warily now. Finally, she knew what she was doing. This was a team sport. Her specialty. Jareth didn’t stand a chance.
Game on.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITH HIS MIND a war zone, Kaysar stripped to his skin and dove into the pond. The cool water did little to temper his frenzied emotions. Only short moments ago, he’d been consumed with need as he’d kissed Chantel, feasting on her lips, his every thought attuned to her, and her alone. His past? His vengeance? Forgotten. He’d disregarded everything but the stunning woman in his arms. How sweet she’d tasted. Sweeter than her scent had promised. The softness of her silken skin was a revelation. Her breasts had filled his hands, her hard nipples abrading his palms as he’d kneaded. His control had dissolved.
Her kiss had breathed life into him, his body no longer his but hers. Theirs. What she’d desired, he’d longed to give. He’d felt compelled to give, as if he’d uttered the order to himself.
At the time, he’d thought he’d loved the heady sensations. Now he had doubts. Neglect his vengeance, even for a moment? How could he dare?
He couldn’t get lost in the princess again. But keep his distance from her? When her curvy little body all but wept for his? Impossible. His shaft throbbed unbearably for her. Impaling her topped his agenda for the day. He just had to convince her to put sex back on their table.
Could he?
He must.
He would.
Kaysar whipped his gaze to her for the hundredth time, unable to halt the action. She perched on the shore, barely covered by the pink dress he’d insisted she wear after he’d noticed the blood he’d deposited on the green one. Her beauty robbed him of breath.
After donning the garment, she had softened immensely, becoming shy and playful—battering his defenses with stronger force.
The gowns meant to punish Chantel only punished Kaysar.
She drew his gaze—compelled it to return to her. The sight of her struck him like a blow.
At the moment, she snacked on the breads, cheeses and fruits he’d confiscated from the centaurs, a contingent of mercenaries Jareth had paid to attack him.
Kaysar had fetched the food for her before his bath, relieved the misery portion of their relationship was over. He’d had no thirst for it, anyway. He liked the idea of working together to oversee his goal.
What to do about the doormaker, though? He owed her a way home, so he should deliver. Something an honest partner would do. But he didn’t want Chantel leaving Astaria. Ever. Which meant he had to convince her to stay with him before he presented her with a doormaker. But how? What else did she need from him?
When no answers were forthcoming, Kaysar stomped from the pond. He shook out his hair, flinging water in every direction, then dressed in the clean tunic and leathers Chantel had “gifted” to him.
Upon his return with the food, she’d told him, “You said everything in the bag is mine, and I carried nothing of yours. Rather than let you traipse about naked or in dirty clothing, I’ll gift you with a shirt and pants.” She’d beamed the sweetest smile at him. The same smile she’d beamed before she’d punched his face. “For a price.”
When he’d balked, both affronted and savagely turned on, she’d only smiled wider, a temptress no man had the strength to resist. “Do you think I’ll demand sex,” she’d asked throatily, “or do you hope I will?”
How he’d hoped! In the end, she’d merely requested information about “the bark.” The elderseed. When planted, it grew enchanted trees. When ingested, it healed any injury and strengthened any fae exponentially for a short period of time. Her eyes had widened with excitement as he’d explained, and she’d muttered, “Just like the elderseed in the game.
“If I eat the elderseed, I’ll power up, right?” she’d asked. “Will I recharge enough to open a doorway?”
Of course her mind had gone there. “You won’t,” he’d replied, and it was the truth. “Creating vines and opening a doorway come from two different sources of power. The glamara merely utilizes the vinemaking as a bridge from which to manifest. The elderseed will fuel any ability but your glamara.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked, drawing him back to the present. She motioned to the picnic she’d set up, rubies sparkling on her throat, biceps and fingers. “I saved you half...after I ate the original half.”
“No, thank you.” No, thank you? He frowned, confused. When had he taken lessons in gentlemanly comportment? “We should