Dark Gold. Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 3

His body was against hers again as they matched steps like tango dancers. “Not at all, cara mia. I would kill him. I doubt very much if I could stop myself. I would not even want to stop myself.”

Her sapphire eyes grew wide as she stared up at his face. “You really mean it, don’t you? Why would you do that?”

He hesitated a moment, the silence lengthening while he carefully chose his answer. “I’m responsible for your protection. That man is after more than your beautiful drawings, Alexandria, and, innocent that you are, you cannot see it.”

Her chin tilted. “For all you know, Mr. Savage, I might have had a dozen lovers. If I choose to seduce Thomas Ivan, you won’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Her silky hair was suddenly bunched in his hand, and she came to an abrupt halt. He stepped so close, her slender body was bent backward. His golden eyes molten, alive with passion, with possession, stared directly into hers. “You are my lifemate. You have never been touched by another man. I have been in your mind and have access to your memories. Do not try to tell me there have been a dozen men in your life.”

She remained passive, still. His body was aggressive against hers, yet there was no pain, no sense that she was in danger. There was only his terrible intensity, as if his inner demons were riding him hard. Her blue eyes flashed right back at him. “On top of everything else, you have to be a male chauvinist. Like I’m supposed to believe there have never been women in your life. And another thing—get out of my head. You don’t have a right to my private life. Whatever this lifemate thing is, I don’t want any part of it.” She tried to sound defiant, but it was difficult when his perfect mouth was only inches from hers. It was embarrassing, the things his mouth made her think.

She couldn’t take her eyes from his. She saw their gold became heated, the purpose clear in their depths. His hard mouth softened, and very slowly, with infinite patience, he touched his lips to hers, a brief, feather-light stroke that sent a shaft of desire curling painfully through her body.

“Just so you remember, seducing men is out,” he murmured almost absently against her mouth.

She could taste the words. Taste his breath. His mouth was hot and enticing. His body stirred, and she could feel him pressing against her, hard with need. His hand framed the curve of her cheek, his thumb sliding in a caress across her pulse. The wind blew the silken mass of her hair across his hand and arm, binding him to her almost by design.

She could smell his scent calling to her, wild and abandoned, like an animal calling to its mate. Her entire being responded, against all intellect, all reason, against all sanity. Alexandria had never felt such sexual attraction toward any man, and the intensity of her response to him was beyond her comprehension. This was strong and compelling, hot and steamy, a driving need as elemental as time. She wanted him right there in the night, wild in her arms, needing her.

She jerked away from him. “Stop it, Aidan. Just stop.” She held up a hand to pacify him. “I’m not ready for this.” He was so intense, so much the domineering male, he would sweep her away until she couldn’t exist without him. Until she didn’t exist without him. “You’re not going to take over my life,” she whispered to him.

He stroked the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “I barely touched you, cara mia, and you run from me like a rabbit.”

“Anyone in her right mind would run from you, Aidan. You’re talking crazy. It shouldn’t matter to you how many lovers I’ve had—or have. That’s my private business. I didn’t ask you about your love life, did I?” Suddenly she thought about his arms around another woman, and the idea made her sick. “You’re such a hypocrite. In all the centuries you claimed to nave been alive, there’s probably been more women than I care to know about. Hundreds.” She thought about it. “Thousands. You’re a dog, Savage. A hound dog.” He couldn’t help laughing. Reaching out, he took possession of her hand again and began to walk slowly back toward his home. Her hand was small and fragile in his, her skin soft and inviting. The wind, determined to have its way, playfully touched her hair, blowing it across his arm, weaving them together with a hundred silken strands.

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