Awaken to Pleasure

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Here was a woman he actually wanted. A woman he knew was strong and true, as well as fair of face.

Shading his eyes, he watched her appealing figure grow smaller and smaller as she stalked off into the distance. She had a lovely figure—curvy hips, ample breasts. He sighed, then started after her. Since she hadn’t rubbed the lamp again, he was stuck outside of its cool interior—damn curse—out in the blistering heat, following around a woman whose touch would be tainted with the lie between them.

“Some things are more important than your cock,” he muttered to himself as he stalked his way across the sand. This woman was the one who was prophesized to kill the queen of the witches…and like a multiheaded serpent, once that head was gone, the rest would slowly wither away.

He didn’t know where, or how. But since he was the one who had had the vision, he had known that he was the one destined to keep her safe. Knowing he had only enough power to save one on the night that the witch fires raged, he had chosen to save her.

And for it he had been cursed. Was condemned to live in a bottle, doing as his master or mistress demanded. And some of the things they’d demanded sickened him to the core.

But none had hurt so much as the disgust he had seen on young Moira Connor’s face the night he’d saved her and let her parents die.

As he followed behind Moira, he tried not to torture himself with the sway of her hips.

The best way to keep her safe was to keep their relationship light and sexual, just as he always did. It was his skill—a woman once seduced into his bed would do anything to keep him.

So Moira wouldn’t make a fuss when he stayed close. Close enough to make sure that Shiloh would never find out about her.

And yet, as the winds that blew across the plains carried the whispers of magic to his ears, he sensed he was already too late.

Chapter Two (#ulink_e1cec9cd-3cbe-5f66-a2c4-0933335e5da5)

Moira’s skin was flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Try as she might, she knew that she couldn’t blame the now-setting sun, at least not entirely. No, she’d be lying to herself if she refused to admit that it was the memory of the stranger’s avid mouth on hers, of his hard body pressing her against the ground.

She couldn’t get it out of her head. And, she admitted as she pushed through the force field that kept the witches out of the gilded cage that was Mavi, it was driving her crazy.

She shook her head impatiently as she strode over the muted cobblestones, past the clear pool with its trickling falls. Still, the deep blue of Boone’s eyes haunted her, as if it had been burned into her brain, and the memory spread the burn down, down between her thighs.

It made her uncomfortable, because those eyes reminded her so very much of that horrific night in her past.