Lilith Saintcrow - Taken

His hands had turned into fists. He felt more than heard Eric withdrawing, probably spooked by the high-level bloodlust pouring out of his glands.

“Well. That answers that .” Did she sound amused? Did she not have any idea what was going on?

He glanced down at her. Yes, that was her hand on his shoulder. Yes, she was smiling. It was an odd, wry smile, and her glasses glinted wickedly at him. She’d unbuttoned Kyle’s jacket, and the rain had slid in, plastering a triangle of shirt to her chest.

Yup. Curves to make a racetrack die of envy, and she was standing right next to him, the closest she’d ever willingly been. Close enough that he could feel the heat from her, even through her soaked clothing.

What the hell?

“I guess you saved my life.” She was looking at the window, not at him. “Though we’re going to have to talk about that kidnapping thing.”

“I didn’t have a choice .” The growl rattled the window, and he fought to keep the anger down.

“I know. I said we’d talk about it. Just calm down.”

He could smell the fear on her, but she stayed right where she was. He wondered what it cost her, and how much practice she’d had. “It’s hard to be calm when you smell frightened, shaman.” You don’t know how hard.

“I can’t remember not being scared. Isn’t that funny?” Her expression suggested she didn’t find anything amusing about it. “I know I must’ve been, maybe before I married Mark. But not anymore.”

Jesus. “I’m sorry.” And I’m something you should be afraid of, too. Dammit. Of all the things to happen.

“I was terrified when I left him. I was scared nobody would believe me, or he’d find me and drag me back, or the outside world really was too huge for me to handle on my own. That he was right somehow, you know? That I was weak and he was justified every time he…” Maddeningly, she stopped.

Every time he hurt you. “But you did it, anyway, right?”

“I did.” Her hand fell away from his shoulder, but she didn’t move away from him. “Just like I’m scared of you and your family, but I’m going to stay with you, anyway. Being frightened isn’t a reason not to do something. Lucy always tried to tell me that.”

Lucy? Her friend. “I’m sorry about her.” And sorry about Kyle. And sorry about you, too. Sorry I’ve frightened you. Why couldn’t this have been easier?

“Me, too. I just…Why would Mark want her dead, too? I can’t figure it out.”

You can’t guess? But of course she couldn’t. It was utterly alien to her, probably, the things some men were capable of. And they call us beasts. “I’d bet it was because she helped you get away. Didn’t she?”

Because when that type of man thinks he owns something, he’ll kill everything around it just to prove he does.

She was silent for a long span of moments, staring out the window. When he looked closer, he found out her cheeks were wet, not just with the endless, stupid rain. Big gemlike tears made her pretty eyes sparkle, and she was biting her lower lip gently, worrying at it.

“Then it is my fault,” she finally whispered. “It should’ve been me.”

“Oh, Christ.” He had her shoulders before he realized it, restrained himself from shaking her only by sheer willpower. “Don’t. It’s not your fault and not hers, either. It’s him . He’s the—”

She reached up, awkward because his hands were around her upper arms, and pulled his head down, gently but irresistibly. His mouth met hers, and he forgot everything but the taste of her, flavored with the ghost of spearmint gum, her lips opening shyly. His body pushed against hers, searching for resistance, and found none until her back met the living-room wall near the dead fireplace. His hands slid down to describe her waist, those hips he’d been longing to touch unreeling just like a roller coaster.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but he tried to make it gentler. He pressed himself against her, seeking comfort and trying to give it all at once. His hands found the edge of her shirt and slid under, and her skin was so warm and smooth underneath wet cloth that he made a low sound of approval deep in his throat. The sound transformed halfway into an inquiry, because he was describing the cathedral arches of her ribs with his fingers and aching to touch more—like the soft hot underside of her breasts, just made for cupping his hands around.

She broke away, gasping in a short deep breath. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, even the wet edge of her jaw, flavored with salt and rain. And a part of him wanted to drag her down to the floor right there, get rid of all the irritating sodden cloth in the way, and show her just how much he appreciated each curving inch of her softness.

And how much closer he wanted to get to her .

“Stop,” she whispered, and he was almost out of his mind enough not to care. Her hands were on his shoulders now, pushing ineffectually, and he went rigid for a long moment, almost trembling with the urge to kiss her again so she couldn’t repeat it. “Please.”

He let her push him away, slowly. Arousal was a lead bar with roots sunk in his belly, and the animal in him was not satisfied with just rubbing his scent all over her and a tiny bit of foreplay. It wanted a few hours to mark her thoroughly as his, and a few more hours to begin learning how to enjoy her.

And for once, he and his animal wanted the same thing. But it wasn’t time yet, and he wasn’t a savage. He was Carcajou, and she was drawing in deep flaring breaths, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“You stopped .” Her hair was tangled, a glory of damp sandalwood curls. He wanted to bury his face in it and inhale, and let his hands discover that beautiful little curve below her ribs and above her hips, just made for his fingers to do a little skimming and skating on.

No shit. “You told me to.” He swallowed dryly, imposed control. “I’m not going to force you, Sophie.” You’ve been forced enough.

“Just kidnap me?” But she smiled when she said it, a private little curve of her pretty lips, and he about lost all his good sense right there. High color bloomed on her cheeks.

“I’ll kidnap you as many times as you like,” his mouth said, independently of his brain. Shit. Dammit. What’s wrong with me?

Amazingly, her smile broadened. She actually looked amused . “Did you just make a joke? I think that’s the first one I’ve heard.”

“Step a little closer. Or let me go back to what I was doing about thirty seconds ago.” What was it about her that could make him smart off like a teenager? Maybe it was the way she was blushing, or the way she tipped her head down and looked over the top of those cute little steel-rimmed glasses. It made her mouth look nice and soft, and it gave him all sorts of ideas about getting her to take them off and—

The front door rattled and he whirled, his head coming up and new tension snapping through him. Sophie sucked in a breath at the sound.

But it was only the twins. “Raining buckets out there,” Julia announced. “What? Oh. Whoops.”

The air was full of musk, his and the shaman’s. Good thing she was completely triggered, or he might not have had any luck stopping. He relaxed and swung back to face her.

The smile had dropped from Sophie’s face. She hugged herself, cupping her elbows in her palms. Her eyes were huge, and he smelled the instant jump of fear, her pulse turned hard and hammering.

Even a door opening did that to her. Jesus .