasped. “You’re going to need your energy.” Because her cat was through with waiting—and so, it seemed, was the man with eyes as cold as frost.
She couldn’t take her gaze from him as he began to fuel his body with focused attention. A beautiful, honed knife of a body. Her hands itched to trace the lines of his muscles, learn the places where he was hard and where he was soft, nuzzle her nose into the curve of his neck, kiss and lick every inch of ink on his skin.