"Aphrodite's_Flame_037" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_04]_-_Aphrodite's_Flame_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file html))

Chapter Thirty-four

Isole awoke in total darkness, her heart pounding furiously and her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Where...
“Izzy.”
She relaxed, Mordi’s soft voice washing over her like a caress. She didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know where they were, but she knew that she was safe. Mordi had taken care of her.
With a groan, she sat up. Her body felt boneless, and she rolled her neck, trying to will the exhaustion to leave and some semblance of energy to refill her body. Beside her, Mordi shifted, then reached out to stroke her back. She realized that she was warm and dry and sitting on a bed. She frowned. The last thing she remembered, she’d been cold, damp, and set upon by Henchmen.
“I think I need a debriefing,” she said.
He gave her a quick rundown. After he’d rested, he’d pondered what the heck to do since their car was at the bottom of the river. In the end, he’d picked her up and carried her up the embankment and to the road. Across the tiny road he found a ramshackle motel, and decided to take advantage of it. He’d checked them in, used the phone to report in at headquarters, then used the last of his strength to hang and dry out their clothes.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
She licked her lips. “And thanks for saving us. The last thing I remember is those Henchmen melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “Again,” he said, “you’re welcome.”
His tone was light enough, but she caught the raising scent of something else underneath. Fear, maybe? She wasn’t certain. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He grimaced, then lay back down, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “You thanking me. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Excuse me?” She shifted on the mattress so that she was sitting cross-legged on the threadbare spread, peering down at him. “Why shouldn’t I thank you?”
“The fact that I put your life in danger leaps to mind.”
She raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “I forgive you.” She rubbed her legs, trying to get the blood flowing again.
“Accident of birth,” he added.
His voice was low, almost monotone, and a finger of ice raced up her spine. She knew what he was implying, that Hieronymous was the one responsible. They didn’t have proof, and she wanted to argue with him, but she knew it would be futile. They’d been down that road before. Instead she simply said, “It could be someone else.”
“It could,” he said. “It isn’t.”
His voice held an infinite sadness, and she blinked back tears. How horrible to believe—to really, deep in your gut believe—that your own father could be out to kill you.
Gently, she pressed a hand to his chest. He reached up, his hand moving to grasp hers. “Mordi—”
The hand stopped. “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot.” He drew in a breath, his chest rising, then falling again. “I’ll tender my resignation tomorrow.”
“Resignation?”
“As your assistant.”
“Oh.” Once upon a time, she’d wanted him to leave her alone to do her job. Now, though, his pronouncement only made her feel lost. “Oh,” she said again.
“I’m endangering you. Hieronymous knows I oppose his re-assimilation. He wants me out of the picture.” Mordi shrugged. “So I’m removing myself. Before you get hurt when you don’t have to.”
“Mordi,” she said. “I’ve been in his head, remember? You know I don’t believe your father is behind this.”
“I know. But I believe it.” He smiled at her, his green eyes warm. “Guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “And here they say chivalry is dead....”
“Is that what they say?”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Izzy.” He took her hand.
Desire. Want. Need. His thoughts, crystal clear, swirled within her, filling her head before she was able to put up any barriers. And underneath it all was one persistent question:
Does she want me, too?
She yanked her hand away, then looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Yes, she thought, wishing he could read her as she read him. Sweet Hera, yes.
But thoughts were easy. It was words that were hard. And when she lifted her head to look at him again, she saw doubt flicker in his eyes, and she knew that she had to come up with the words. Though it terrified her, she had to say her desire aloud.
She drew a deep breath, as if she could fill her lungs with courage. “Yes. I... I want you, too.”
Relief. Waves of relief rolled off Mordi, enveloping and bolstering Isole. Relief and heat and desire and—
His mouth closed over hers. He’d lifted himself up and pulled her toward him, and his mouth had closed over hers with a frenzy born of need and pungent desire. Sparks shot through her body as his emotions accosted her, filled her. She’d pulled away before. Now, though...
Now he was absorbing her being; she was filling his veins, coursing through his body, becoming this man who intrigued and fascinated her. She opened her mind, wanting to know everything about him. To feel what he felt. To see what he saw.
She anticipated the images: his life, his challenges, his triumphs, his defeats. Everything, it all would fill her soul and memory as if the images belonged to her.
But there was nothing.
Sort of. He wasn’t blocking her; it was more that she’d already filled him, and she reeled under the press of images and emotions that were a mix of both of them. Those coursed through her veins.
Her.
Nothing but Isole.
Mordi wanted her. Needed her. And his passion was so great that, at the moment, it overshadowed everything else. She’d completely filled this man, and the knowledge both humbled and excited her.
She melted under his kiss, opening her mouth to him, her arms caressing him, wanting to bring him pleasure. She wanted him to know that, even though he didn’t have her powers, in fact he’d filled her, too. And it was the most wonderful experience she’d ever known.

Chapter Thirty-four

Isole awoke in total darkness, her heart pounding furiously and her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Where...
“Izzy.”
She relaxed, Mordi’s soft voice washing over her like a caress. She didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know where they were, but she knew that she was safe. Mordi had taken care of her.
With a groan, she sat up. Her body felt boneless, and she rolled her neck, trying to will the exhaustion to leave and some semblance of energy to refill her body. Beside her, Mordi shifted, then reached out to stroke her back. She realized that she was warm and dry and sitting on a bed. She frowned. The last thing she remembered, she’d been cold, damp, and set upon by Henchmen.
“I think I need a debriefing,” she said.
He gave her a quick rundown. After he’d rested, he’d pondered what the heck to do since their car was at the bottom of the river. In the end, he’d picked her up and carried her up the embankment and to the road. Across the tiny road he found a ramshackle motel, and decided to take advantage of it. He’d checked them in, used the phone to report in at headquarters, then used the last of his strength to hang and dry out their clothes.
“Thanks for that,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
She licked her lips. “And thanks for saving us. The last thing I remember is those Henchmen melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
His mouth curved into a grin. “Again,” he said, “you’re welcome.”
His tone was light enough, but she caught the raising scent of something else underneath. Fear, maybe? She wasn’t certain. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He grimaced, then lay back down, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “You thanking me. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Excuse me?” She shifted on the mattress so that she was sitting cross-legged on the threadbare spread, peering down at him. “Why shouldn’t I thank you?”
“The fact that I put your life in danger leaps to mind.”
She raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “I forgive you.” She rubbed her legs, trying to get the blood flowing again.
“Accident of birth,” he added.
His voice was low, almost monotone, and a finger of ice raced up her spine. She knew what he was implying, that Hieronymous was the one responsible. They didn’t have proof, and she wanted to argue with him, but she knew it would be futile. They’d been down that road before. Instead she simply said, “It could be someone else.”
“It could,” he said. “It isn’t.”
His voice held an infinite sadness, and she blinked back tears. How horrible to believe—to really, deep in your gut believe—that your own father could be out to kill you.
Gently, she pressed a hand to his chest. He reached up, his hand moving to grasp hers. “Mordi—”
The hand stopped. “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot.” He drew in a breath, his chest rising, then falling again. “I’ll tender my resignation tomorrow.”
“Resignation?”
“As your assistant.”
“Oh.” Once upon a time, she’d wanted him to leave her alone to do her job. Now, though, his pronouncement only made her feel lost. “Oh,” she said again.
“I’m endangering you. Hieronymous knows I oppose his re-assimilation. He wants me out of the picture.” Mordi shrugged. “So I’m removing myself. Before you get hurt when you don’t have to.”
“Mordi,” she said. “I’ve been in his head, remember? You know I don’t believe your father is behind this.”
“I know. But I believe it.” He smiled at her, his green eyes warm. “Guess we’re going to have to agree to disagree.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “And here they say chivalry is dead....”
“Is that what they say?”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Izzy.” He took her hand.
Desire. Want. Need. His thoughts, crystal clear, swirled within her, filling her head before she was able to put up any barriers. And underneath it all was one persistent question:
Does she want me, too?
She yanked her hand away, then looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Yes, she thought, wishing he could read her as she read him. Sweet Hera, yes.
But thoughts were easy. It was words that were hard. And when she lifted her head to look at him again, she saw doubt flicker in his eyes, and she knew that she had to come up with the words. Though it terrified her, she had to say her desire aloud.
She drew a deep breath, as if she could fill her lungs with courage. “Yes. I... I want you, too.”
Relief. Waves of relief rolled off Mordi, enveloping and bolstering Isole. Relief and heat and desire and—
His mouth closed over hers. He’d lifted himself up and pulled her toward him, and his mouth had closed over hers with a frenzy born of need and pungent desire. Sparks shot through her body as his emotions accosted her, filled her. She’d pulled away before. Now, though...
Now he was absorbing her being; she was filling his veins, coursing through his body, becoming this man who intrigued and fascinated her. She opened her mind, wanting to know everything about him. To feel what he felt. To see what he saw.
She anticipated the images: his life, his challenges, his triumphs, his defeats. Everything, it all would fill her soul and memory as if the images belonged to her.
But there was nothing.
Sort of. He wasn’t blocking her; it was more that she’d already filled him, and she reeled under the press of images and emotions that were a mix of both of them. Those coursed through her veins.
Her.
Nothing but Isole.
Mordi wanted her. Needed her. And his passion was so great that, at the moment, it overshadowed everything else. She’d completely filled this man, and the knowledge both humbled and excited her.
She melted under his kiss, opening her mouth to him, her arms caressing him, wanting to bring him pleasure. She wanted him to know that, even though he didn’t have her powers, in fact he’d filled her, too. And it was the most wonderful experience she’d ever known.