Gena Showalter Bundle. Gena ShowalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
you up in one tasty bite.”
Then a deep voice whispered next to her ear, “I believe that can be arranged.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE VOICE WAS pure unadulterated sin, like warm brandy on a cold night, and so suggestively sexual Katie thought she had imagined it, that her fantasy life was hitting a new level. But then she came to realize two startling facts. One, her inner voice had never spoken with a raspy, masculine accent before. And two, the strong, bracing arms she had visualized around her waist were actually there.
Shocked, she snapped to attention…and found herself staring into the most beautiful pair of eyes. Eyes that were pale blue, almost crystalline, and aglow with knowing, wicked promise.
Eyes that belonged to a man, not a statue.
Katie gasped with a combination of disbelief, fascination and mortification. Where was the gray stone? Where was the freaking gray stone?
Breath snagged in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. When she refocused, everything would be back to normal. She was sure of it. She was, after all, a mostly sane person. Yes, she experienced moments of madness—like kissing the statue, for instance—but those moments always passed.
Please, Lord, let this moment pass.
Very slowly, she cracked open her eyelids.
The warrior’s image remained the same: human.
Damn, damn, damn, she thought desperately. How could a flesh-and-blood man with bronzed, completely kissable skin be holding her in his embrace, the heat of his body seeping through her clothes, his heartbeat pounding against her chest? Oh, God, the moon suddenly seemed brighter, the air thicker.
“You’re…you’re…” Mystified, she struggled to form a coherent sentence. There was an explanation for this. She had only to ask. But when she opened her mouth, only one word formed. “How?”
He withdrew his arms from her waist. Looking bewildered, he slowly moved his body this way and that, stretching and twisting each vertebra of his back as if for the very first time. And then—Lord above, he smiled, a devastating smile that revealed even white teeth and sent waves of sexual heat straight to her core.
“I’ve owned this property for two and a half weeks, and I’ve walked through this garden almost every single day. You’ve been right here, hard and cold and stone. You’re a statue,” she babbled. “I know you’re a statue.”
“Nay, katya. I was a statue.” Just then his eyes widened with—joy? Awe? Disbelief? She wasn’t sure which. Whatever the emotion, he appeared as if he had just realized the full extent of his proclamation.
What the hell was going on? Katie’s confusion grew with lightning speed. She needed to hear something intelligent and rational. Something believable. Not “I was a statue.”
Still grinning in that luscious way, he closed his eyelids and muttered a long string of unfamiliar words, his tone urgent. When he refocused, he paused to catalog his surroundings. One heartbeat passed. Two. Fierce disappointment pulled at his lips, eradicating his smile. He uttered the words again. Again surveyed his surroundings.
“Explain how this is possible,” she said, a pleading quality in her voice. “How you were stone, and now you’re a man. A trick of the light, maybe? Or a hallucination? That makes sense, right?”
“Nay.” He shook his head, causing dark locks of hair to sway at his temples. “It makes no sense whatsoever.” He reached out then and touched her cheekbone, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was real.
Perhaps it was that gentle caress, or maybe even her own wits finally sparking to life, but Katie suddenly realized that she had no idea what this very real, very muscled man planned to do to her. Battling a surge of fear, she slapped at his hand, pushed at his chest and spun around, ready to dart to her truck and speed away. But she had forgotten that she was perched on a ledge several feet above the grassy foundation. She teetered precariously on the edge, trying to regain her balance without actually reaching behind her and grabbing hold of the stranger.
A second later, she hurtled face-first toward the ground. She twisted midair and managed to land on her butt with a painful thwack. The impact knocked the air from her lungs and whisked several strands of hair over her eyes.
Once she found her breath, she jumped to her feet. She didn’t run as she’d first intended, however. Be it shock or fascination, Katie remained firmly in place. The man had stepped down from the dais and stood just in front of her. He’s taller than I am, she thought, her eyes widening. So tall, in fact, she was forced to look up, up, up. The realization caused her common sense to melt like ice cream in a hot summer sun. Amazingly, the top of her head barely peeked above his shoulders, and for the first time in her life, she felt breathtakingly feminine and surprisingly vulnerable.
“Were my muscles not so stiff,” he said, his ice-blue gaze sliding suggestively down her body, “I would have caught you.” He took a step toward her.
What am I doing? Retreat! “Stay where you are,” she said, inching away.
He sighed. “I mean only to ascertain you are unharmed. Women are weak, delicate creatures, and you collided quite forcefully with the ground.”
Katie stopped, her eyes narrowing as everything clicked into place like a lightbulb inside her mind. She scanned the garden. Her brothers were behind this and were most likely hiding in nearby bushes, having a good laugh at her expense. No one except her family spouted that “women are weak” crap.
Lord, the man standing before her was probably Steven Harris, the detective Gray wanted her to date.
“Gray, Nick, Erik, Denver…you can come out now,” she called, spinning around to make sure her voice carried. “I know you’re here.”
Steven, aka the statue, crouched down in attack position, scrutinizing the garden. His muscles tightened and strained. “These enemies await you?” His voice was almost imperceptible.
“Not enemies. Idiots.” Katie shouted for her brothers again. “The joke is getting old. Come out. I know this is Steven.” She rammed a pointed finger into the hard warmth of the man’s chest.
“I am not called Steven.”
He said it with enough conviction and disgust that a small kernel of unease slithered along her spine. “I mean it,” she yelled, her voice sharper than before, “come out or I’ll give this guy the Tae Kwon Do Kick of Death you taught me.”
“So there is no danger to you?” the man asked.
Only to my sanity. “No.”
His stance relaxed and he turned away from her. He began stretching again, this time rolling his shoulders and ankles. All the while the words I am not called Steven echoed in her mind. If he wasn’t Gray’s friend, who—and what—was he? The direction her mind veered just then scared and confounded her all the more. Had he…was it possible…could his transformation have happened supernaturally?
No. No, no, no, no, no. The guy wasn’t Steven Harris. Fine. That was easy to accept. But he was simply a man. A man who had a lot of explaining to do, be he a psycho killer or a practical jokester sent by her brothers.
She chewed on her bottom lip. Psycho killer? “Maybe I should go,” she said, trying for a nonchalant tone, but sounding more like a buzz saw grinding against wood. She began hedging backward again. He didn’t offer a word or glance of protest, didn’t act as if he cared, and after a moment’s thought that brought her to a halt. Surely a killer would have tried to stop her.
She stood there, curiosity battling with prudence while she silently observed this man who had appeared from nowhere, taking in every detail, searching for answers. He was just so…big. One flick of his wrist, and he could snap her neck like a twig. There was a gentleness to him, however, that belied any menacing intentions. A walking contradiction, he was. She must have blinked or lost focus, because