Warrior Rising - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,22

hope to understand, and a loneliness he understood all too well. The beauty of her face enchanted him, but it was her eyes that drew him closer, her spirit bright behind the brilliant green. The poets had gotten it wrong all those years ago. Ilaria's eyes weren't a window to her soul, but a doorway.

He didn't want this empathy toward her, this attraction. She was Esri, for heavens sake. But he saw nothing ugly inside her. No evil, no cruelty.

He stared at her, unable to turn away. Without realizing how, he found himself standing a handsbreadth in front of her. The need to touch her overwhelmed him. An ache in his chest caused him to lift his hand. His knuckles stroked her cheek, finding that pale skin every bit as warm and soft as he'd imagined. Even that barest touch sent heat flushing his skin, and need tightening deep inside him.

The need to touch her, to taste her, had grown steadily since the moment he'd first seen her across the hotel room in Reykjavik and wouldn't be denied a moment longer.

As one, they moved toward one another, two magnets drawn against their will. A heartbeat later, she was in his arms, his mouth covering hers, one hand sliding over her slender back, the other diving into her silken hair, cradling her delicate head as he kissed her. She swamped his senses, her taste like forbidden fruit, her scent like gardenias, the feel of her lips warm, soft and perfect.

Passion exploded, heat and desire raging through his blood. Nothing mattered but touching her, tasting her, getting inside her in some way. His tongue slid along the line of her lips and she opened for him, stroking him as he swept inside. A moan of pleasure cascaded from her throat, and his senses tumbled. She stroked him back, tongue against tongue, her hands curled around his neck, her fingers sliding through his hair.

She was raging passion and infinite sweetness. Need and strength, and tender warmth. And he'd been waiting for her. So long, he'd been waiting.

As he lifted his head to change the angle of the kiss, his eyes drifted open. His gaze tripped over the laughing gap-toothed image of Stephie hanging on the wall behind Ilaria. Stephie in her pink sundress, laughter on her face, love for her daddy dancing in her eyes.

He froze. An Esri had stolen that laughter, yet here he was kissing one. Kissing one.

The realization sliced across his mind, short-circuiting the electricity arcing through his body.

Esri. What in the hell was he thinking? What was he doing? He wrenched back as if she'd burned him.

Ilaria stared at him, her heavy-lidded expression stunned and confused. Her mouth was swollen and damp from his kisses, a perfect rosy pink that had his hands curling around her shoulders, his muscles straining against the nearly overwhelming need to pull her back into his arms.

"What are you doing to me?" In his mind, the words sounded accusatory, but to his ears the question only sounded confused. "You're enchanting me."

She shook her head. Her lips parting as if in denial. But even as he watched, they closed softly on a smile. A sad smile. "You don't want to desire me. But you do."

And she was right. Exactly right. He was a man who valued control above almost anything, yet within moments of meeting her, she'd begun disassembling every ounce of control he possessed, and he'd yet to build them back. It was all he could do not to pin her to the wall and take everything she offered.

Instead, he grabbed her upper arm more tightly than necessary and steered her toward his bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she demanded softly.

"I need sleep. I'll give you the bed."

The melancholy was gone from the emerald depths of her eyes, replaced by a seductive snap. "You'll share it with me." It wasn't a question.

Harrison scowled. He already struggled for control against the sensual tornado that had laid waste to his senses, yet she acted completely composed. Acted... Was it all an act? Was she controlling him?

His fingers spasmed.

He dragged her to his bed and pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket, snapping one around her wrist.

"Harrison."

"I'm just making sure I can sleep without worrying about getting a knife in the back."

"You think I mean to stab you?"

"I'm not expecting a literal knife, necessarily. But I don't trust you. So you're staying tied. Lie down, Ilaria."

She made no move to comply, staring at him, her mouth hard. The