Warrior Rising - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,21

him at a Redskins game. Or learning to water-ski on the Potomac.

The picture that put in his head, of the Esrian princess in her shimmering green gown on water skis, had him choking on a burst of errant laughter. But she wouldn't be in a gown, would she? She'd be in a bathing suit. A skimpy, form-hugging scrap of fabric showing far too much pale, perfect skin.

The thought intrigued him more than he would have thought possible. And that just disturbed him.

"Are you laughing?" she asked, her tone incredulous. As if he never laughed.

"No." But it occurred to him that telling her what had caused his momentary loss of control might make her feel worse than she already did. She might be the enemy, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't hate her. He couldn't even dislike her. The woman had more facets than a diamond. In the same breath she could change from a seductive siren to a playful imp, from an imperious royal to a hard-eyed warrior. And through it all, he sensed a disturbing vulnerability. A woman in danger from not one world, but two.

He'd known her how long? A matter of hours, yet he felt as if he'd known her for years. As if on some fundamental level he'd always known her. The woman confused the hell out of him. And not for the first time he wondered if she'd cast some kind of spell over him.

He drove through Crystal City and into the parking garage beneath his condo building, then parked the car and came around to release her. As he opened the door, she looked up at him with eyes as puzzled as he suspected his own were. Was she as confounded by him as he was by her?

The thought did nothing to ease his turbulent mind.

Steeling himself, he bent down to unfasten her seat belt, but her scent ambushed him, sinking into his pores, into his blood. On a primitive level, he felt the pull of her, every cell of his body wanting to move toward her, as if drawn by some invisible force.

He fought his way back into that dark room in his mind, that place of calm and control, clawing his way inside, ignoring the nearly overwhelming desire to touch her. Instead, he unfastened her seat belt, then grabbed the key to her handcuffs out of his pocket and released her before he drew unwanted attention inside. He helped her out of the car, then kept one hand tight around her upper arm as he led her to the elevator.

"You live here?" she asked. "It's big."

The elevator arrived, the doors sliding open. Three people hurried out and he ushered her inside. "I live in one small section of the building, on one of the upper floors. Many people live here."

Beneath his fingertips he could feel the heat of her skin rising through her sleeve to sink into his flesh. He released her arm and looked up, watching the floor numbers flash as he struggled to ignore her, struggled to find that calm center he'd already lost.

When the elevator stopped, he motioned her out, then led her down the hallway toward his apartment. With every step, every breath, he fought his awareness of her - the way her hair curled around her shoulders and brushed his arm, the way she moved with a fluid grace and royal dignity. The way her sweet, exotic scent wrapped around him in a warm cloud of desire.

He pulled her to a stop before his door and dug out his keys with a hand that was not quite steady as he fought to corral his raging libido. Opening the door, he stood back for her to enter, then flipped on the light switch, lighting his living room.

The condo wasn't extravagant, though it was by no means small, and he'd furnished it with good, solid furniture and leather upholstery. Three of his walls remained blank but for an uneven coat of beige paint. He kept meaning to buy prints or something, but never got around to it since most of his hours he spent at the office.

The fourth wall was covered with drawings his kids had made for him over the years. And photos of Sam and Stephie - photos he couldn't look at right now.

Closing the door behind him, he turned back to Ilaria to find her watching him with eyes devoid of seduction or cunning. Eyes that whispered of knowledge and experience he could never