Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy 1)

“Oh, well . . .” But Sawyer made the mistake of looking into Annika’s sparkling eyes. “Sure.”

“Man down,” Doyle commented.

“Later, you can get the coins out, Bran. I’ve got a contact who’ll give Annika a fair price on a few of them. I can sort those out, and we can make that stop before we get on the boat in the morning. You’ll have some actual spending money,” Riley told Annika.

“Shopping money.”

“Yeah, that, too. I’ll touch base with him. Bring that back in one piece,” she added, and walked toward the villa with Apollo.

“Got work of my own.” Doyle trailed off behind her.

“You should pick up some fresh supplies.”

Sawyer shot Sasha a look as he got behind the wheel. “Hell. Yeah, I figured. I’ll work it out.”

“I want new earrings.” Annika jumped into the passenger seat.

“What is it with women and earrings?” Sawyer wondered.

“They’re pretty. Bye.” She waved to Sasha and Bran. “We’re going shopping!”

“May the gods take pity on him,” Bran stated, then took her hand to lead her toward the terrace steps.

“I feel like I should do something productive. It’s not even three in the afternoon.”

“Productive.”

“I should sketch out what’s in my head, what I saw today. The light in the cave. I want to capture that. And I know I shouldn’t try when I feel this lazy.”

“Then you’ll capture it when you’re not. Meanwhile . . .”

He turned into her room with her, booted the doors closed, then whipped her around to press her back against them.

“I think this is where we left off.”

He took her mouth, and took her under.

“Now?”

“Oh, absolutely now.” He took his lips on a lazy journey along the column of her throat. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Everything inside her sparked. “No. No, now would be fine. Now would be good.” His hands skimmed up to brush over her breasts. “Now would be wonderful.”

Wanting, willing, she wrapped around him, thrilled by the rush of her own pulse, the flood of her own needs. Needs she’d locked away for so long spun free—and there was such joy in them.

She laughed, only a hint of nerves, when he turned her again, walked her backward toward the bed with his mouth still hungry on hers.

Then she was tumbling back, and he with her. And oh, what a sensation, the weight and shape of his body pressed to hers, to feel her own yielding to it. His hands, so strong and sure, molding her like clay until her blood ran hot under her skin.

She wanted to touch him, feared she’d fumble something as she fought to pull off his shirt. She wanted her hands on flesh, on muscle.

“I need to tell you—”

His teeth scraped lightly down her throat; her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

“In case I do something wrong . . .”

“Nothing could be wrong.”