And Sharone had been going for it. Anya had seen it in her eyes until Del-Rey had stepped into the room, furious, and pulled Sharone from it.
Now she was alone. Alone to think, to worry. God, her father was lying in the snow bleeding, her cousins with him. Her cousins had family, children—who would support them now? Times weren’t good in Russia right now; the economy was weak all over. They would lose their homes. They would be in the cold. Her father.
She sniffed. Who would bring him his vodka when he was tired and worn from trying to manipulate the Council scientists and members? Who would bandage his leg?
The tears were flowing from her eyes again. She should have more control than this. Her father had berated her for her loss of control. But that was something he did. She had red hair, he told her often, like her mother. And her mother had learned that holding her temper always helped herself and others more than losing it did.
She couldn’t control her emotions now. She hadn’t been able to since those shots had been fired. Since Del-Rey had kissed her. Since her world had exploded around her. Since something had exploded within her.
She pressed her hands into her stomach. Her abdomen rippled and she could feel the pulse of dampness between her thighs. Her ni**les were so sensitive the rasp of the T-shirt was torture. Her clitoris was engorged and aching. Even when she had touched herself, she had never been this aroused.
What had he done to her? He had to have done something to her. There was no other explanation.
She paced the room, she cursed. She would rage and then she would cry. She reviled Del-Rey Delgado. “Of the king” her ass. There was nothing kingly about that bastard.
“What did you do to me?” she screamed, picking up one of the few objects still in the bedroom, a wooden bowl, and throwing it at the door.
It didn’t shatter. It hit the door with a resounding bang and then fell to the carpet as she collapsed on the end of the bed, curling into herself, moaning at the need rippling through her.
Her eyes closed, and she swore she tasted his kiss, felt his hands on her flesh. One touch, she told herself. She could allow one touch, just to still the demand raging through her body. Maybe one more kiss.
“No!” she gritted out between her teeth. Not even one touch. One touch would lead to another and she would be begging. God help her if he ever kissed her. She wouldn’t survive it.
And she didn’t want that liar’s kisses. Lies. Six years of lies. Promises he had broken one right after the other. She would be warned before the rescue. She would have time to make certain her father and cousins were safe. She would have time to ensure that personnel were able to get out safely rather than being murdered in the stampede to escape.
She had seen those doctors wielding automatic rifles and turning them on the innocent administration personnel and lab techs trying to escape.
She hoped the doctors were dead. She hoped they were roasting in hell. Unlike Del-Rey. Oh, she didn’t want him dead. She wanted him alive. Alive and well so she could kill him herself.
She whimpered as another punch of sensation slammed into her stomach, her vagina, her clitoris. It was like a racking blow of electricity being shoved inside her. It sizzled and burned and left her gasping in need as the bedroom door opened.
She rolled to her feet, stumbling, staring at the man watching her with those devil’s black eyes.
“What did you do to me?” Her fists clenched at her side.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head wearily. “Whatever it is, I did it to myself as well.”
“You bastard!” There was nothing left to throw at him. She had thrown everything she could find over the past three days and the final object, that damned bowl, now lay at his feet. “You’re lying. Just like you lied to me all these years, you’re lying to me now.”
“No, Anya.”
The sound of her name on his lips was too much. She snarled, her fingers clawed as she jumped for him. She was going to claw his lying eyes out of his face. She was going to make him hurt the same as he was making her hurt.
He caught her hands an inch from his face.
“Stop this, Anya, it isn’t helping.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she cried out, struggling against him, mind and body torn apart by conflicting emotions and needs. “You betrayed me, Del-Rey. You lied.”
“I know, baby.” He held her hands with one of his, the other touching her cheek, his thumb moving over her lips. “We’ll deal with that, I promise. But I need your kiss. Now.”
“No,” she moaned, a long, drawn-out sob of need and despair as she pressed her cheek into his palm, bit his thumb.
Oh God, he tasted good. So good. Her tongue licked over the pad and her lashes fluttered.
“One more kiss,” he growled. “Then we’ll figure this out. I promise.”
“One more kiss,” she gasped. “One more.”
She was reaching for him, needing him. Her lips opened beneath his, accepting his tongue and that taste she craved so desperately. She sucked it into her mouth and heard his groan of pleasure. She arched into his arms and begged silently for more.
One more kiss wasn’t enough. She needed him to touch her. So bad. So bad that she gripped his hand and shoved it under her shirt. Then her hands were burrowing beneath his shirt, touching hot, hard flesh as she felt his hand cup the swollen mound of her breast.
Oh that was good. His thumb raked over her nipple and it was even better. He lifted her into his arms, and a second later she was stretching back on the bed as he whipped the shirt over her head.
Her hands buried in his hair as his lips covered her nipple. She tore at his shirt until he lifted his head, ripped it off and moved to her other nipple.
His skin covered hard, corded muscle. It flexed beneath her palms, her nails, as she felt his hands pushing at the cotton pants she wore.
It was desperate. She could feel the enraged lust traveling between them, as though electricity connected them, one feeding from the other until she was burning inside and she knew she wasn’t going to get enough of him. She needed more of him.
A second later she found herself flipped to her stomach. Her fingers curled into the blankets as she opened her eyes and stared in dazed confusion at the bed. Her hips were jerked up. Calloused fingers ran through the sensitive folds between her thighs, and she was wet. So slick and wet and hot. And it felt so delicious she stretched into the caress.