Pleasure of a Dark Prince (Immortals After Dark #9)(33)
Author: Kresley Cole

He clenched his fists, reminding himself of his ill-advised vow not to jump her. But damn, he needed to cup her there, spank her, nip her. Any way he could touch those generous curves.

She tugged on the lingerie far too fast for his liking, then donned her pants and shirt. Facing him, she said, "There. Are you happy?"

His voice rough, he said, "If happy means hard as stone and heavy in the bollocks, then aye."

With a glare, she started for the door. He shot to his feet, stomping into his boots, then slinging her bow case over his shoulder to follow her.

"You can’t go!" Her expression was aghast.

"I go where you go."

"But your eyes are turning when you look at me!"

He shrugged. "You affect me." Understatement. He wanted to shove his face into her satiny hair and breathe in deep. He wanted to lick her ni**les and know her taste –

"The mortals will see! You have to stay here. Our deal was that you wouldn’t blow my cover!"

He snagged sunglasses from his pack. "No’ a problem."

"And what about… that?" She delicately pointed to his erection.

He made a big show of tucking his shaft straight up behind the waist of his jeans. She looked stunned to have seen the head of his c**k before he pulled his shirt down. "Ah, lass, you’ve seen it before. Had your hands all over it."

She was still gaping when he possessively clasped her nape and escorted her from the cabin. He followed the scent of humans to the meeting room.

By the time they reached it, she was still steaming mad. But he had leverage over her now, and he wouldn’t be shy about using it. She didn’t want to be discovered; he’d threatened to expose her. He’d be ruthless to have her. As ruthless as she’d proved to be to him.

At the door, she hissed, "This isn’t finished."

"Been telling myself that for a year." He turned her, capturing her in his arms. She beat his chest with considerable strength, but he didn’t budge. "You know when you’ve been nicest to me? Whenever I was taking kisses from you, demanding them as my due. Then you melted for me." He cupped her face, brought her to him, slanting his lips over hers.

After moments of hesitation, she melted, just as he’d remembered. He savored fleeting strokes of their tongues before he somehow broke away. "A taste of what’s to come tonight. Because I will have you." Let her get used to the idea.

He opened the door, entering before her to sweep a cautious glance around the room. Inside stood two middle-aged men, clearly scientists.

Meet-and-greet with tight-arsed geeks? The things he did for his female.

 21

Still flustered, with her lips bruised from MacRieve’s kiss, Lucia entered the room; the two mortal males inside gazed at her with open appreciation. She checked the braids over her ears, uncomfortable with their scrutiny.

The pair – a tall middle-aged man with a genial smile and pallid skin and a younger one sporting a cowlick and thick glasses – looked like they wanted to introduce themselves, but MacRieve’s aggressive demeanor and dark sunglasses probably put them off.

After unswervingly steering her to this room as if he knew the layout of the ship, he’d demonstrated conclusively that she had no willpower with him. She’d been right to run for the last twelve months, right to strike against him. She would again, but first she had to get her bow back. Before she did something stupid….

The spacious salon had faded maps posted all along the walls and crates of scientific equipment that hadn’t yet been unpacked into the adjoining lab. Some chairs were lined up in a U shape with a stool up front and center. A wheezing window-unit air conditioner chugged out cool drafts and the aroma of mold.

The two broad windows were fogged with condensation and draped with embroidered curtains. The bright and cheery material matched the tablecloth at the coffeepot station.

Once she took a seat, MacRieve dropped the long length of his body into one beside it. Determined to ignore him, she gazed around, her attention settling on a sheet posted above the coffeepot. Under a lovingly hand-drawn collage of jungle animals there was a list in calligraphy script:

Fast Facts About the Amazon!

The Amazon River holds 20 % of the world’s freshwater. At no point is it crossed by a bridge. The river is wider at the mouth than the entire length of the Thames River. The Amazon Basin is 2.6 million square miles, almost as large as the United States.

The water depth fluctuates 40 feet between the December-to-May high-water season and the June-to-November low-water season. The entire geography of the basin is altered every six months. Tributaries appear and disappear each year.

A 30-40 % loss of rain forest will create a reduction in rainfall, starting a globe-killing cycle that can never be reversed. 16 % of the Amazon is already gone forever….

Tributaries appear and disappear? They were just going into the rainy season. Even in the unlikely case that she found a map to the legendary Rio Labyrinto, how accurate would it be if the waterways were ever changing?

Just as she finished reading, a tall stranger entered. With his inky black hair, jade green eyes, and bronze skin, the man was model handsome, looking plucked from the pages of Latin GQ. "Is this seat taken, querida?" he said, sweeping an admiring glance over her.

MacRieve growled low in his throat. Sensing the Lykae was about to attack the new male, she furtively pinched his arm, until she was certain blood welled under his skin.

He was undeterred. With a killing look, MacRieve crossed his arms, leaning back and kicking a dirty boot up atop the chair in question. "It’s taken now."

The man narrowed his eyes as if he might protest, but eventually he chose another chair on the other side of the room.

Shortly after, Captain Travis swaggered inside, with a fuming mug of "coffee" in his hand and a pretty young woman behind him. Without preamble, he began, "As you know, I’m Wyatt Travis, your captain."

Our drunken, money-grubbing captain. Who’d refused to help a damsel in obvious distress. Not that he could’ve done anything.

He negligently sat on the stool up front. He might not be as tall as MacRieve – few were – but he was big, like a former NFL player. The love of liquor must have been a recent development, since he was still built like a seasoned athlete. "And the Contessa’s my ship. One hundred and eight feet long, she’s a light draft, draws only five feet. Lets us get deep into the jungle." He pointed toward the back of the room at a wall-sized map of the river and all its known tributaries. They resembled veins – a rain forest circulatory system. "I’ll keep that map updated with our whereabouts." Push-pins had left holes throughout, until the paper was missing in places. The Contessa, it seemed, had been just about everywhere in the basin, and she’d been there many times over.