Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (20 page)

His only hope now was that she’d forgive him.

A tall order? Probably. More than he deserved? Certainly. But even as logic said no-way-in-hell, Mac prayed she’d give him a second chance. Which in turn made him wonder what the hell was wrong with him. Somewhere along the way, a switch had flipped inside his head. Now he was off course, miles away from his usual self, not to mention his typical MO.

He was the independent one, for fuck’s sake. The guy who thrived on the uncomplicated and a clear playing field. Angela accused him of being a commitment-phobe. Maybe he was...or at least had been until Tania tipped his radar in the wrong direction. Now all he could think about was her, and he didn’t like it.

He enjoyed his lifestyle. The women he slept with did too, never complained about the one-nighters. Like him, they were one part free and easy, the other part escape hatch. Tania, though, wasn’t his typical fare. She wasn’t a no-strings-attached kind of girl...would expect kisses and cuddling in the aftermath. Mac knew it like he was standing there, bare feet planted in the middle of his kitchen, gaze glued to the bathroom door, ears attuned to her movements and the quiet rush of water.

With a sigh, Mac shook his head. Every instinct he possessed told him not to do it...to hand her over, make her Rikar’s responsibility, then walk the hell away. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with his dragon fixated and the rest of him riveted on her. No way could he let her go. At least not without a fight. So screw talking himself out of it or denying what he felt for her. The bond they shared was simply too strong. Reason need not apply. Intellect could take a hike, ’cause now that she stood a mere room’s width away? Need tugged on his chain, the steady stream
of connection amplifying, winding him up just to watch him go.

Zip. Bang. Gone.

He was toast in the same way Bastian and Rikar were for their females. But unlike his comrades, Mac knew he wouldn’t find relief anytime soon.

Rescuing the tortellini, Mac dumped the pasta into a strainer. As he grabbed a big bowl off an open shelf, the shower clicked off. Water slowed to a trickle. The glass door opened, then swung shut. He closed his eyes, keen senses picking up each minute sound, listening to the sound of Tania’s feet touch down on the bath mat. His mouth curved. He loved everything about his new abilities, but more than anything? The capacity to perceive what should be imperceptible.

Case in point? Tania was now drying off with the towel he’d taken out for her. Soon she would surround herself in his scent—become more his—and slip into his clothes. The sweats he’d left on the vanity for her. He couldn’t wait to see her in them. Strange, he knew, but providing for her nourished him somehow: having her wear his clothing, sleep in his bed, eat the food he’d prepared for her...man, he couldn’t get enough of it.

Drawing a deep breath, he heated the jar of sauce with a whispered command. After pocketing two sets of utensils, he prepared two bowls and beat feet for the dining room. Tania would be out any second now and—

Hinges creaked. The bathroom door swung open.

Mac slid the meal onto the tabletop and glanced toward her. As his gaze got stuck on her, his heart fisted up tight. God, she looked good enough to eat, so adorable with his wide-legged pants pooling around her small feet and the
oversize sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin. He knew firsthand how soft she was...fit yet curvy, his favorite kind of female. The urge to close the distance between them hit him chest level. He wanted to touch her again. To take down her messy updo and run his fingers through her damp hair while he tasted her deep, tangled their tongues...made her crave him as much as he did her.

Grabbing on to the back of a chair, he clamped down on the need to move toward her. Proximity wouldn’t help things. What he needed was a distraction. He scanned her face and found what he needed. She was still too pale. Less freaked out, sure, but still shell-shocked. An apt description. Particularly since her life had just imploded. And he was about to drop a few more bombs.

Compassion poured through him. The problem? Feeling sorry for her—about the shitty circumstances—wouldn’t change a thing. The best he could do now was help her understand.

Holding her gaze, he murmured, “Hey.”

“Hi,” she whispered back, cradling her sore hands in front of her.

“You find everything you need in there?” When she nodded, he set the knife, fork, and spoon combo down next to each bowl, then pivoted and leaned back against the lip of the table. He kept his body relaxed and his posture unthreatening. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her. Or push too hard before she was ready. “You need anything else?”

“I don’t know,” she said, a rasp in her voice. “A lobotomy?”

His respect for her moved up a rung. Good for her. She was a drive-straight-to-the-basket kind of girl, direct and
to the point. His kind of woman. “Don’t think you need one. Prozac might be the better bet.”

She huffed, the beginnings of a smile lighting her face. It lasted a second before she sobered. A furrow between her brows, she glanced away. Mac mourned the loss of her dark gaze and, heart aching for her, watched her curl her arms in front of her. The action was telling, a form of self-protection, a way to put up psychological barriers and shore up her defenses. He’d seen the same body language on countless victims—or as Angela liked to call them, survivors—as a homicide cop and...

He couldn’t stand it. Hated that she felt compelled to put distance between them even as he understood her need to do so.

“Honey, listen to me.” She flinched at the sound of his voice. He curled his hands around the table edge to keep from reaching for her. “I—”

“Your eyes are shimmering.”

He blinked, hesitated a second, then said, “They do that sometimes.”

“Are you going to turn into a dragon?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Her head snapped back in his direction. “Don’t be a jerk.”

The warning gave him direction. Message received...no making light of the situation or teasing allowed. With a nod, Mac backed down. She wanted him to respect her boundaries. No problem. He could do that.

“You’re safe with me, Tania. Despite what you saw tonight, I would sooner die than hurt you,” he said, hoping to reassure her. She blinked rapid-fire, as though fighting
tears, but didn’t answer. He shifted course, traveling another route. “It’s going to be all right, you know.”

“How?” Her bioenergy flared, broadcasting her upset.

Her emotional response made him flinch. Anger and feminine outrage...the perfect storm. A lethal combo that packed serious punch.

Mac almost smiled, an “atta girl” poised on the tip of his tongue. He bit down on the response. She wouldn’t appreciate it...wouldn’t understand that his reaction was born of relief, not amusement. But as she glared at him, the urge to grin like an idiot poked him. Man, she was something, so fierce she made him proud. Even upended by circumstance and flattened by fear she gave as good as she got. Which was why he kept his mouth shut and waited for her to fill the void. Tania needed to vent: to let go of the fear, lay every card on the table and the blame at his feet. No way would he interrupt her before she got her groove on and lambasted him.

Pissed off and talking. That’s how he wanted her.

“Please tell me, Mac...how?” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I mean, really, fill me in, ’cause...holy jeez, I was nearly killed by a whole contingent of frackin’-frackin’ dragons!” Temper unraveling at the speed of light, she took a step toward him, a belligerent look on her face. Forgetting about her sore fingers, she pointed at him, then winced and shook out her hand. “And you! You’re one of them. So, yeah. Sure. You go ahead and tell me. How the
hell
is it going to be all right?!”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

“You’ll keep me...you’ll...” She trailed off. A muscle flickered along her jaw. “You drove me off a flipping bridge. Wrecked my car...my beautiful girl...then buried me alive underwater. In a goddamn air bubble!”

Well, when she put it that way...

He cringed. Hero of the year wasn’t a title he would be awarded anytime soon.

“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but—”

“Oh. My. God!” Tania looked around, her gaze searching. She skimmed over the fireplace, then moved on to the living room before reaching the kitchen. “Do you have a gun here? I’m going to shoot you. I swear on my life, I am
so
pulling the trigger!”

Okay. This was good, if a little counterproductive.

Mac didn’t mind. Despite the threat level, he was making progress. The more she yelled at him, the better she’d feel. And after she wound down? He’d get his chance to explain the how, what, and why of the situation. Good for him. Better for Tania. She needed to understand and accept the challenges of her new reality. Chief among them? The fact she wouldn’t survive long without his protection. Not in a world where dragons ruled and high-energy females—like her—were targets for Razorback assholes.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Mac settled in to wait her out. More animated now, her mouth working overtime, she paced the length of the cabin. Round and round she went, bare feet pitter-pattering against the floorboards, tendrils of dark hair escaping her topknot to curl over her shoulders. His mouth curved as he listened to her rant. Sweeping around the end of the sofa, she hurled another insult his way, then marched past the fireplace. The flames reacted to the breeze-by, and sparks snapped as Tania called him a boneheaded doofus-face. Crackbrained whack-job came next, adding to the already colorful litany of name-calling.

All without swearing. Not once.

Pretty impressive, actually. Had the situation been reversed, he’d have dropped the f-bomb at least twenty times by now. Mac swallowed his amusement. Jesus, her creativity floored him, making admiration grow even as she scorched him with her temper. A spitfire, she was a hot burn with incendiary flare. Arousing as hell too, and...

Oh shit. That was absolutely the
wrong
thought. Mac drew in a calming breath, then let it out, forcing his brain into work mode. Strategy A wasn’t working. Time to deploy plan B before he hopped back on the desire train.

For the umpteenth frickin’ time.

One eye on Tania, he rolled his shoulders, tracking her progress around the end of the table. Close. She was so very close now. Barely an arm’s length away, a piece of cake to stop her midstride. But reaching out would mean touching her. Not exactly the best strategy considering the level of I-want-her banging around inside his head at the moment.

She turned the last corner. Now or never. If he didn’t stop her in the next three seconds, she’d put the hammer down and roar into another circuit around the room and—

With a fast pivot, Mac left his perch and planted his foot on a chair. Timing it to perfection, he pushed. The armchair slid, bumping across wood to shoot out in front of Tania. Quick reflexes helped her hop sideways, avoiding the collision. The pissed-off gasp stopped her tirade midstream. Mouth hanging open, she gave him an incredulous look before she sucked in a breath and—

“Sit down,” he said, cutting her off before she came up with another inventive name to call him.

Pearly white teeth clicked together as she snapped her mouth closed. Pursing her lips, a mutinous expression on her face, Tania crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s getting cold,” he said, lying through his teeth. The pasta couldn’t get cold, not with him around. His ability to manipulate anything with water in it ensured the sauce stayed as hot as when he’d slid the meal onto the table. “Come on,
mo chroí
. Have mercy. I’m famished, and you can be just as pissed off sitting down as standing up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are.”

A standoff. One he won a moment later when her stomach growled.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, disgust in her voice. “Just my luck. Foiled by flipping tortellini.”

Mac laughed, adoring her poise under pressure. A scowl on her face, she pressed up on tiptoe to peer inside one of the bowls. He nudged the dish nearest her, hoping to tempt her. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

She grumbled something under her breath—probably another choice name for him—then bumped the chair with her thigh. With more determination than skill, she shoved it toward the table to avoid touching it with her sore hands. Unwilling to see her struggle, he skirted the table edge and cupped the backrest. Heat flared in her cheeks. He played the gentleman despite her chagrin: waiting for her to sit, scooting her chair in, leaning around her to straighten her utensils. As she murmured “thank you,” he caught the fresh, heated scent of her. Like an addict, he dipped his head and breathed her in, wanting more.

Hmm, she was lovely.

And he should turn away. Right frickin’ now. Take his seat and give her space while he gave himself a fighting chance to resist her. Instead, like a dummy, he opened his big mouth and said, “You smell like water lilies.”

Shifting in the chair, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze met his, and the muscles roping his abdomen clenched. Still miffed, she muttered, “I smell like you.”

Not really. Her natural perfume broke through, trumping his brand of body wash. “My soap.”

On her. All over her, in places he dreamed about touching again. Heat coiled through him as he relived the sight of her in his shower.

Blushing brighter, she whispered, “Your shampoo too.”

Unable to resist, Mac braced his palms on the arms of her chair and leaned in, surrounding her without touching. His mouth brushed her hair, and he breathed deep again, filling his lungs with her sweetness. Oh Jesus. He needed to stop...right now. Before he embarrassed himself.

“Tania?”

“What?”

“Do you need help?” Unlocking his muscles, he shifted out from behind her and headed for his own seat. Distance was good...really, really good. The farther he got from her, the better. “If your hands are too sore, I could feed you.”

“You try, and I’ll stab you with my fork.”