Dragon Fall
Page 14
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“Jim is not mine,” he snorted. “It belongs to my brother’s mate, Aisling.”
“Really? That’s still odd that I should find both of you.” I turned to the dog and patted my leg. “Hey, Jim. Come here, boy.”
The dog cocked his head but didn’t move.
“He doesn’t seem to know his name very well. Does your sister-in-law say it differently?”
“Jim,” Kostya said, a disgusted curl to his lip, “tell this mortal who you are.”
Warning bells went off in my head. I mean, big-time warning bells, the kind that deafen you for a moment before leaving you with the overwhelming desire to get the hell away from the man who thought dogs could talk.
“Um,” I said, backing away from Kostya very slowly, so as not to capture his attention, “sorry, but that’s my cue to leave.”
I turned and bolted to the door, but just as I was about to fling it open, Kostya was suddenly there, all warm, naked skin, pressing me against it, his breath hot on my face as he demanded, “You will go nowhere, woman. Now you are my prisoner.”
Five
“I don’t know whether to be more disturbed by the fact that you think a dog can talk or that you can stand there, stark naked, without so much as a stapler as a weapon, and hold me prisoner.” I adopted a quite reasonable, conversational tone, the sort intended to calm deranged people and keep them from committing acts of violence. I tried very hard not to notice just how nice the naked Kostya felt against me, the unyielding planes of his body being softened by my curves. It was a wonderful demonstration of how men and women fit together, but now was not the time to dwell on that subject. His eyes were black, I noticed as he scowled down at me. Not dark brown but black, as black as his pupils, but a shiny black, one that glittered with little specks of silver. Unfortunately, at that moment, the glitter took the form of ire. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded to know. “What stapler?”
“There’s no stapler,” I said, finding myself suddenly blighted with several conflicting desires, ranging from the urge to grab his head and kiss him to laughing at the crazy situation, stomping on his toes, kneeing him in the naked noogies, and running away.
He looked even more irritated. I tried to ignore the heat of his body pressed against mine. “Then why did you bring it up?”
“I was using it as an example of just how vulnerable you are,” I said, deciding to go with amusement. Dr. Barlind was big on the subject of using humor as a coping mechanism for trying situations. “You know, if you need someone to talk to about things, I know of a top-notch therapist. She really helped me when I was super-confused.”
My brain made a comment about denial and what happened to people who refused to admit the truth just because that ended up in shock therapy, but as usual, I paid it no attention.
“I have no need of therapy,” he scoffed, then must have realized just how hard he was pushing me into the wall, because he glanced downward. My breasts were smooshed up against his chest, making them bulge upward in a way that I would have found annoying in any other situation, but at that moment, they were deliriously happy with where they were, and that disturbed me more than anything.
“Stop ogling my boobs,” my mouth said before I could approve such a thing.
His gaze snapped up to mine. “You ogled me earlier.”
“You were naked. And you’re not at all bad-looking, despite those scars. I would have had to be inhuman to not ogle you at least a tiny bit, and I want full marks for handing you that towel without once looking down. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it, and I think credit should be given where credit is due.”
“Then you cannot damn me for looking at your breasts when they are flaunted in front of me,” he countered.
“That’s because you have me pinned to the door.” I waited for the count of five for him to step back. He didn’t. “You’re still doing that, by the way. Pinning me to the door, that is.”
“You are my prisoner,” he repeated.
That was the point where I noticed the fact that he smelled like the spicy mead that is sometimes served during regional festivals—the warm, summery hint of honey overlaid with a sharper note that seemed to sizzle along my skin. Despite the knowledge that I should be getting away from him as expeditiously as possible, I had the worst urge to tilt my head back and brush my mouth against his.
That was a crazy thought, and I didn’t have any more of those. So without disputing the fact that he had me prisoner, let alone the idea that he needed any such thing, I did the one thing that I knew would cause him to back off… I reached around him with both hands and squeezed cheek.
He leaped backward just at the moment when Dr. Ek opened the door, sending me stumbling forward straight into Kostya’s arms again.
“Couldn’t wait until you were home, eh?” Dr. Ek said, peering at us over his glasses. He held a stack of worn clothing that he offered to Kostya. “That bodes well for the bump on the head your man took. If he gets nauseous, though, you shall have to take him to the hospital. They can scan his brain there.”
Kostya donned the clothing and lectured me for at least five minutes about why it was unfair of me to accuse him of ogling my breasts when it was clear I lusted after his body, while at the same time Dr. Ek gave me instructions on warning signs to watch for should Kostya suddenly fall victim to some undetected head injury. I let them both talk until they ran out of steam, then turned to Kostya to say, “I wasn’t making a pass at you, so you can just drop that line. I grabbed your butt so you’d back up and let me go. And, Dr. Ek”—I switched to Swedish—“I appreciate the fact that you are being conscientious and all, but I’m not going to be around to see if he has any of those reactions. I’ve told you that we’re not a couple, and he’s clearly got a screw loose upstairs somewhere, which means I want nothing to do with him.”
“We must be kind to those who are not as fortunate as we are,” Dr. Ek said, bustling us toward the door. To my surprise, Kostya allowed himself to be shooed, having first snagged his wet clothing and shoes. “You should not spurn a fine man simply because he is not entirely right in the head. Now, then, if you have a credit card, I would prefer that for payment over a check.”
“Really? That’s still odd that I should find both of you.” I turned to the dog and patted my leg. “Hey, Jim. Come here, boy.”
The dog cocked his head but didn’t move.
“He doesn’t seem to know his name very well. Does your sister-in-law say it differently?”
“Jim,” Kostya said, a disgusted curl to his lip, “tell this mortal who you are.”
Warning bells went off in my head. I mean, big-time warning bells, the kind that deafen you for a moment before leaving you with the overwhelming desire to get the hell away from the man who thought dogs could talk.
“Um,” I said, backing away from Kostya very slowly, so as not to capture his attention, “sorry, but that’s my cue to leave.”
I turned and bolted to the door, but just as I was about to fling it open, Kostya was suddenly there, all warm, naked skin, pressing me against it, his breath hot on my face as he demanded, “You will go nowhere, woman. Now you are my prisoner.”
Five
“I don’t know whether to be more disturbed by the fact that you think a dog can talk or that you can stand there, stark naked, without so much as a stapler as a weapon, and hold me prisoner.” I adopted a quite reasonable, conversational tone, the sort intended to calm deranged people and keep them from committing acts of violence. I tried very hard not to notice just how nice the naked Kostya felt against me, the unyielding planes of his body being softened by my curves. It was a wonderful demonstration of how men and women fit together, but now was not the time to dwell on that subject. His eyes were black, I noticed as he scowled down at me. Not dark brown but black, as black as his pupils, but a shiny black, one that glittered with little specks of silver. Unfortunately, at that moment, the glitter took the form of ire. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded to know. “What stapler?”
“There’s no stapler,” I said, finding myself suddenly blighted with several conflicting desires, ranging from the urge to grab his head and kiss him to laughing at the crazy situation, stomping on his toes, kneeing him in the naked noogies, and running away.
He looked even more irritated. I tried to ignore the heat of his body pressed against mine. “Then why did you bring it up?”
“I was using it as an example of just how vulnerable you are,” I said, deciding to go with amusement. Dr. Barlind was big on the subject of using humor as a coping mechanism for trying situations. “You know, if you need someone to talk to about things, I know of a top-notch therapist. She really helped me when I was super-confused.”
My brain made a comment about denial and what happened to people who refused to admit the truth just because that ended up in shock therapy, but as usual, I paid it no attention.
“I have no need of therapy,” he scoffed, then must have realized just how hard he was pushing me into the wall, because he glanced downward. My breasts were smooshed up against his chest, making them bulge upward in a way that I would have found annoying in any other situation, but at that moment, they were deliriously happy with where they were, and that disturbed me more than anything.
“Stop ogling my boobs,” my mouth said before I could approve such a thing.
His gaze snapped up to mine. “You ogled me earlier.”
“You were naked. And you’re not at all bad-looking, despite those scars. I would have had to be inhuman to not ogle you at least a tiny bit, and I want full marks for handing you that towel without once looking down. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it, and I think credit should be given where credit is due.”
“Then you cannot damn me for looking at your breasts when they are flaunted in front of me,” he countered.
“That’s because you have me pinned to the door.” I waited for the count of five for him to step back. He didn’t. “You’re still doing that, by the way. Pinning me to the door, that is.”
“You are my prisoner,” he repeated.
That was the point where I noticed the fact that he smelled like the spicy mead that is sometimes served during regional festivals—the warm, summery hint of honey overlaid with a sharper note that seemed to sizzle along my skin. Despite the knowledge that I should be getting away from him as expeditiously as possible, I had the worst urge to tilt my head back and brush my mouth against his.
That was a crazy thought, and I didn’t have any more of those. So without disputing the fact that he had me prisoner, let alone the idea that he needed any such thing, I did the one thing that I knew would cause him to back off… I reached around him with both hands and squeezed cheek.
He leaped backward just at the moment when Dr. Ek opened the door, sending me stumbling forward straight into Kostya’s arms again.
“Couldn’t wait until you were home, eh?” Dr. Ek said, peering at us over his glasses. He held a stack of worn clothing that he offered to Kostya. “That bodes well for the bump on the head your man took. If he gets nauseous, though, you shall have to take him to the hospital. They can scan his brain there.”
Kostya donned the clothing and lectured me for at least five minutes about why it was unfair of me to accuse him of ogling my breasts when it was clear I lusted after his body, while at the same time Dr. Ek gave me instructions on warning signs to watch for should Kostya suddenly fall victim to some undetected head injury. I let them both talk until they ran out of steam, then turned to Kostya to say, “I wasn’t making a pass at you, so you can just drop that line. I grabbed your butt so you’d back up and let me go. And, Dr. Ek”—I switched to Swedish—“I appreciate the fact that you are being conscientious and all, but I’m not going to be around to see if he has any of those reactions. I’ve told you that we’re not a couple, and he’s clearly got a screw loose upstairs somewhere, which means I want nothing to do with him.”
“We must be kind to those who are not as fortunate as we are,” Dr. Ek said, bustling us toward the door. To my surprise, Kostya allowed himself to be shooed, having first snagged his wet clothing and shoes. “You should not spurn a fine man simply because he is not entirely right in the head. Now, then, if you have a credit card, I would prefer that for payment over a check.”
