He nipped at the curve of her throat, not hard enough to break the skin, but just enough to give her a jolt and make every cell in her body stand up and take notice.
“Are you going to stab me or fuck me?” he whispered in her ear, his breath teasing her skin and sending a shiver down her spine.
She slid the flat of the blade along his neck and shoulder before slipping it back into its sheath. “Fuck you.”
“Good choice.” He kissed her again, and this time she lost herself in his dark embrace. This wasn’t smart. He was her target—a dangerous one at that—not her lover.
She didn’t care. There was something about Maccus that drew her, made her risk the devil’s ire and the possibility of an eternity of torture in Hell.
That should have scared her to death, but every inch of her was alive with anticipation. She’d forgotten what it was like to look forward to something instead of dreading it. Or worse, feeling nothing at all.
He moved, walking with her deeper into the apartment. Each step he took slid her breasts against his chest and her mound against his erection. It was past time to get naked and rub herself all over him, to see what he looked like under all that leather.
I can’t wait.
Anticipation humming inside her, she was taken aback when he carried her through the bedroom and into a bathroom. “The bed is that way.” She pointed over his shoulder.
The corners of his mouth twitched. She held her breath, wondering if he’d smile. It was becoming a goal. But his lips remained in their familiar firm line. “Thought you might like to get rid of the blood first. But if you don’t care, it doesn’t bother me.”
She had the sense that not only wouldn’t it bother him, but he might actually enjoy it. When he paused, she shook her head. “Definitely shower.”
He gave a grunt that could have been agreement as he set her down on the long marble countertop that spanned about six feet. He unzipped her jacket and drew it down and away.
She tilted her head to one side, studying his hard jaw, high cheekbones, and firm lips. He was tough, no doubt about it. His words and features were blunt but compelling. He’d removed her coat as he’d done everything else since they’d met—with competence and efficiency. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to figure out what you are,” she answered honestly.
He shook his head and seemed almost amused as he reached for her tank top. There was no room for false modesty between them. Her early days in Hell had killed any human hang-ups she’d had about being naked in front of another.
On a shudder, she shoved the memory away. She didn’t like to remember those times when she’d been weaker and much more vulnerable.
“What is it?” Catching her head between his huge hands, he stared at her, his dark eyes unblinking.
God, he had amazing eyes. They were pitch black without a hint of any other color. Sorcerer’s eyes. It was easy to believe he could read whatever truth existed in her heart, mind, and soul. Not a comfortable sensation, yet they lured her.
“Nothing.” At least nothing she was willing to share. “Get naked.”
He paused, stepped back, and released her. She instantly missed the contact. To distract herself, she removed her boots and socks. Maccus watched her every movement. “What?”
“You’re so beautiful.”
Her face grew warm. Was she blushing?
When was the last time that had happened?
“Thank you.” Feeling as though she should return the compliment, she tossed out, “You’re pretty hot yourself.” God, that was so stupid. He showed no outward reaction.
Awkward.
She hopped off the counter and removed her sword, gun holster, and knife, setting them safely aside. Both her boots held knives, but they were safe in their built-in holders.
Standing in a bathroom bigger than her current motel room, wearing only a stained white sports bra and a pair of leather pants, Morrigan hesitated. He was still totally dressed.