Dark Predator d-22 Read online

  He pushed two fingers deep into all that scorching heat. He thought of that tight fiery hot sheath as his. All for him. All that intense desire and need gathering in her eyes was for him. Her half-opened mouth. That glazed look of wonder. Her ragged breath. His thumb found her most sensitive spot, flicking and teasing, while his fingers plunged deep. He left a wet trail with his teeth and tongue and lips down her neck and chest to his ultimate destination.

  He couldn’t resist taking her breast into his mouth and biting down on her nipple with exquisite precision. Her entire body jumped and shook. He moved back and forth between her breasts, taking his time, uncaring of the knock on the door, lost in a world of pleasure, his mouth going from peak to peak. His fingers pushed deep and retreated, then buried deep again while his thumb tapped and tugged on her now engorged button. She shattered, her breath hissing out, her body bucking, rippling, muscles gripping hard as he threw her into another orgasm.

  The knock on the door was polite but persistent. He glanced toward it, supporting her weight when her knees buckled. He smiled at her, pleased with her heightened color and wild hair. She looked like a woman who had been made thorough love to. She raised one hand to her mass of hair and he caught her wrist and pulled it down.

  “Leave it. I like the way you look. I will get the door while you go to the kitchen and prepare refreshments for our guests.”

  She frowned, still fighting to breathe, to think logically. I’m naked. And Lea can’t see you. Please, Zacarias. I can barely think straight.

  “There is no need to think. Just do as I tell you.”

  I have to clean up.

  He looked at the mixture of his seed and her cream glistening on her thighs and the intriguing V of curls at the junction of her legs. “I asked you to go to the kitchen and prepare food for our guests, not argue with me. It is a relatively simple request, Marguarita. As usual you seem to find it difficult to follow instructions.”

  She pressed her lips together. He saw the flash of fire in her eyes. Her chin went up. Without a word, she turned her back on him and walked away, naked, barefoot, her long hair caressing the curves of her butt. He felt his heart jump. She had courage—and fire. And she kept her word no matter how difficult.

  “Marguarita.” He said her name softly.

  She half turned, her left breast, red and covered with his marks, nipple still hard and taut, peeked out at him through the veil of long hair.

  “You forgot your clothes.”

  She frowned, puzzled, glancing at the shredded strips of cloth on the floor. He flashed a grin and waved his hand. Her feet remained bare, but a long skirt fell gracefully to her ankles and a soft peasant blouse clung to her breasts, the loose neckline nearly off her shoulders. A wide belt cinched her waist. Gold glittered at her earlobes and around one wrist.

  She touched the bracelet. It’s beautiful. Thank you. Her hands smoothed the full skirt over her hips. Umm. Zacarias. You sort of forgot my underwear.

  He flashed his teeth at her. A wolfish smile. “I do not forget—anything.”

  The blush stole up her neck into her face. She shook her head, her gaze dropping from his. She went on through to the kitchen without another protest. He enjoyed teasing her. He enjoyed the flashes of temper he caught simmering in her eyes—in her mind. As if he’d ever allow another man to look at her body. It wouldn’t happen and she should have known that.

  Warmth flooded his mind, soft laughter. I knew. The moment I turned and started toward the kitchen and felt your laughter and your smug, arrogant male satisfaction. I knew then that you were teasing me.

  Little lunatic of a woman. I am far too possessive of you to let another man see what is mine. You should have known at once. I do like watching you walk away from me naked. It gives me great pleasure.

  He sent a fresh breeze through the entire house, and added scented candles burning low. He would have left Marguarita’s shredded clothing on the floor, but it would have embarrassed her. Neither visitor would fail to notice that he had made love to Marguarita. The evidence was all over her body. In any case, it wouldn’t take them long to realize she belonged to him, because he planned on making that very clear.

  He flung the door wide and Julio gasped and took a step back, putting his body between Lea Eldridge and Zacarias. “I didn’t know you were here, señor,” he said, his tone apologetic.

  “Come in. Marguarita is making tea and some sort of wonderfully smelling cake,” Zacarias greeted, stepping back to allow them entry.

  Julio looked more confused than ever and gave a brief shake of his head, slightly jerking his chin toward Lea. His protective instincts toward the De La Cruz family had kicked in. He had been born into a family that guarded their symbiotic relationship carefully from all outsiders.

  Lea peeked around Julio’s shoulders, her eyes going wide. Zacarias could read the excitement in her eyes, the appreciation and stark, raw fear. She put her fingers in Julio’s back pocket, a gesture Zacarias was certain she didn’t even know she’d made. It told him several things without penetrating her mind. She knew he was a De La Cruz and she was very interested in Julio Santos.

  Zacarias swept his hand toward the interior, and Julio reached behind him and took Lea’s hand in his, before stepping inside.

  “Señor De La Cruz, this is Lea Eldridge. She did us a great favor tonight by flying Ricco Cayo to the hospital. I had no idea you were here. When did you arrive?”

  Julio was fishing for Zacarias to set the lead on what to say and how to act.

  Zacarias bowed, an old-world, courtly gesture that had Lea blushing. He flashed what he hoped would pass for a smile as he closed the door behind them. “I cannot stay away too long from my woman . . .” He frowned and shook his head. “Päläfertiilam.” Again he shook his head and lifted an eyebrow at Julio. “How do you say this? Esposa. Wife. My wife.”

  He was very pleased by Julio’s shocked look. Zacarias had married her, in the way of the Carpathian people, and it was far more binding than any other species he knew of. They could not live now, one without the other. Marguarita was his wife in every sense of the word.

  Lea gasped. “You can’t be talking about Marguarita.”

  “Of course Marguarita,” Zacarias said smoothly. “She is mistress here.”

  “But—” Lea pressed her fingers to her mouth as if trying to hold back her question. She blurted it out anyway. “Why wouldn’t she tell me? I’m her friend. Why wouldn’t she say anything to everyone around here? You can’t be married to her.”

  “I assure you, Ms. Eldridge, she is mine.” Zacarias spoke quietly, but his tone brooked no argument.

  Lea looked to Julio, hurt, offended, and excited all at the same time.

  Julio shrugged his shoulders, in an effort to look casual. “You can appreciate how this would not be a good thing to get around. Marguarita has to be protected. The De La Cruz family has a great deal of money and many kidnappings take place. It’s better if no one knows.”

  Lea flashed him a look of pure annoyance, but she was obviously intimidated by Zacarias and didn’t say another word until they were in the kitchen.

  Zacarias entered first and stopped, his gaze on Marguarita. She stood by the stove, pouring water into the teapot her mother had made. To him, there was no more beautiful sight in the world. The colors of her skirt were vivid and bright, her skin gleamed and her hair was a shiny waterfall of blue-black silk. Her movements were graceful and fluid. He knew his blood had enhanced her already beautiful looks when the humans looked at her with such awe, as if they were seeing her for the first time. He could see appreciation in Julio’s eyes. He would have to teach her how to turn down her allure.

  His blood also enhanced her senses. She couldn’t have failed to hear the conversation, not with Carpathian blood running in her veins, and her face was very still as she looked at him, not at their guests. He went to her side and lifted her left hand, remembering the human tradition of wearing a circle of gold. He lifted her fingers an
d kissed the ring he’d fashioned for her.

  She pressed her lips together and frowned a little, looking at the band. What are you doing, Zacarias? What game are you playing?

  He detected hurt in her voice. He’d done something to hurt her. His fingers tightened around hers and he tugged, pulling her into the shelter of his larger frame, uncaring what their guests might think. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her locked against him.

  “Have you tea ready for our guests?”

  He had made certain the kettle boiled so there would be no waiting. He brushed his mouth over the top of her hair. The contrast between her brightness and the way he saw Julio and Lea was astonishing. Lea was an attractive woman and he could see her in color, but those colors were dull in comparison. Julio’s colors were there, but again not rich and vibrant, and he could see his beating heart, the arteries running like a road map through his body. Lea’s heart and arteries were there, but much fainter.

  Soft amusement poured into his mind. Targets, my man. You’re identifying targets. He’s a friend, not a target. That’s how you always see everyone. Even me at first. You don’t see them as people, they’re all potential enemies.

  He realized it was true. He hadn’t thought about anyone as human or Carpathian in centuries. He lived in a kill or be killed world. Julio’s skin and features were the dullest because he was the biggest potential threat. It was those broken connections Marguarita had filled, the shadows, so many, so large, throughout his mind, that she had provided bridges for that allowed him to recognize Julio was more than a potential enemy. He was a man. Maybe someone who would not be a friend, Zacarias had few in the world, but someone he could respect.

  Zacarias realized how he saw the world without Marguarita. There hadn’t even been knowledge of identifying others as targets, it was so ingrained in him. He knew every pressure point on a body, every place one could deliver a mortal blow. He had been that disconnected from civilization.

  Marguarita’s hands suddenly crossed over his tightly, as if holding him. She was reading emotion in him that he wasn’t aware of. He searched for it. Shame. He was ashamed that men like Julio, good, courageous men had fought for his family, some dying for his family, and he had never acknowledged them. Not once. Not to himself.

  Please sit down and tell us how Ricco is doing, Marguarita wrote and invited.

  Julio’s gaze jumped to Zacarias’s face and he took another step back, toward the door as if he might flee, his grip on Lea tightening.

  Zacarias took another deep breath to draw Marguarita’s scent into his lungs. He didn’t need any others in his life, but she did. He made an effort to feel her emotions toward Julio and Lea. They were important to her—so that made them important to him.

  “Yes, please sit.” He indicated a chair, looking straight at Julio. It was a clear order, couched in polite words.

  Julio immediately held a chair for Lea and sank into the one next to her.

  Try not to sound so intimidating, Marguarita advised.

  Sun scorch them both, woman. They are taking up my time with you, he said, but there was a teasing note in his voice that surprised them both.

  He toed a chair around and straddled it while Marguarita put the tea and cakes on the table. She started to sit opposite him, but Zacarias caught her wrist and tugged her down beside him. She blushed at Julio’s raised eyebrow.

  What are you doing? This isn’t a good idea. Seriously, Zacarias, you shouldn’t be here and you shouldn’t let anyone know that we’re . . . It isn’t safe for you.

  You are lucky I do not make you sit in my lap where I can feel your soft body against mine, he teased wickedly. He rather enjoyed this part of company. His woman wasn’t embarrassed around him, but she was shy about their relationship in front of others. That made no sense to him, but he enjoyed her fussing at him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you were married, Marguarita?” Lea asked, hurt in her voice. “I thought we were good enough friends that you could have confided in me. And you let Esteban think you were available.”

  Marguarita drew the notepad to her and began to write. Zacarias put his hand over the pad the moment he saw the apology.

  “I know you do not wish Marguarita to apologize for something that is a safety issue. Your brother was never seriously entertaining the idea of courting her, and she knew that. I am a very wealthy man and I have many enemies. Marguarita would have told you if she could. If you need to be angry, please be angry with me. I put her in the position of secrecy. And certainly, Julio is not to blame. He knew I was in residence, but he was not privy to our marriage.”

  We are not married.

  Zacarias flicked her one look, daring her to deny him. There was a promise of retaliation in that look. If she didn’t acknowledge what he was to her . . .

  We have not stood before a priest.

  I do not understand. We are married. I spoke the ritual words to bind us.

  “Let me see your ring,” Lea said, by way of forgiving her.

  Zacarias frowned. Marguarita had done nothing wrong, and Lea’s magnanimous tone bothered him. Before he could react, Marguarita laid her hand very gently on his wrist in warning.

  It’s a human thing. Please let it pass.

  He didn’t fully understand, but then it didn’t matter, not when he could do something so simple for her. He would demand much of her and small things that meant a great deal to her—as this obviously did—was easy enough to give her.

  Marguarita slid her hand across the table to show Lea her ring. It was actually braided gold, Renaissance antique, wound in several braids and forged together. Intricate, when one looked closely, there were ancient words in a beautiful scroll wrought into the gold.

  Marguarita rubbed her finger over the letters. Sívamet andam. Sielamet andam.

  “What does it say?” Julio asked, frowning at the unfamiliar words.

  “I give you my heart. I give you my soul,” Zacarias translated. “I have done so, and once given, a De La Cruz doesn’t ever take them back. Both belong to Marguarita and are forever in her care.”

  Lea made some kind of noise of approval, beaming at him.

  “Congratulations, señor.” Julio made an effort to look Zacarias straight in the eyes, but couldn’t hold his gaze, looking at the ring instead. “Marguarita is very beloved on the ranch. Do you plan on taking her away from us?” Julio demanded.

  Zacarias felt the shock spread through Marguarita. She hadn’t considered that. What had she thought? That he would come and go as he always had? It mattered little. Where he went, Marguarita would be with him. She had given herself into his keeping—and keep her he would.

  Marguarita pressed her lips together tightly, but he felt her fear shimmering in his mind. This was her home, her world. These people. The horses. The ranch. He wasn’t attached to anyone or anyplace nor could he imagine ever feeling that way. His gaze returned again and again to Marguarita. She was home to him and a part of him didn’t want to compete with people, animals and places for her. He wanted to take her far from them all so she would always turn to him for her every need. He would be all things to her.

  You are everything to me. There was calmness in her. Acceptance. Her spirit moved against his, a soft caressing brush that weakened him. If you wish me to leave this place, I won’t lie to you, Zacarias, it would be difficult and wrenching, but I would choose you over this place in a moment and I would not regret my decision.

  His heart hammered in his chest for a few beats before settling into a steady rhythm. There was truth in her quiet declaration. He was a man with no trust—and a centuries-old code of honor that had kept him alive but alone. She was changing all that. Her truth was becoming enough for him. Why? Why are you so certain, Marguarita? I can be very rough.

  She reached for him, right there in front of the others, her heart in her eyes. You need me, Zacarias. I see the real you, the one I love with all my heart. You can’t see him without me.

&nbs
p; So she knew. He should have realized he couldn’t hide the truth from her any more than he could hide his memories. Her fingers trailed over his face and he caught them, holding her hand to his heart.

  Lea ducked her head, glancing at Julio. It wasn’t that difficult to read the longing on her face. Zacarias forced a smile, hoping he looked friendly, not wolfish.

  “Do you plan on staying in our little corner of the world, Lea? Marguarita enjoys the company and we intend to make this ranch our home base, although we will have to travel at times.” He could give that much to Marguarita.

  Lea put her teacup into the saucer and nodded. “I hope to. My brother plans to move on soon, but I’ve been making arrangements to stay. I like it here.”

  “You can’t stay alone,” Julio objected. “Your brother wouldn’t leave you alone, would he? Who would protect you?”

  Lea made a face. “I don’t need protection. I’m a big girl.” She sent Marguarita a small, apologetic smile. “I’m not married to one of the richest and most elusive men in the world.”

  “You’re a woman,” Julio muttered, his face darkening. “What kind of brother would leave you to fend for yourself?”

  Lea’s chin went up. She stared coolly at Julio over her teacup as she lifted it toward her mouth. Zacarias detected the slight trembling. It was so subtle he doubted if Julio noticed, but Lea Eldridge was a little more nervous of being on her own in a strange place than she let on.

  “My brother doesn’t enjoy it here, it’s too remote for him. But I like it, and who knows, if your helicopter pilot doesn’t show up, maybe I can have his job. I’ve already interviewed for it.”

  “Where is the helicopter pilot?” Zacarias asked before Julio could make another retort.

  Julio sighed. He wiped his hand over his face and glanced anxiously at Marguarita. She pulled the notepad toward her, but once again Zacarias laid his hand over it.