Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (19 page)

Holy jeez, he never broke stride.

Ignoring her struggles, carrying her in his arms, he walked into the shower. As the glass door closed behind them, water washed over her in a warm spray. Tania sighed. She couldn’t help it. The warmth felt so darned good, rushing along her skin, streaming over her hair and down her back, chasing the last of her chill away. Giving up the fight, she tipped her chin up, closed her eyes, and leaned back against Mac.

Her shoulder blades bumped his chest. The smell of the ocean hanging in the air, the salt rinsed away, bringing relief to her battered skin. Relaxation took hold, releasing
the tension along her spine. Encouraging her to settle against him, Mac’s arms came around her from behind. A sharp snap. A quick tug and her jeans slid to the tops of her thighs. Tania tensed, but...nope. No good. He was too fast. Within seconds the denim was off, nothing but a dark pile in the corner of the stall.

She sucked in a startled breath.

“Easy.” Pushing to his feet, he wrapped his arms around her. Her shoulder blades bumping his chest, he cupped one of her hands. She shivered, but not from the cold. God, he was so close. And she was so undressed. “I’m here to help, nothing more. Now let’s look after your hands, okay?”

Surrounded by him, not knowing what to say, she nodded. A nail clipper made an appearance in his other hand. She shied, fighting his hold. Oh God, this was going to hurt. Her nails were so badly torn, the skin beneath them bruised and cut. And right now? She couldn’t handle another round of pain.

She tugged to loosen his grip. When he held firm, imprisoning her hand with his much larger one, she said, “Don’t.”

“It needs to be done,” he murmured, his mouth next to her ear. Warm water rolling over her, Mac’s heat against her back, she went cold all over again. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be gentle. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Her throat tight with dread, she shook her head.

“Trust me,
mo chroí
.”

The deep timbre of his voice strummed through her. God, that was nice: the vibration, the sense of connection she felt with him, the endearment.
Mo chroí.
She liked the sound of it, giving the pet name more meaning than it deserved. But for some reason, she didn’t care and couldn’t
fight it. Despite the craziness of the situation and all the dragon crap, it made her feel better to believe he cared for her. That she might be important to him somehow.

Tania blinked away tears. Oh, snap. Wasn’t that a beautiful piece of fiction? Special. What girl didn’t want to feel
special
? To be treated as precious and important. To be needed and cherished. To be front and center in her man’s world. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Heaven help her. She was a walking, talking cliché, one of those needy women who yearned for more than mere acceptance.

And as Mac clipped the first of her broken nails and she tried not to flinch, Tania wondered at herself. And when she’d become so incredibly weak-willed. Independence was a staple in her life. Like food and water, she needed it to survive. Depending on Mac to look after her wouldn’t do. Was so dangerous on so many levels, and it scared her. Autonomy—the ability to take care of herself—was the only thing she’d ever truly owned. Her mother had never possessed it. Her sister didn’t, either. She was the first in her family to go to school, to have a successful career, to make a life outside of poverty for herself.

No way should she be standing still while he cared for her. Giving it up without a fight. Or bowing to the will of a gorgeous man with a gentle touch and concern in his eyes.

As if attuned to her thoughts, Mac murmured, “Tania, honey. Everything is going to be all right. We’ll figure it out. Get you what you need.”

A lie. Boldly told and beautifully delivered.

Tania knew it the moment the words left his mouth. He could pretend all he wanted, but the dum-dum gene wasn’t a prominent one in her family tree. She wasn’t into
lying to herself...and recognized the truth when she saw it. She was trapped in a cabin with a guy who could turn into a dragon. Nothing was going to be
all right
. It wasn’t now and wouldn’t be for a while.

Finished stacking logs in the fireplace, Mac clicked the lighter and set flame to paper. Fire curled, blackening the edges of year-old newspaper as the orange glow ate inward. A wave of heat pushed into the room, caressing his forearms and face, forcing the chill to recede. Tendrils of smoke rose, carrying the scent and sound of burning balsam into the damp air. Held by the hypnotic ripple, he stared at the flames, watching them leap upward toward the chimney flue, then pushed to his feet.

Check off job one. Now for task two.

One ear on the still-running shower and Tania, bare feet whispering across the wooden floor, Mac left the fire to its own devices and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t have far to go, just a hop, skip, and a jump away across the living room. The open plan suited him to a T, the great room living large with timber-beam ceilings, rustic wood floors, and a shitload of new furniture. His favorite part, though, was the antique dining table. Long and wide, the thing fit the space behind the sofa to perfection, looking good framed by a wall of shutter-clad windows. Ironic in a way considering he never sat at the eight-seater. No need. He always ass-planted himself at the kitchen island when he came home, so...

Yeah. Not much use for the thing.

Walking past the stools sitting beneath the countertop’s butcher-block overhang, he skirted the end of the kitchen peninsula and headed for the fridge. Not that there was anything in it. No fresh veggies or fruit, but true to his military roots, he always kept more on hand than he needed. Storms whipped up fast and died down slow around the island, and only a fool took Mother Nature for granted. So, yeah. Thanks to his solar panels, his freezer not only worked while he was away but was also well stocked. And his cupboards? Full of canned goods waiting to be used.

“No time like the present,” he murmured, all his senses tuned to the activity in the bathroom.

The rush of water told him all he needed to know. He had time. Tania was still in the shower.

His lips twitched. Jesus, she was adorable, hiding in there, avoiding the inevitable while she struggled to pull herself together. He understood her desire for control, so no problem. Tania could take all the time she needed. Could pucker into a prune in there if she wanted. The limitations of his system didn’t matter. His magic was up and running, feeding the warm water into the system to keep her well supplied.

And he refused to rush her. It wouldn’t get him anywhere but frustrated. She needed to come to terms with her new reality. Dragons...in her tidy little world, a mind-fuck of epic proportions. He should know. After a lifetime spent believing he was 100 percent human, he’d almost lost it when he woke up in dragon form the first time. So the whole lose your mind and freak out thing? Mac got it, was completely on board with her holy shit reaction.

What he didn’t like was her silence.

Frowning, Mac grabbed the freezer handle and pulled. The door opened with a hiss. He stared at the load of food inside, seeing the assortment but not really. He was an idiot. Pure. Simple. No denying the veracity of the claim. He’d scared the hell out of her underwater, then been forced to hurt her again with a pair of frickin’ nail clippers. His chest tight, he replayed her reaction: each flinch, every gasp, all the heart-wrenching whimpers. He hadn’t wanted to do it, but her hands...both were...

Jesus fucking Christ. So much for the brilliance of his air lock idea. And keeping her safe. He’d done more damage than good and—

No. That wasn’t true. Had Ivar gotten hold of her, things would be worse. For her. For him too. She’d be a prisoner at chez Razorback, being brutalized by bastards who considered rape a contact sport. The mere thought—the singular possibility—that Tania might be hurt that way put him into a tailspin. History wouldn’t repeat itself. Not with Tania. Not ever or to any other woman if he could help it.

Angela’s abduction and brutal treatment at the rogues’ hands had been bad enough. His partner had come through with Rikar’s help, but Mac knew she still struggled with what had happened. Having your will usurped, pride taken, and power rendered impotent—especially for a woman as strong as Ange—was no picnic. Healing took time. Rikar would help her with that, had already softened the impact of the emotional fallout, and yet Mac worried about her. Watched her closely. Waited for signs she needed him to step in and support her in the aftermath.

A big brother’s prerogative, he guessed. But even as he watched and waited for Ange to fall apart, a larger part of him had already shifted focus. Now he fixated on Tania,
refusing to allow the same to happen to her. He’d vowed to protect her. And he would, even if that meant protecting her from himself, but...

Shit. It had almost killed him to walk away. To leave her alone in the shower after clipping her nails and using his body to warm hers. Hmm, that had felt good. To care for her. To provide what she needed the moment she required it. Okay, so it had been hell too...being that close to her without touching while she wore nothing but racy underwear.

His heart thumped harder, hammering the inside of his chest. God, what a picture she made. Dark hair flowing, her head tipped back under a steady stream of warm water. Beautiful curves on display under pink satin and black lace. So relaxed in his arms, she turned into him instead of away, soaking up the heat, accepting his nearness, letting him wash her tension away.

Grabbing a bag of tortellini, Mac slammed the freezer closed and tossed the load onto the countertop. The frozen pasta landed with a bang and slid, plastic laying down a crinkle-crinkle-zzzz sound track as Mac flipped a cabinet door open. With a quick hand, he snagged a bottle of Ragu’s finest and popped the sealed top. Tomato and the sweet scent of basil drifted. Usually the aroma was one of his favorites. Not tonight. He barely smelled the stuff. His focus was trained elsewhere...on a brainy brunette with burgundy-flecked eyes and a body to die for.

With a groan, Mac shifted, trying to ease the pressure behind his button-fly. It was a no go. He got aroused just thinking about her. Add one thought to another and—

Kaboom! Need and his libido went into orbit.

Mac swallowed. Shit on a stick. He was in so much trouble.

Rooting through the bottom cupboard, he found the right pot and set it on the front burner. Not that he needed the stove anymore. With a mental flick, he conjured water out of thin air. As the wet-and-wild hit the bottom of the pot, he brought the whole mess to a boil, ripped the bag open, and dumped the pasta in. Giving the contents a stir with nothing more than a thought, he leaned back against the edge of the countertop and stared across the cabin at the bathroom door. Jesus, he wanted to go back in there. She was probably naked by now, the lacy panties kicked into the corner of the shower stall while her bra hung over the—

“Stop thinking about it.”

Sound advice, if somewhat problematic. His dragon was out in full force, telling him to claim what his territorial side believed belonged to him.
Belonged to him.
Curling his hands into fists, Mac rocked back on his perch. Holy shit. Arrogant much? He clenched his teeth as possessiveness clawed at him, urging him to wrap Tania up and lay her down. He wanted his scent on her, hers all over him, to please her so well she surrendered and then begged for more.

Just like she had the first time he’d made love to her.

Ah, fuck. Watch out. The threat level had officially been raised. Now he existed inside the red zone, struggling to keep a leash on needs that Tania wasn’t ready to satisfy. ’Cause, yeah. Regardless of her compliance earlier, Mac didn’t expect it to last. She was too smart—too strong, too stubborn—to accept without knowing everything, and once the shock wore off, she’d come at him with both barrels. Guns blazing, Wild Wild West style.

And honestly? He couldn’t wait for it to happen.

He disliked the blank look she’d worn when he’d left her. Even though he understood it, her reaction worried him. Fear had no place between them. He wanted her back to her normal sassy self, to be hammered by questions and her anger. The quicker they got over that hump, the faster they could move on to the important stuff, like maybe...

Explaining the truth of his kind and the difference between good dragons and bad; about the war that raged between Nightfury and rogue; and that she was no longer safe in the human world.

Not with Ivar sniffing around.

The Razorback leader wouldn’t quit. The bastard had targeted Tania for a reason. The
why
wasn’t difficult to piece together. Hurt Tania, hurt Myst, and, by extension, the Nightfury commander. The strategy was poetry in motion, psychological warfare with flare. Myst would crumble if her best friend became entangled in the enemies’ web. And Bastian? Shit, the male would disappear down the I-can’t-stand-to-see-my-mate-suffer rabbit hole, then ramp into psycho mode. All to lessen her pain.

Not exactly a good place for the Nightfury commander to land. Bad tactical decisions always got made when a guy stuck his head up his ass. If that happened and B lost it, the fallout wouldn’t be pretty. More than rogue soldiers would die. His brothers-in-arms would give their lives to protect Bastian. So no matter how much he hated frightening Tania, the air lock had done its job...been a necessary play to keep her away from the fighting and out of Razorback claws. Not only to preserve his own sanity but ensure the safety of the entire Nightfury pack.