Warrior Rising - By Pamela Palmer Page 0,52

much, and not just to make love to. Still, that would be a huge mistake. His survival depended on keeping some distance between them. The survival of his heart.

He slid his hand beneath her hood, beneath that thick fall of curls, and cupped the back of her neck, feeling the cords of tension beneath his fingers. She melted into his touch with a sigh, her head tilting toward him. Knowing she was immortal, he tended to think of her as indestructible. But she was still a living, breathing being. A woman in need of food and sleep. And safety.

"This isn't working." Ilaria pushed back her hood, her pale hair like the finest ivory silk, framing a face of alabaster perfection.

He sent her a questioning look. "I take it there are no Esri nearby?"

"No. None. I can sense them, but I don't seem to be able to follow them." Her words spoke of disappointment, but her tone was flat. Exhausted.

"Some of them could be in cars or other vehicles." He kneaded the tight cords in her neck. "Why don't we work our way to Charlie's apartment, get some dinner and some sleep? It'll be dark soon and we're both exhausted."

She glanced at him, a warm gleam entering her eyes that told him she was thinking of that damn bed, too. His body heated, despite the cold, hardening.

Screw the future.

Tonight, Ilaria was his.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Harrison pushed open the door to Charlie's apartment in Adams Morgan, a pair of white bags in one hand - Chinese food, he called it. But despite the delicious smell, Ilaria's hunger had little to do with food. Apparently, Harrison felt the same. One moment, she was walking into the apartment, Harrison kicking the door closed behind them. The next she was in his arms, his mouth plundering hers, his hands in her hair and sliding over her hips. What happened to their dinner, she didn't know and didn't care.

His hands were at once rough and gentle as he grasped her buttocks and hauled her body tight against his. His hard, thick erection pressed against her abdomen. His warm lips brushed hers as his tongue thrust inside her mouth.

She curved her arms around his waist and held on as his scent, his taste, his barely controlled passion swept her into a storm, a wildness she'd never known. And she hungered.

Moving back an inch, she slid her fingers to his shirt and began yanking at the buttons, desperate to feel his flesh beneath her palms, desperate to taste his skin. The passion caught her up, flinging her free until her breaths were short and ragged, her heart pounding an unsteady, jubilant rhythm.

Harrison pulled away, yanked his shirt from his waistband, pulled it off over his head and tossed the garment to the floor. His white undershirt followed a moment later. Ilaria stepped forward, running her hands over the warm, hard planes of his magnificent chest, the light furring of hair tickling her palms.

"You're beautiful," she breathed.

With a low growl, his hands grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of her gown and pulling upward, lifting her dress until she felt a draft of cool air against her calves, rising to her knees, then her thighs.

His hands gripped her bare hips. One hand slid to the front, probing between her legs, urging her to widen her stance, which she did gladly. His hand slid fully between, a single finger sliding deep inside of her.

Ilaria moaned, gripping his waist to keep herself standing as that finger thrust deeper, retreated, then thrust deep again.

She pressed her mouth to his chest and his shoulder, moaning with pure pleasure.

"Take off your dress," he said against her hair. "I have to see you, Ilaria. I have to touch you."

His words weakened her knees. She reached behind her, pulling the ties that laced up the back of her dress and hung at the base of her spine.

"Loosen them for me," she said, turning so that her back was to him and pulling her hair over one shoulder to get it out of his way.

She could feel his fingers stroking the flesh of her back as he did as she asked, each brush a teasing whisper of promise. With careful hands, he pushed the fabric over her shoulders until the bodice fell, leaving her gowned only from the waist down.

And then his hands were around her, covering her breasts, his warm fingers grasping her gently, kneading the mounds and