In Other Worlds (22 page)

Sparhawk watched as she started writing lines in her book. Every time she got to the bottom of the page, she turned it over and a new blank page appeared magically at the end of the book so that she could continue onward with her writing.

He tried to read what she was writing, but couldn't understand it. “What are you putting there, Taryn?”

“I am making you independently wealthy, 'cause we know that all good heroes are, and I'm making sure that Alinor's copy of the book is spontaneously combusting into flames.”

“Can you do that?”

She smiled at him. “Baby, I'm the writer. According to Esther, I can do anything I want to.”

“And so what do you wish to do now?”

Taryn bit her lip as she raked a hungry gaze over his naked body. “Right now I wish to spend the rest of my day making love to you.”

She kissed him on his cheek, then scribbled a few more words.

“What are you saying now?” he asked.

She smiled at him. “I'm writing that we go on to live happily ever after.”

And then Taryn made sure to do the one thing that Alinor had forgotten to do. It was the one thing to make sure that no one added any more pages to her future or altered her life with Sparhawk.

She wrote the three most powerful words on the planet. “I love you.”

“Do you?” Hawk asked her.

Taryn paused as she realized that she had spoken those words out loud. “Yes, Sparhawk the Brave. I do.”

“Good,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck as his whiskers gently scraped her skin. “Because I love you, too.”

Her heart melted at his words. And then she quickly added the other two most powerful words on earth . . . The End.

DRAGONSWAN

ONE

Richmond, Virginia

 

“Be kind to dragons, for thou art crunchy when roasted and taste good with ketchup.”

Dr. Channon MacRae paused in her note-taking and arched a brow at the peculiar comment. She'd been staring at the famous Dragon Tapestry for hours, trying to decipher the Old English symbolism, and in all this time no one had disturbed her.

Not until now.

With her most irritated look, she pulled her pen away from her notepad and turned.

Then she gaped.

No annoying, irreverent little man here. He was a tall, mind-blowingly sexy god who dominated the small museum room with a presence so powerful that she wondered how on earth he had entered the building without shaking it to its foundations.

Never in her life had she beheld anything like him or the seductive smile he flashed at her.

Good grief, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

Standing at least six feet five, he towered over her average height. His long black hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and he wore an expensively tailored black suit and overcoat that seemed at odds with his unorthodox hair yet perfectly fitting with his regal aura.

But the most peculiar thing of all was the tattoo covering the left half of his face. A faded dark green, it spiraled and curled from his hairline to his chin like some ancient symbol.

On anyone else such a mark would be freakish or strange, but this man wore it with dignity and presence—like a proud birthright.

Yet it was his eyes that captivated her most. A rich, deep, greenish-gold, they were filled with such warm intelligence and vitality that it left her completely breathless.

His grin was both boyish and roguish and framed by inviting dimples that enchanted her. “Rendered you speechless, eh?”

She loved the sound of his voice, which was laced with an accent she couldn't quite place. It seemed a unique blending of the British and Greek. Not to mention, deep and provocative.

“Not quite speechless,” she said, resisting the urge to smile back at him. “I'm just wondering why you would say such a thing.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders nonchalantly as his golden gaze dropped to her lips, making her want to lick them. Worse, his prolonged stare sent a rush of desire coiling though her.

Suddenly, it was so extremely warm in this little glass room that she half expected the gallery windows to fog up.

He folded his hands casually behind his back, yet he seemed coiled for action, as if he were ready and alert to take on anyone who threatened him.

What a strange image to have . . .

When he spoke again, his deep voice was even more seductive and enticing than it had been before, almost as if it were weaving some kind of magical spell around her. “You had such a serious frown while you were staring at the tapestry that it made me wonder what you would look like with a smile in its place.”

Oh, the man was beguiling. And just a little too cocksure of his appeal, judging by his arrogant stance. No doubt he could get any woman who caught his eye.

Channon swallowed at the thought as she glanced down at her tan corduroy jumper and her hips, which were not the fashionable, narrow kind. She'd never been the type of woman who drew the notice of a man like this. She'd been lucky if her average looks ever garnered her a second glance at all.

Mr. Do-Me-Right-Now must have lost a bet or something. Why else would he be speaking to her?

Still, there was an air of danger, intrigue, and power about him. But none of deceit. He appeared honest and, strangely enough, interested in her.

How could that be?

“Yes, well,” she said, taking a step to her left as she closed her pad and slid her pen down the spiral coil, “I don't make it my habit to converse with strangers, so if you'll excuse me . . .”

“Sebastian.”

Startled by his response, she paused and looked up. “What?”

“My name is Sebastian.” He held his hand out to her. “Sebastian Kattalakis. And you are?”

She blinked the thought away. “Channon,” she said before she could stop herself. “Shannon with a C.”

His gaze burned her while a small smile hovered at the edges of those well-shaped lips and he flashed the tiniest bit of his dimples. There was an indescribable masculine aura about him that seemed to say he would be far more at home on some ancient battlefield than locked inside this museum.

He took her cold hand into his large, warm one. “So very pleased to meet you, Shannon with a C.”

He kissed her knuckles like some gallant knight of long ago. Her heart pounded at the feel of his hot breath against her skin, of his warm lips on her flesh. It was all she could do not to moan from the sheer pleasure of it.

No man had ever treated her this way—like some treasured lady to be quested for.

She felt oddly beautiful around him. Desirable.

“Tell me, Channon,” he said, releasing her hand and glancing from her to the tapestry. “What has you so interested in this?”

Channon looked back at it and the intricate embroidery that covered the yellowed linen. Honestly, she didn't know. Since she'd first seen it as a little girl, she'd been in love with this ancient masterpiece. She'd spent years studying the detailed dragon fable that started with the birth of a male infant and a dragon and moved forward through ten feet of fabric.

Scholars had written countless papers on their theories of its origin. She, herself, had done her dissertation on it, trying to link it to the tales of King Arthur or to Celtic tradition.

No one knew where the tapestry had come from or even what story it related to. For that matter, no one knew who had won the fight between the dragon and the warrior.

That was what intrigued her most of all.

“I wish I knew how it ended.”

He flexed his jaw. “The story has no ending. The battle between the dragon and the man lives on unto today.”

She frowned at him. He appeared serious. “You think so?”

“What?” he asked good-naturedly. “You don't believe me?”

“Let's just say I have a hefty dose of doubt.”

He took a step forward, and again his fierce, manly presence overwhelmed her and sent a jolt of desire through her. “Hmmm, a hefty dose of doubt,” he said, his voice barely more than a low, deep growl. “I wonder what I could do to make you believe?”

She should step back, she knew it. Yet she couldn't make her feet cooperate. His clean, spicy scent invaded her head and weakened her knees.

What was it about this man that made her want to stand here talking to him?

Oh, to heck with that. What she really wanted to do was jump his delectable bones. To cup that handsome face of his in her hands and kiss his lips until she was drunk from his taste.

There was something seriously wrong here.

“Why are you here?” she asked, trying to keep her lecherous thoughts at bay. “You hardly look like the type to study medieval relics.”

A wicked gleam came into his eyes. “I'm here to steal it.”

She scoffed at the idea, even though something inside her said it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to buy that explanation. “Are you really?”

“Of course. Why else would I be here?”

“Why else, indeed?”

Sebastian didn't know what it was about this woman that drew him so powerfully. He was involved in grave matters that required his full attention, yet for the life of him, he couldn't take his gaze from her.

She wore her honey-brown hair swept up so that it cascaded in riotous waves from a silver clip of old Welsh design. Several strands of it had come free of the clip to dangle haphazardly around her face as if the strands had a life of their own.

How he longed to set free that hair and feel it sliding through his fingers and brushing against his naked chest.

He dropped his gaze down over her lush, full body and stifled his smile. Her dark blue shirt wasn't buttoned properly and her socks didn't match.

Still, she drove him crazy with desire.

She wasn't the kind of woman who normally drew his interest, and yet . . .

He was beguiled by her and her crystal blue gaze that glowed with warm curiosity and intelligence. He longed to sample her full, moist lips, to bury his face in the hollow of her throat where he could drink in her scent.

Gods, how he yearned for her. It was a need borne of such desperation that he wondered what kept him from taking her into his arms right now and satisfying his curiosity.

He'd never been the kind of man to deny himself carnal pleasures—especially not when the beast inside him was stirred. And this woman stirred that deadly part of him to a dangerous level.

Sebastian had only come into the museum to get the lay of it for tonight and to find out where they housed the tapestry. He hadn't been looking for a woman to pass the lonely night with until he could return home where he would be . . . well, lonely again.

However, he still had hours before he could leave. Hours that he would much rather spend gazing into her eyes than waiting in his hotel room.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” he asked.

She looked startled by his question. But then he seemed to have that effect on her. She was nervous around him, a bit jumpy, and he longed to set her at ease.

“I don't go out with men I don't know.”

“How can you get to know me unless you . . .”

“Really, Mr. Kat—”

“Sebastian.”

She shook her head at him. “You are persistent, aren't you?”

She had no idea.

Suppressing the predator inside him, Sebastian put his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to her and scaring her off. “I'm afraid it's ingrained in me. When I see something I want, I go after it.”

She arched a brow at that and gave him a suspicious look. “Why on earth would you want to talk to me?”

He was aghast at her question. “My lady, do you not own a mirror?”

“Yes, but it's not an enchanted one.” She turned away from him and started away.

Moving with the incredible speed of his kind, Sebastian pulled her to a stop.

“Look, Channon,” he said gently. “I fear I have bungled this. I just . . .” He stopped and tried to think of the best way to keep her with him for a while longer.

She looked to his hand, which still gripped her elbow. He reluctantly let go, even though every part of his soul screamed for him to hold her by his side, regardless of the consequences. She was a woman with her own mind. And the first law of his people ran through his head: Nothing a woman gives is worth having unless she gives it of her own free will.

It was the one law not even he would break.

“You what?” she asked softly.