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  She didn’t have a single weapon, as far as he could tell. If she had to defend herself, the best she could do was to grab one of the dusty, unused frying pans from the kitchen.

  “Do you have any sense of self-preservation?” he asked her still form.

  Lucas glanced toward the bed, then back into her bathroom mirror as he scraped a flimsy plastic razor over his cheek. It wouldn’t do for long, given the full moon, but he didn’t want to scare the woman to death the minute she opened her eyes and noticed that his beard had grown a couple of inches from this morning. A half inch of that since he’d rescued her.

  Adrenaline, the chase, the fight…they sped things up.

  “If he had been smarter, the bastard could have been here, inside, waiting for you to get home.”

  The thought made that roiling surge of anger rise in him again, but he quickly shoved it away. He’d deal with the attacker later. Lucas had his scent. The man wouldn’t be able to hide from Lucas’s rage no matter which side of the border he was on.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Finally.” Dropping the razor, he approached the bed. As he stared down at her, he noted the color in her cheeks. When he’d wet a cloth to clean her cut, he’d also taken a minute to wash all the makeup—not to mention dirt and gravel—off her face.

  She was, as he’d expected, beyond beautiful.

  He wondered if she even realized it. If the clothes, the makeup, the attitude, were all because she didn’t care how she looked, or because she did care and didn’t want anyone else to realize how striking she truly was.

  He suspected the latter. She’d been hiding in plain sight.

  She blinked a few times. “How long have I been out?”

  “Minutes. Ten at most.”

  She shifted and slowly sat up, looking at him with frank disbelief. “And in ten minutes, you carried me three blocks home, broke into my house, put me to bed, then had time for a shave?”

  He answered with a shrug. Because, yes, that’s what had happened. Her slight weight hadn’t slowed him down.

  Penny continued to stare up at him. The confusion slowly left her face, and color entered it as her gaze grew more intimate. She parted her lips to breathe and the pulse in her throat, which he could see—and almost hear—fluttered.

  God, the woman really needed to learn how to hide what she was thinking. Considering he was trying like hell to keep his own secrets, knowing how much she wanted him didn’t help.

  Later. Want me later. When I don’t have to be strong enough to resist you. He had to be strong now. Not only because he still had a job to do—bringing her home—but because he couldn’t take what the woman was offering until she understood exactly who she was offering it to.

  She wasn’t entirely happy about it either. Her small jaw stiffened, as if she needed to imbue herself with resolve. “I can’t believe you used my razor.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not worried about using something that has come in contact with your legs.” Far, far from it.

  More of that color appeared, more of that confusion. More of that feisty attitude. “Yeah, well, how do you know my legs are all I use it on? Huh? Maybe I use it somewhere a whole lot more intimate than that.”

  He considered her words for a moment, then realized what she meant. This time, he was sure his face filled with color, so hot was the explosion that rocked through him. His heart was definitely beating harder, his breaths thick, each one tasting like her.

  “That I’d like to see,” he admitted before he could stop himself. He’d heard of women over here sporting that smooth, shorn look, but he’d never actually seen it himself. The trend might eventually make its way over to Elatyria—with the number of travelers back and forth between the lands on the rise, some other customs were certainly making their way across.

  Frankly, he could have done without ever seeing a gnome with a one-inch ear gauge.

  She sputtered, rising from the bed. “I was kidding.”

  Shoving away a flash of disappointment, he insisted, “You don’t have to get up to defend yourself from me. I wasn’t about to rip your clothes off to see if you were telling the truth.”

  Those lavender eyes hadn’t darkened with fright; she didn’t fear him. Which was good, she didn’t need to. Although how she could know that, he couldn’t say. He wondered if she felt it too, the instant connection. The certainty that they were supposed to be together. It went beyond mere wanting. Though, right now, mere wanting was pretty powerful in and of itself.

  “I’m sorry, I’m being a shrew. You bring out the beast in me for some reason.”

  Mutual.

  “You saved me from something pretty awful tonight.”

  He frowned at the thought. “He won’t get away with it.”

  “I know. I’ll contact the sheriff in the morning. But I doubt he’s anywhere near here. He probably won’t stop running until he hits the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “He can run as far as he wants to,” he muttered.

  “Anyway, thank you, Lucas. For saving me, for bringing me back here, taking care of me.” She moved closer, the soft smell of her perfume filling every molecule of air between them.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice just as low.

  He didn’t know what she intended. At least, not until she rose on tiptoe and leaned toward his face. Saying nothing, she brushed her soft lips across his in a touch as fleeting as a caress from a summer breeze.

  Lucas gritted his teeth and steeled his will. Fisting his hands by his sides, he used every ounce of his power to remain still, not grab her in his arms and kiss her with all the deep hunger he’d felt for her since the moment he’d seen her.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked, his throat tight.

  He expected to hear a stammering response—It was a thank-you kiss, an expression of my gratitude. Instead, he got pure honesty. Pure Penny.

  “I wanted to.”

  Some deep-rooted masochistic gene made him growl, “Do you want to again?”

  She nodded once. “Yeah. A lot.”

  With a groan, Lucas gave up all resistance. The invisible restraints that had seemed to bind him erupted in an explosion of pure hunger. He wrapped one arm around her waist, cupping her chin in the other hand. Dragging her up, he bent to meet her, and their lips crashed together and parted.

  As Penny’s warm tongue thrust against his in deep, hungry tastes, he swallowed down the wild, untamed flavor of her. He tilted her head to one side, his to the other, needing to go deeper, wanting to devour her whole, from the inside out.

  They kissed deeply, paused to gasp for air, kissed again. Penny pressed against him, her soft body molding against his. He couldn’t stop himself from lowering his hand, brushing it down her neck.

  “Oh, please, keep touching me,” she whispered against his lips, arching up toward his fingers.

  As if he could stop. Lucas slid his hand down, determined to be careful, not to hurt her the way he knew he could, especially at this time of the month. When he wanted to be…wild.

  Brushing the soft curve of one breast, he let his thumb slide down over its taut tip, which thrust provocatively against the filmy shirt.

  She hissed when he reached his prize and plucked at it.

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  He kissed her deeply again, sucking her tongue into his mouth, imitating what he wanted to do to her nipple. And her sensitive clit, which he was dying to see, touch, taste.

  She didn’t have to beg him to give her what she wanted. He knew by her tiny whimpers, the cries in her throat. Without thought, without planning, he tugged the fabric up, lifting his mouth from hers just far enough to pull the shirt all the way off her. Then he touched her again, feeling warm, puckered flesh.

  Plus something else.

  “What the…” he muttered, looking at the beautiful breast in his hand. Perfectly formed, pert and lush. And bejewelled.

  “What the hell have you done to yourself, woman?” he asked, someho
w pushing the words out of a throat that felt too tight to keep bringing necessary air into his lungs. Because while part of him wanted to spank her for marring her perfect body so painfully, another part was sure he’d never seen anything as wickedly erotic in his life.

  Two pretty silver rings hung from the tips of Penny Mayfair’s breasts. The Princess of Riverdale had pierced her nipples. But from her rapturous cries as she thrust harder against his hand and ground her groin against him, pain was the last thing she was thinking about. Which meant she had done it for her own pleasure. She liked the sensations it wrought.

  Her fingers twined in his long hair, tugging him down her body. Lucas could no more refuse than a starving beggar could turn his back on a feast. He pushed her back onto the bed, dropped to kneel between her legs, and buried his face in her bare stomach. Licking, biting lightly, he worked his way up, rubbing his cheek against the under-curve of one breast. He again ordered himself to be careful, to go slowly and not hurt her, even though a primal need urged him to be rough and hard. Fast and demanding.

  He managed to keep himself under control, although he didn’t know how. Nor could he say for how long he’d be able to, either.

  “Please, do it!” she ordered, sounding frantic as she tugged at his hair and arched toward his mouth.

  Patience was a virtue, but his was never strong when the moon was full. He groaned before moving his lips to one perfect tip, covering it, sucking hard, swirling his tongue around the pretty silver ring. He tasted warm metal and warmer, sweet skin.

  “Yes,” she said with a deep sigh.

  While tasting one, he plucked the ring on the other breast with his fingers. She hissed when he increased the pressure, tightening her fingers in his hair to keep him where she wanted him, urging him to suck deeper, to tweak harder. Her legs twined around his waist, the core of her landing unerringly on the long ridge of his rock-hard cock. She instinctively thrust toward him.

  Lucas groaned and thrust back, taunting them both. The musky, feminine smell of her overwhelmed his senses. He had to close his eyes and breathe her in, memorizing her scent, imprinting it on his brain and in every cell of his body.

  “More. Give me more, Lucas.”

  He wanted to. God, did he want to. But as he opened his eyes and saw his own dark, swarthy hand against her pale skin, already reddened under his aggressive touch, something—some strong, deep instinct—made him stop. He couldn’t take her until she knew. Couldn’t claim her fully until she was aware of how much of herself she was giving.

  All of herself. Forever.

  With strength he didn’t know he had, Lucas pulled back, thrust a frustrated hand through his hair, then rose to his feet. “I didn’t come here to get some kind of payback.” He staggered away, watching as she gasped for breath and slowly brought herself back under control. “You were unconscious not long ago.”

  It took a full minute, then, finally, her voice shaking, she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Not meeting his eyes, she grabbed her top and pulled it back on, covering that beautiful body.

  Good. He didn’t know if he could have kept up his resolve for another minute if she hadn’t.

  “I’m not the type to go around jumping on strangers.”

  “We’re not strangers.”

  She didn’t respond, not trying to argue. How could she? Something inside her had to be reaching out, responding to her heart’s instinctive knowledge that he was part of her world—her real world, the one she’d been denied since childhood.

  She’d recognized him, known him, at first sight, too. Now that she’d been in his arms, there could no longer be any doubt.

  “You’re hurt,” he explained gruffly, seeing that she was shaken by his decision not to take what she had offered.

  “I’m okay, really,” she said, a forced smile appearing on her mouth as she tried to put things back on more normal footing. She was good at it, hiding her reactions, any hurt feelings. Queenly, in fact, in how easily she moved past the moment and brought the temperature back from blazing to merely burning. “A kiss of gratitude, that’s all it was.”

  “Sure.” Uh-huh. Right.

  She flushed, then squared her shoulders and changed the subject. “So, is playing hero part of your job description?”

  “I’m no hero. And you’re not going to be as appreciative when you see that I kicked in your front door.”

  Surprisingly, she laughed. “There’s a key under the mat.”

  “Are you determined to be attacked?”

  “I can…”

  “Take care of yourself. Yeah, I know.”

  She hesitated. “Except tonight. So thanks again,” she said with a simple nod. Again, he caught a flash of her bloodline in the grace of the gesture, the way she held herself.

  He admired that. But what he wanted was the wild woman who’d been writhing beneath him a few minutes ago. Not a princess, but a female in heat, at the mercy of her own hunger.

  Lucas gritted his teeth, thrusting the images out of his head. Not only did he have a job to do, the woman had just been violently attacked. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he finally managed to ask. “Your head, is it paining you?”

  “A little, but I’ll take a couple of ibuprofen.”

  Brushing past him to the bathroom, she opened a mirrored cabinet and removed a small bottle. Her gaze passed briefly over a blood-tinged washcloth and she swayed on her feet.

  Lucas crossed the room in an instant and steadied her with a hand on the small of her back.

  “God you’re fast!”

  “You’re still dizzy.”

  “It really wasn’t the bump that conked me out. I’ve had a major thing with blood for as long as I can remember. Just can’t handle it—I tried to donate at a Red Cross blood drive once in high school and fainted in front of half the school.”

  She spilled two tablets from the bottle, popping them into her mouth. Then the wicked wench bent completely over the sink, spooning water between her lips.

  Wanton images flooded his brain. Was she trying to kill him? That deep, mind-numbing kiss, the wicked eroticism of her body, her passionate response, now a provocative position designed to drive him wild? If not for the leggings she wore, it would be so easy to slide the skirt up, grab her hips, and thrust into her from behind until they both howled with pleasure.

  She seemed oblivious, straightening and continuing with her conversation. “I guess I used to be pretty clumsy. My Dad told me I fell out of a window and almost killed myself when I was a toddler. I’ve had a problem with blood ever since.”

  Focus.

  “Where is your father, Penny?” he asked, never having gotten an answer from her earlier today.

  “He died almost three years ago.” She waved toward the table beside the bed, on which stood a framed image of a younger Penny with a smiling, middle-aged man. “There’s a picture.”

  “He died before you turned twenty-one?”

  “A few days before.”

  “It all makes sense now.”

  One angry brow shot up. “Makes sense that my father died of a heart attack before he was even fifty years old?”

  “No, no. I mean, it makes sense now that he didn’t bring you to your mother’s people. He wasn’t alive to keep his promise.”

  “Don’t go there again, please. Not right now.”

  “All right. But we have to talk about it.”

  Penny shoved a hand through her short hair, which had lost most of its jagged spikiness and fallen into short curls around her face. Everything about her, from her appearance to her mood, even the tone of her voice, had grown softer. More vulnerable.

  “I miss him every day,” she admitted, glancing again at the photograph.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  He understood such grief. The loss of his sister had left a hole in him that he didn’t think would ever be refilled.

  Still introspective, Penny tilted her head, glancing toward a shelf on the wall abo
ve the bed. On it sat a sizeable box wrapped in pretty paper, with a large bow on the top. The paper was faded, the bow dusty. The gift had remained unopened for quite some time.

  “From him?”

  She nodded. “Callie, my Dad’s girlfriend, gave it to me when I came back to town a few months ago. He’d had some stuff stored in her garage and she found it after I’d left to go…traveling. He must have stashed it there in case I went snooping around our place.”

  “Why didn’t you open it?”

  Her moist eyes tugged at his heart. “It hurt too much. Opening it seemed like the final step in admitting he’s gone.”

  “I see.”

  She managed a weak smile. “Anyway, I turn twenty-four in two weeks. I figured I’d hold out until then. It’ll be one last present from my dad on my actual birthday.”

  She deliberately turned her back on the shelf, the photograph, the sad thoughts. “Look, I owe you big-time. And I have decided you’re not a serial killer, because you could have taken me out while I was unconscious a few minutes ago.”

  “Thanks. I’d hate to think you go around inviting serial killers to kiss your pretty nipples.”

  Color rose in her cheeks. “The point is, I will let you spill whatever it is you came here to say to me. But it’s late, and I’ve had a long day. Right now, all I can think about is taking a hot shower and eating food that doesn’t include gravy, breading or old grease.”

  Though his stomach rumbled at the reminder that he had not had a meal since he left home, her words made him grateful he hadn’t ordered anything at the diner. “You have eaten nothing all day?”

  “I serve that food, I don’t actually consume it.”

  Nodding, he gestured toward her shower, squelching the image of her standing inside it, naked, steamy streams of water gushing over her beautiful body—making those little silver hoops glisten and shimmer. “Take your shower and I’ll make us a meal.”

  “Us?” One delicate brow arched over her eye. “You’re inviting yourself to dinner?”

  “It’s the least you can do,” he pointed out.