Chapter 19

Lauren held her beer in a death grip. What was Dimitri doing? Or, more to the point, was he actually doing what she thought he was doing, so obviously showing his interest in her? If so, how did she feel about that?

More to the point, how did she feel about that, given that he was a freaking demigod?

There was no doubt that Emmaline believed he was. And just as Lauren’s conversation with Stefan now made more sense in light of the royal family’s entanglement with the Greek gods, the portrait she’d seen in the Andris family gallery now took on greater meaning as well. Dimitri—or someone who looked exactly like him—had been standing next to an entirely different king and queen...a king and queen from decades ago, if their clothing was any indication. It was him. She knew it was him. And if so, how old was this guy?

And did he really want to hook up with her, like he was so seriously acting like he wanted to do?

She was no stranger to the act of sex. While any sort of real relationship might have been off the table due to Henry’s particularly vicious brand of jealousy, she had needs and ran in the kind of crowd that appreciated discretion more than most. Everyone had something to lose, and anyone with half a brain in his head understood that sex was one thing, romance was another. But was that what Dimitri wanted? And was that what she wanted him to want?

Especially if he was a freaking demigod? What exactly did that mean, anyway?

Dimitri lounged at her side, his powerful, suntanned legs stretched out beneath his soft gray sweat shorts. He’d been exercising while she was gone, she thought, or at least walking the beach. Sand and salt crisscrossed his shins and thighs, the muscles beneath the suntanned skin now relaxed, pliant.

Lauren kept her chin up as her gaze raked his body, but there was no way the sunset could compare to the magnificent male specimen beside her. He’d topped the shorts with a loose navy-blue tank top that bore no logo or insignia, and he wore no jewelry other than a thick watch that she suspected could shoot lasers to the moon and back. His ocean wave tattoo gleamed in the dying sunlight, its detailed ink threatening to pull her under. She was more than half willing to let it.

Dimitri was earthy, vital, real...and safe, she realized.

He was safe.

And he was a demigod.

Better still, Henry Smithson would never know the truth about this gruff, taciturn supposed captain of the ONSF, other than he’d had his hands full with a runaway American for two days or however long she was on this rock. He’d never have any reason to suspect that Dimitri had done anything with her, or to her, or…

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, not liking the sound of her own voice. It was too breathless, too sharp. She took a drink of beer, needing the cool wash of liquid as a distraction from her own thoughts. Beside her, Dimitri lolled in the sunshine, his eyes nearly shut as he gazed out at the water. If he hadn’t spoken, she might well have believed he’d fallen asleep. But he wouldn’t have fallen asleep, right? He was as aware of her as she was of him, certainly. Men generally were, right?

Did demigods sleep? I mean, surely?—

“For nothing, it seems to be making you very upset.” Dimitri reached over, touching her calf with the back of his hand, the hand that was holding the beer. She had on long pants, so it wasn’t like he was touching her skin, but the simple contact sent all the blood shooting from her brain to pool in her belly, her mouth dropping open involuntarily before she could shut it. Of course, he couldn’t see her face, her reaction. Thank God.

Pull it together, she implored herself. But she couldn’t pull it together, it seemed. She couldn’t think of anything except having Dimitri’s arms around her, holding her close. She wanted the feel of his body against hers, the touch of his lips brushing close, the sound of his gruff, throaty words whispered in her ear.

She wanted him. Whether he was a demigod or a simple captain or just the man sitting next to her on this porch, sharing an impossibly beautiful sunset, she wanted him, and she didn’t know how to turn that desire off. Her control was deserting her exactly when she needed it most, and?—

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, his words a low rumble, officious enough to make her think he was interrogating her. Yes. Interrogating her was exactly what he was doing. All he was doing. Focus.

“Princess?”

“I—what?” Lauren blinked as Dimitri moved with sudden, almost feline grace. One moment he was lounging carelessly by her chair, loose and easy, the next he was kneeling between her legs, his hands on either side of her chair. His dark gaze held her eyes as she gaped at him, unresisting, as he reached out and pulled her sunglasses from her face.

“What is it, Lauren?” he asked, his words barely a murmur, while behind him the ocean seemed to glow a richer, almost electric blue. He looked impossibly gorgeous, staring at her. Hot and vital and real. Not someone who was weak, not someone she needed to protect. Someone who would laugh at the very idea of needing her protection, no matter how much money she had, how much power. Perhaps he simply did want her, the way she now wanted him, the way she burned for him, if she was honest with herself. “If something is on your mind, you need to share it with me. I can’t help you otherwise.”

Confusion, need, and want all clanged together in Lauren’s brain. What was he saying? How was she supposed to reply? Did he think?—

His next words hung it. “What are you afraid of?”

“This,” she snapped, and leaned forward too quickly for him to back off. With her free hand, she reached for the back of his head and pulled him toward her, so they could kiss, a real kiss, not the half-pitying smooch she’d experienced with him the night before. Once again, Dimitri let her pull him to her, giving as good as he got but nothing more—nothing.

The earth didn’t move, the sea didn’t rise up and attack them. The sun didn’t shower confetti rays on them. What the hell had she been thinking would happen? How could she seriously have believed?—

She broke away from Dimitri in embarrassment and more than a little disgust—at him, at herself, at this entire stupid situation. “That.”

His eyes lit up with amusement, and his mouth quirked up. “You were afraid of kissing me?”

Pull it together, she implored herself again. She seemed to be begging herself that a lot these days. Dimitri wasn’t a demigod—or, even if he was, demigods probably meant something very, very different in O?ros. That had to be it. Connection to the ancient gods merited a fun dotted line on the Ancestry.com family tree, nothing more. She needed to deal with the man as a man...and that was more than enough.

“You kiss me like it’s your job, and it’s not your job, Dimitri,” she said, waving her beer at him. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your duty, though kudos to the O?ros National Security Force if it trains you to keep lonely women entertained. I thought—I mean, I thought—” She was having a hard time focusing with Dimitri so close.

“Perhaps you think too much, princess,” Dimitri murmured, and this time, the ocean did seem to murmur with him, the sound of the shooshing tide carrying along the sand. But surely she was making that up.

He leaned forward as she shifted back into her chair, pursuing her until his lips brushed hers once again. Teasing, tasting. He drew his tongue along her lips and she shivered at the almost electric taste of him. Now this is what she’d expected.

Her mouth opened on a sigh, and Dimitri pressed into her intimately, angling his head as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of salt and beer and lime, and Lauren’s mind completely blanked for a moment as he pulled her beer bottle from her unresisting fingers and set it away from them. Her hands seemed to naturally find their way under the loose fall of his tank top, and she shuddered as her fingers connected with the rock-hard planes of his abs. Demigod or not, Dimitri wasn’t a lean man, whipped to precision. He was thick and hard, almost bulky, his muscles bulging beneath her fingers as he moved his mouth away from hers to trace a line along her chin, up to the delicate skin by her ear.

“I assure you, kissing you is no duty,” he said, the soft tickle of his words sending whorls of intense desire down her neck. She slid her hands to either side of his torso, anchoring him to her, wanting nothing more than for this to continue. He did her one better, reaching out and pulling her closer to him until his groin pressed into the vee of her legs. The evidence of his arousal was as hard and fierce as the rest of him, and Lauren arched her body further, practically whimpering as his hand snaked around her waist to press her more tightly as her head fell back.

Dimitri used the angle to explore her neck, his rough, unshaven skin pressing against the hollow of her neck and shoulder while his lips ranged over her collarbone. His tongue replaced his lips and then his teeth, grazing over the delicate skin as if she were a meal to be consumed bit by careful bit. Explosions of desire had pretty much detonated everything south of her belly button, and she tilted her hips up more, wantonly, mindlessly, needing him closer, needing him inside her. Needing him to fill her with all his raw vitality until she was in his arms, wrapped by his body, nothing and nowhere and no one but his.

Somehow, one of his hands had slid up between their bodies, and it captured her left breast through the thin fabric of her clothing, touching, exploring. She shuddered as his fingers found her nipple, brushing across it as it peaked eagerly beneath his touch, the slow tease so brutal, her eyes practically watered with need. She was almost through a half sigh when he palmed the full weight of her breast, squeezing it hard as she gasped. His head lifted quickly, and he stared at her, his eyes mutinously hot. Had she ever seen eyes glow so fiercely, swirls of melted gold and bronze that trapped her as surely as his body did? Would she ever have the strength to look away?

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked. His hand softened its hold, rolling the round swell in his palm. But he didn’t return his fingers to where she needed him most, wanted him, that tight pleasure-pain of her peaked nipples that made her want his hand beneath her shirt and thin bra, not on top of them, touching her skin to skin, heat to heat, need to need.

“No,” she managed when she realized he was still staring at her, waiting for an answer. “No.” Breathing had become something of a challenge, but she had to make him continue, had to make him understand. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I have hurt you,” Dimitri said, impossibly soft, his words making no sense to her, her body tense and quivering underneath him. He moved his hand away from her, and she almost cried out, until she felt the rough touch of his fingers on her belly, under the hem of her shirt, sliding up toward her breast once more and bunching up the material as he went. “Let me kiss it and make it better.”