~Fantasy Lover Part 16~
She shook her head in disbelief. "What am I supposed to do with you?" His eyes darkened with lust as he again reached for her. "Stop that!" she snapped at both herself and him, refusing to let go of her
control. Rational thought would reign here, not her hormones. She'd already
made that mistake and she wasn't about to repeat it.
She jumped up another step and she stared at him. Holy guacamole, he was
gorgeous. His curly, spiraled, luscious hair fell midway down his back
where it was secured with a dark brown leather hairband.
Dark brown eyebrows slashed over eyes that were both beguiling and
terrifying. Eyes that watched her with way too much heat.
And in that moment, she definitely wanted to kill Selena.
But not nearly as much as she wanted to crawl into bed with this man and
sink her teeth into that golden tan.
Stop that! "I don't understand what's going on," she said at last. She had to think
through this, figure out what to do. "I need to sit down for a minute and
you..." She trailed her eyes over his perfect body. "You need to cover up." The corners of Michael's mouth twitched. In the whole of his life, she was
the first person to ever say that to him. Indeed, all the women he'd known before the curse had done nothing except
try and get him out of his clothes. As quickly as possible. And since the
curse, his summoners had spent days staring at his nudity, running their
hands over his body, savoring the sight of him. "Stay here for a minute," she said, before darting up the stairs.
He watched her hips sway with her steps, his body instantly growing hot and
hard. Clenching his teeth in an effort to ignore the burning in his loins,
he forced himself to look around. Distraction was definitely the key-at
least until she gave in to him.
Which wouldn't be long. No woman could ever withhold herself from him for
any length of time.
Smiling bitterly at the thought, he glanced about the house.
Just where and when was he?
He didn't know how long he'd been trapped. All he could remember were the
sounds of voices over time, the subtle shifting and changing of accents and
language dialects as the years passed.
Looking up at the light above his head, he frowned. No fire burned. What
was that thing? His eyes watered in protest and he looked away.
That must be the lightbulb, he decided.
Hey, I need to change the lightbulb. Do me a favor and flip the switch by
the door. 'Kay?
Remembering the shopkeeper's words, he looked to the door and saw what he
assumed was the switch. Julian left the stairs and pulled down on the tiny
lever. Immediately the lights went out. He switched them back on.
In spite of himself, he smiled again. What other marvels did this time hold? "Here." Michael looked at Grace who stood on the bottom step. She tossed him a long
rectangle of dark green fabric. He caught it against his chest as a wave of
disbelief consumed him.
The woman had been serious about covering him up?
How very odd. His frown deepening, he wrapped the fabric around his hips.
Grace waited until he moved away from the door before she looked at him
again. Thank goodness, he was finally covered. No wonder the Victorians
insisted on fig leaves. Too bad she didn't have a few in her yard. The only
thing out there was holly bushes and she doubted he'd appreciate that.
