clearly biased and not to be trusted on the matter.
That report was typed up and ready to go. She would hand it to her aide in the morning, to have it copied and sent on to Senator Polenski. Then she was taking a two-week vacation—she had a cruise booked, and a husband waiting. While she was away, Polenski could decide if he still wanted her to gather a committee to investigate this further.
In the meantime, sun and sea awaited her.
She finished her wine, set the glass down and decided to leave the files where they were until morning. She shut off all the lights and padded into her bedroom. Suddenly something heavy hit her in the head. Light exploded behind her eyes, and she was gone.
Utana was still lying there, vulnerable, arms at his sides, eyes closed. Trusting her. Wanting her. And she wanted him just as badly.
Brigit withdrew her hand, leaving the blade where it was. There would be another time, she told herself, though she thought it might very well be a lie.
She closed her eyes and called up the power from deep inside. She drew it up from the earth below, from the sky above, felt it streaming into her, green and gold, meeting in her middle and swirling there until her solar plexus pulsed with power. Mentally she split that sphere in two and streamed it out into her shoulders, down her arms and into her palms.
The heat in her hands increased. It burned strongly enough that her eyes were startled open, and then she saw the warm white glow emanating from her hands and vanishing into his body.
“It’s working.” He whispered the words urgently. “I feel it wor—”
“Shhhh.” She kept the power flowing, sensed it spreading out inside him, following the veins and the network of nerves to every part of his being, and a moment later he slid his bandaged hand beneath one of hers and pressed it palm to palm, interlacing fingers, holding it there.
The energy grew hotter, pulsed harder, but only momentarily. And then it was fading, paling, receding.
She drew a deep breath and lifted her head. “Wow,” she whispered.
He smiled up at her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
And for one brief moment they were just two people. Not sworn enemies, not immortals, not opponents in an Armageddon-level standoff.
They were just a man and a woman.
And then he was sliding his hands up around her shoulders and pulling her close, kissing her again. Waving a hand, he made the bed curtains all gather together without touching them, just as he had done before.
It wasn’t his fault, she thought, as he pulled her body on top of his, moving against her, kissing her deeply, passionately, endlessly. It wasn’t his fault. He was becoming saner all the time, more logical all the time. He was listening to her, believing her about Nash Gravenham-Bail and the DPI and their lies. He was believing her. And when his mind had time to heal from all those thousands of years trapped, buried alive… When his mind had time to heal, he would believe her about the rest. He would understand that there might be an explanation for his condition other than a curse from the gods. He would believe her when she told him that his gods could not possibly want him to wipe out her family. He would. If she could keep him away from them long enough, just long enough, for his mind to heal.
For his mind…
To heal…
And then she realized that maybe she could speed up that process, too.
He distracted her from those thoughts, distracted her thoroughly, by pushing the nightie she wore up her body, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside. Brigit found herself sitting astride the big man as he stared up at her in the darkness. His hands cupped her breasts, kneaded and squeezed. Then they slid around to her back and pulled her forward, and his mouth took the place of those hands. He suckled; he nipped. Her breaths came faster as sensations overwhelmed her. Almost as if she would drown in them. And they did not let up.
As he gently, relentlessly tortured her breasts, his hands cupped her bottom, lifting and squeezing, spreading and pressing. And then he slid one hand in between their bodies, finding her center, opening it and probing. He didn’t take his time. He didn’t wait for consent. He spread, and he entered. And when she pulled back, startled by the suddenness of the