Rapture Untamed

Because this cold wasn't of the body. Olivia was stripping him raw, forcing him to feel the layer of frost that had long ago formed around his heart.



Chapter Twelve



Olivia stood beneath the spray of the hot shower, feeling emotionally battered and physically tied in sensual knots that had never been released. Because he'd fought to keep her from coming. And won.



The bastard.



He'd wanted her angry with him. Every time they began to share any kind of closeness, he turned back into a jackass. And yet she saw a loneliness in his eyes sometimes, a deep and desperate need for a closeness he fought to deny them both.



She stepped out of the shower and toweled dry, then wrapped the towel around her and returned to the bedroom, where Jag was lying on his back, still staring at the ceiling.



He rose and swung his legs over the side, rising in a sensuous, catlike movement. But he didn't move past her. He didn't move at all except to look at her, his gaze roaming her wet hair, her face, her bare shoulders.



His eyes were enigmatic, his expression pensive. "Did you make yourself come in the shower?"



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"That's hardly your business."



"You didn't. I can feel the tension coiled like a knot in your body." He held out his hand to her, but didn't take a step closer. "Let me make you come, Red."



Olivia sighed. "Just leave it, Jag. I'm fine."



He stepped closer, moving silently across the carpet to stand before her, then lifted his hand to twirl a lock of her wet hair around his finger. "I'm sorry. What I did was mean."



"Why did you do it?"



His gaze dropped, then rose again as he twirled that lock of her hair around his finger.



He shrugged, unhappiness etched on his face. "I don't know." His thumb stroked her cheek. "Let me make it up to you."



A better woman might have forgiven him and let him. "I'm not interested anymore, Jag."



She started to turn away, but his hand gripped her arm, holding her there.



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"Your body's interested, and we both know it." The devilish gleam entered his eye.



"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Sugar. But I'm a determined man."



Mr. Nice Guy has left the room.No, not really. They were back to their battle of wills, but this was a battle she was likely to win, either way.



She met his gaze. "So I can fight you. Or I can spread my legs and let you make me come."



"That pretty much covers it."



She spread her stance, still keeping the towel tucked firmly around her. "Make it quick, please. We both need food before your friends arrive."



Devilment gleamed in his eyes, and she sighed. Goddess, when was she going to learn?



Since she asked him to be quick, he'd probably do just the opposite.



But he didn't. He reached between her legs, his warm hand cupping her as she tensed for the rush of pleasure to come.



Even before he sent the warmth racing into her body, his sheer maleness overpowered her senses, his hair brushing her cheek, his sleep-warmed scent sending heat spiraling low in her body, tightening the need that coiled deep within her.



Yes, she needed this.



His cheek brushed her temple in a surprisingly gentle caress a second before the heat poured into her from his magic hand, a rush of pleasure so powerful she cried out and grabbed his shoulder to keep from going down.



Two of his fingers dove deep inside her at the same time his free arm curled around her waist, holding her against him as the orgasm roared up, crashing over her. Even as she shattered from the first one, he thrust his fingers in and out of her, pressing the pleasure into her until a second release rushed over her. And a third. Jag buried his face in her hair, his thumb caressing her bare back as he held her against him. Wave upon wave of glorious release tore through her body until she was a boneless mass kept upright only by the strong arm at her back.



Finally, he pulled his fingers out of her and she came back to herself, her gasps turning to one deep, shuddering breath.



He shifted his hold on her, the hand that had given her such pleasure was now the one at her back, holding her upright. His other was in her hair, caressing her scalp with light, gentle strokes. Her own arms had wrapped themselves tight around his waist and he held her cradled against him. As if he wanted her there. As if he cared.



Longing welled up inside her, sharp and breath-stealing. Her eyes burned as the loneliness she'd long ago buried deep ripped free of its shell, swamping her. Jag's arm tightened around her as if he felt it. As if he would slay the dragon that had long ago hollowed out her life.



For a few precious moments, she gave in to the temptation and pressed her face tighter to his chest, seeking his warmth, and shelter from that terrible emptiness. But warmth from Jag could never be trusted. This sharp, strange connection was nothing but an illusion, no more solid than a Highland mist. She could pull away now, or wait for him to push her away.



Slowly she straightened, and he released her. She ducked her head as she struggled to regain her composure. But as she turned away, tightening the towel around her, she felt a large, warm hand cup her shoulder.



Olivia tensed as Jag turned her to face him. Their gazes met, and, for a single, brief moment, she glimpsed an ache in his eyes as deep as her own. And she felt that gossamer-thin connection between them strengthen and grow. If he'd opened his arms to her, she'd have stepped into them without hesitation.



Instead, his brows lowered, a familiar, unpleasant twist returning to his mouth, and she braced herself for the inevitable. Once more, they'd connected. Once more, he'd do something to anger her, to push her away.



But this time he only scowled, turned on his heel, and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.



Olivia raked her hair back off her face, letting her towel fall to the floor as she heard the shower turn on. Then she pressed the heels of her hands against her hot eyes. Her body throbbed with echoes of pleasure, the damp heat lingering between her thighs along with the feel of his warm hand tucked tight against her. Her chest ached from the bone-deep longing she hadn't even known she'd felt until he'd entered her life like a wild animal in attack mode.



The man was shredding her. Stealing her secrets and her will, digging up emotions and vulnerabilities she'd shut out eons ago. Worse, he kept taunting her with glimpses of something sweet and rare - a closeness, a trust, a caring - that could never exist.



Not with Jag.



Not with anyone.



From the moment Jag walked into her life, he'd been systematically ripping it to shreds. She wanted it to stop. To be over. She wanted away from him, as far away as she could get.



But would he let her go? And, more importantly, would he let her go with her life intact? She just didn't know. The man she sometimes glimpsed deep inside him wasn't cruel. He wouldn't destroy her unless he thought he had to.



But that man wasn't always in control.



And the Jag she knew was a contrary beast.



For now, she was stuck with him, her fate in his hands. Unless she ran.



But running had never been her way.



Jag let the hot shower soak his hair, washing away the previous day's dust even as he wished he could somehow turn himself inside out and rid himself of the bile that ate at his insides.



What was the matter with him?



Olivia was getting to him, that was what. There were times when she looked at him that he could swear she saw all the way through him. Right down into the cesspit that acted as his heart.



There were times when she went soft on him, and all he wanted to do was hold her against him, listening to her heart beat against his. Then the bile and bitterness swirled inside him, and he couldn't get away from her fast enough.



He didn't want her soft. He wanted her strong. Tough. Angry.



The thought brought him up short. Why did he want her angry?



For half a heartbeat, he didn't know.



Her accusation came back to him.You can't stand for anyone to like you. You need them to hate you as much as you hate yourself.



Bullshit. Life without a little conflict bored him, plain and simple. Watching the anger spark in Olivia's eyes pleased him.



Did it? Did it really?



Hell, he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. He'd never been so uncomfortable in his own flesh as he had since Olivia arrived.



Grabbing the soap, he lathered his body, raking at his skin with his fingernails.



Goddess, sometimes he wished he could claw his way out of himself and leave his skin behind.



Olivia meant nothing to him. Nothing but a little sex play, a little healthy conflict.



But even as he tried to convince himself of that, he ached to feel her in his arms again.



His flesh warmed to the memory of the way she'd clung to him, deep in the throes of that wild release. Feelings had assailed him in those moments and the ones that followed, emotions so strong he'd found himself clinging to her as strongly as she had to him. Feelings of tenderness, and protectiveness, and a need to hold her so razor-sharp he'd feared it would puncture his heart.



He'd wanted to stay like that, his nose buried in her shampoo-fragrant hair as he cradled her against him, stroking her precious head.



Self-disgust had him slamming the soap down in the tray so hard he broke the bar.



That remembered feeling of weakness made him grind his teeth together. The reason he antagonized people, the reason he pushed them away, was because he didn't like these soft-ass emotions. In fact, he hated them.



And what was wrong with that?



Nothing, dammit, that's what.



He washed his hair and shoved his head under the water to rinse it clean, turning the water temp to biting hot.



But the sudden needle pricks that dug into his skin had nothing to do with the water.



He stilled as recognition slammed into him. Olivia was feeding. Hard.



Jesus. Someone had to be attacking her!



He flew out of the shower, flinging water droplets every which way, nearly skating across the slick bathroom tile as he wrenched open the door, a heartbeat away from shifting and tearing out the throat of the sucker who dared try to hurt her.



But he came to an abrupt halt as he turned the corner and found her, not in a fight for her life but sitting cross-legged on the bed, fully clothed, her laptop in front of her.



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She'd scared the shit out of him.



As she looked up at him in surprise, the needle pricks disappeared.



She looked confused. "I need to feed, Jag. I didn't suck hard."



He took an angry step forward. "The hell you didn't."



The look she gave him turned dismissive. "Jag, I've been doing this for centuries. I think I'd know if..."



A scream outside silenced her, lifting her to her feet as she flew for the window. Jag followed her, peering through the sheers over her head at the woman racing up the stairs. He glanced down at the walkway outside the room and understanding slammed into him. A young man lay sprawled across the cement. Unconscious. Or dead.



Olivia swayed, bumping him gently, and he grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward him. Her face had drained of all color, her freckles stark against the pale white of her skin.



"Easy, Red." Again, he used his gift to push a cooling calm into her instead of heat.



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"What happened?"



"I did this. I have to go out there. I have to help him."



"What can you do other than look guilty?" He gripped her shoulders tighter. "Can you do a reverse action on that feed of yours?"



She shook her head, her expression stricken. "It only goes one way."



"Nick!" A man's voice shouted from the parking lot.



The woman's voice answered. "He's breathing, Dave. He's alive."



"What in the hell happened?" the man's voice shouted. "Do you see any blood?"



"No. I saw him go down. He swayed like he was getting dizzy, then collapsed. He's too young to have had a heart attack!"



"Damn kid's probably been doing drugs."



"Mom?" a youthful voice asked groggily.



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"Oh, thank God, son, you scared me to death."



Jag pulled Olivia away from the window. She was trembling beneath his hands. "He's fine. Now, I'm going to ask you again. What happened?"



"I don't know." Her gaze flew to his face, her eyes wide with horror. "What if he wasn't the only one? What if there were others in the rooms nearby?"



"They'll recover, just like the kid did."



"If they weren't weak to begin with."



Jag's hands moved to cup her face. "We can't go pounding on doors seeing if anyone's injured. No one can know we had anything to do with this."



"Jag..."



"Olivia. Liv, listen to me. There are hardly any cars in the parking lot. There's no one here. The kid's okay. They're all okay."



"If you hadn't stopped me..."



Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed



"Sweetheart,what happened ?"



"I don't know. I fed like I always do, just a little. With your energy as strong as it is, no human should have been harmed by it. Jag, I've been doing this for hundreds of years.



He shouldn't have been harmed!"



"What's changed?" he asked.



She stared at him, her eyes widening. And he knew.



"The Daemon," they said together.



"The venom?" he asked.



"More likely the energy I sucked from him. The venom incapacitated me, but his life force felt foul and unnatural. And incredibly strong." She would have swayed on her feet if he hadn't been holding her. As it was, her face lost what little color it had managed to recover. "What if it's changing me?"