Parallel Heat (2 page)

Through the din of loud honky-tonk music, he could hear the phone at the bar ring, jarring him from his dazed state. The bartender—a burly guy with tattoos up and down each arm—grabbed it off the receiver. After listening a moment, he cupped his meaty palm over it. ‘‘Eh! Jordo!’’ he called out. ‘‘Your old lady wants you home!’’

Around the nearest table, a group of men erupted in bawdy laughter, slapping the guy who was obviously Jordo on the back while making crude comments.

Even he has someone who cares about him,
Marco thought miserably, sinking down into the booth.
But not me.
Not that he’d ever had a woman of his own. No, he had always led a solitary existence when it came to matters of the heart. Still, people had cared for him, important people. But not now. He was utterly alone—without his Circle, without his king and queen, without his homeland. He was, quite simply, a protector without a protected. And maybe he did deserve to die as payment for his crimes. At least that would end the torment that had hounded him for the past year as he had secretly loved his best friend’s wife.

 
Marco leaned his head back heavily against the wooden booth, and glanced around the bar through slanted, half-opened eyes. Jordo and his pals were gone—most everyone was gone, as a matter of fact—he’d probably been here sopping up his sins with booze for at least three hours. He’d have to ride his Harley somewhere before the night was done, but where? He had no home anymore, not after tonight.

After a sluggish, dizzying moment, he raised his eyes at last and saw someone who looked vaguely familiar. A golden-haired angel stepping out of the haze and walking straight toward him. Why couldn’t he place the woman, moving so easily his way? And then, within a heart’s beat, she was standing just in front of him, smiling faintly. She was blond, beautiful, and seductive as hell. But someone else’s lover, not his.

‘‘Hi, Marco.’’ Her high-timbreed voice was raspy, and she clasped his shoulder as if they were old friends. ‘‘We meet at last.’’ She trailed her fingertips down his arm familiarly, and a shower of electricity shot through his arm and chest. No way was she human.

He lolled his head forward again, narrowing his eyes. ‘‘Do I know you?’’

‘‘Well, let’s just say you know of me.’’ She slid uninvited into the booth beside him. ‘‘You’ve certainly seen me before, though not up close. Never like this.’’

He inventoried her features: waving golden hair, blue eyes—
lots
of hair, he amended. Long and shimmering. Small frame. . . . ‘‘Thea,’’ he said finally, taking another sip of beer. ‘‘Thea Haven.’’

She smiled in satisfaction. ‘‘You have been watching, haven’t you?’’ Her voice seemed to trill in victory.

‘‘It was my job,’’ he answered dully, refusing to rise to his enemy’s bait.

What was Thea Haven after? And why was she suddenly here, tonight of all nights? It made no sense at all. His thoughts were clouded and dim from the alcohol—that had to be it.

‘‘Right,’’
she replied slowly, drawing the word out for effect. ‘‘Yes, I hear Jared really respects your hard work on his behalf.’’ Her voice was tinged with bitter irony.

He raised his eyes again and found her staring at him meaningfully—flame darting in her pale eyes. She knew. Somehow the woman knew everything that had happened tonight! Or maybe it was only his drunken mind playing tricks on him. Suddenly the dozen or so beers seemed like a really bad idea. He leaned his elbows forward on the table, burying his face in his hands for a moment. Anything to stop the bar from spinning tortuously around him.

‘‘Why are you here?’’ he groaned quietly. ‘‘What do you want, Thea? Really?’’

‘‘Well, that’s simple enough,’’ she replied seductively. ‘‘I want you.’’

Marco slowly lifted his head and met her eyes—and swore he heard her call his name somewhere within his mind; he couldn’t fight, not like this. Not tonight.

Jared’s enemies had planned their attack extremely well, and all he could do was surrender.

 
He lay back on the bed naked, the frayed hotel bedspread on the floor in a red tangle. Thea peeled off her underwear, sliding in after him. Her eyes took in the length of his body, the sinewy bulk of it and his solidly muscled torso. She had never seen a more beautiful man in all her days, not even her cousin, Jared Bennett. No, Marco possessed something even more alluring, perhaps because his beauty was of the reckless, dangerous variety. His dark skin was incredibly rich beneath her fingertips as she traced her hands across the silky black hairs that dusted his inner thighs, then between his legs. He shifted his hips in reaction, causing the cheap mattress springs beneath them to creak and groan.

His eyes were shut tightly, an expression of painful ecstasy dancing across his features. She began trailing kisses down his firm abdomen, lower . . . then even lower still, taking him into her mouth. He cried out, and she drew him in deeper, then eased him out again. He gasped her name, cupping her shoulders hungrily within his large hands.

Thea liked the feeling that she was pulling this Refarian soldier toward the brink, a man trained for every potentiality—except this one, apparently. A man sworn to resist all his king’s enemies. For the briefest moment, she simply liked being with Marco McKinley, period. But she quickly buried that thought. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for this man, and yet the emotions radiating off of him were so strong, so intense, it was hard to resist, especially since his gift of intuition left him wide open to her. If Thea chose to, she could feel everything happening within him.
Maybe just for a moment,
she thought breathlessly.
What harm can one moment bring?

As she opened herself ever so slightly to him, she had a strong flash—and it was something she found nearly impossible to believe: This was Marco’s first time with a woman. Any woman.
That
was certainly something she could use to her advantage. She pulled away, gasping, and he opened his nearly black eyes. She could read the undisguised pleasure in his lazy gaze.
Yes,
she thought with a wicked smile,
this plan is working to perfection.

She rubbed her thumb over the swollen tip of his erection. ‘‘You’re a virgin,’’ she breathed huskily, and tightened her grip.

His dark eyes flashed—with what she wasn’t sure. He almost seemed to panic for a moment, then just as quickly the emotion passed, replaced with something much harder.
Colder.

‘‘Who would I have ever made love to, Thea?’’ he asked wearily, letting his hands drop away from her shoulders. His face became guarded, and she couldn’t read his expression.

He was pulling away from her—and that simply would not do.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his waist as she drew her face within a breath of his own. ‘‘A beautiful man like you could have his pick. Any woman would thrill to pleasure Marco McKinley, sovereign protector.’’

At those words, he closed his eyes tightly shut again. ‘‘No,’’ he groaned, ‘‘they would not.’’

‘‘You’re stunning.’’ She pressed her lips against his ear, even as she squeezed her thighs around him and felt the sensation of her toes against the hairless place behind his knees. ‘‘Anyone would be a fool not to love a man such as you.’’

Oh, Marco,
she thought, I
could love a man such as
you
. Quickly, she pushed that thought from her mind.
Never!
She had a mission here, nothing more.
Don’t buy into your own words, Haven.

Slipping one hand between his legs, she trailed her fingertips over his hardened length, teasing him. Seducing him. Controlling him. A virgin who’d never lain with a woman in his life? Well, this had certainly played to her advantage!

She’d seen the look of pleasure flare in his eyes when she called him beautiful. Good. Then that same quiet voice whispered in her mind again.
He is beautiful . . . unbelievably beautiful.
He’d taken her breath away when she’d first seen him tonight, his black hair windblown from the motorcycle, and his smoldering good looks perfectly offset by his black leather jacket and faded blue jeans. She’d been keeping him under surveillance from afar for months, but tonight had been her first really good look at him. For a fleeting moment, she’d found herself disconcerted by his dark Refarian features: the rich, black eyes; the olive skin brushed with a touch of gold; the formidable size of his body. And then she realized why his appearance unsettled her so badly—Marco reminded her of someone else, someone she had strong feelings for.

Their kiss continued and so did her swirling emotions, spiraling crazily inside her mind and body.
Someone familiar. Someone important. Gods, of course!
she realized with a shocking jolt, and for a moment she pulled apart from him, gazing into his black, slightly slanted eyes. He blinked back at her, his face ruddy with emotion. His full lips parted, waiting for another of her kisses.

Of all the men in the universe, why did Marco have to look like her cousin, Jared Bennett, the only man she’d ever loved? But before she had time to react to that association, Marco cupped her face roughly, pulling her close for a much hungrier kiss, his tongue heatedly exploring her mouth. She could feel his heart racing wildly against her chest while her own hammered out a twin crescendo.
These feelings—this attachment—will not do,
she reminded herself.
You are here for one purpose only.

And with that, she silenced the unexpected, quiet voice of desire this man had spoken within her . . . once and for all.

 
She’d laughed at him, at his virginity and inexperience. That had been the final humiliation of this cursed day. He had felt so damn powerless against her as her hands had kneaded his thighs, as she’d rubbed and teased his rock-hard erection until he ached beyond expression. As their kisses grew rougher and fuller as she cradled her hips so perfectly against his, teasing him into a thrusting motion—letting him know what would come next beyond any question or doubt. As he met every gyration of her hips, he knew one fact for certain—he was totally losing control in the arms of his enemy, going over the edge, and there would be no coming back. Never again, not after tonight.

This woman didn’t just have him in the palm of her hand—she had all of him, his very soul even. No one had ever taken his body and simply pleasured it. He’d been a servant, a warrior, for so long, he’d always thought of himself as the property of others. Yet tonight she was worshipping his body, and it felt achingly, powerfully, disastrously good.

The gash on his forehead throbbed painfully, and as he became aware of it, her finger traced it lightly. Had she felt his pain? Their kisses stilled, and he stared up into those blue eyes as she touched his wound. Everything about her was the opposite of him. She was all lightness, golden hair, blue eyes—where everything about
him
was so dark. Even in the half-light of his room, he could see how olive his skin looked next to her fair complexion. She traced the throbbing place on his forehead with the tip of her finger.

‘‘Let me fix this,’’ she breathed. She lifted her hand to help him, and he captured her wrist roughly. He knew Thea Haven had been gifted with healing abilities, but he didn’t want to be healed.

‘‘No,’’ he growled.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘‘Why not?’’

He released her hand slowly, and she resumed tracing her fingers lightly across the wound until he flinched slightly in pain. The cut was physical proof of his crime—he’d kissed his queen tonight, even when he realized the advance was unwelcome. In return, Kelsey had sent him sprawling, headfirst, against her bookshelf.

‘‘I want the scar,’’ he breathed. ‘‘I want to remember tonight from now on.’’

‘‘They really got to you, Marco, didn’t they?’’ She began trailing hot kisses across his jawline.

He groaned softly. ‘‘Yes, but now you’re getting to me in whole new ways.’’

‘‘You’ve been lonely.’’ Her tongue flicked softly against his earlobe, then she tugged on it between her teeth.

How could he stand up against this? He didn’t care what she really wanted with him: This was all he needed tonight.

‘‘Yes,’’ he moaned quietly into her hair, taking her full breasts in both of his hands.

She nuzzled his cheek. ‘‘You need this. Me.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ he agreed softly, raking his hands through her luxurious blond hair. There was so much of it, and it was all over his face.

‘‘What will you do to have me?’’ she teased, straddling his naked body with her own. God, she was so close to him, he could just slide inside her easily; he let his hand find the warm place between her legs. Earlier he’d caught a brief glimpse of a soft tuft of dark blond hair there. She was incredibly wet for him. Could she want this as much as he did?

‘‘What . . . ever,’’ he gasped, ‘‘I need to do.’’ He thrust upward clumsily, trying to push himself toward her, but she lifted, holding herself away. He had no idea how to get what he wanted, not without seeming as inexperienced as he was. His face burned with shame, and he tried to work his way into her again—she raised her hips coquettishly, lifting just out of reach.

‘‘No, no, Marco. Tell me,’’ she urged with a wicked smile. She was hovering over him now, straddling him. If he weren’t careful, he might lose control before he ever came inside of her. ‘‘Tell me what you will do.’’

‘‘I’ll make love to you,’’ he gasped unsteadily.

She ran her fingers through his hair and laughed, a quiet, seductive sound—the sound of a devil temptress— and said, ‘‘That’s not what I want, Marco. You know what I want.’’

He didn’t understand what was happening at all. Not what she wanted? She was so wet for him, so seemingly full of desire. But in his heart, he did know what she was after—had known since she’d first appeared in the bar tonight.

‘‘Then what?’’ he asked, sucking his breath in quickly. He felt like he was begging her now. He let his hands wander roughly across her backside, cupping her bottom, pulling her closer to him.