Fire Bound (Sea Haven/Sisters of the Heart 5)

She stiffened. Her free hand went to his chest with the idea that she'd move him back, away from her, but the moment she touched him, she knew it was a terrible mistake. He had no shirt on, his chest bare. His body was inflexible. No give whatsoever. All male. All muscle. Hot as hell. So hot her palm seemed to melt right into his chest. Her breath slammed out of her lungs, leaving her burning for air. Raw with need.

She couldn't see his chest, not really. But she could feel it, his skin so hot. So tough. Her hand could feel his muscles, defined and rippling subtly beneath his skin, like a tiger, still, but coiled and ready to leap on her and tear her to shreds. She could move her hand. It was madness to leave it there, because he was more than a tiger, or a jungle cat, he was at the very top of the food chain and he was hunting. She knew he'd set his sights on her - he'd admitted it. He'd set a trap with that book and she'd stupidly walked right into it.

Lissa moistened her lips and tried to stay on target. "You met with your brothers?" She knew he had six brothers. All trained in the same way he'd been trained. An assassin, a product of those brutal schools no one ever talked about. No one wanted to admit they had ever existed. So much so, that Sorbacov, both father and son, wanted to make certain the existence of those schools never saw the light of day. They had put out a hit on all their graduates, men and women who had served them and were now considered disposable.

It hurt that his brothers would hold a secret meeting about her, that Gavriil would betray a confidence. She considered them family, at least the ones who lived on the farm. Lev, Rikki's husband, in particular. He'd been there the longest, and she'd spent quite a lot of time in his company. They both had worked with her other sisters on self-defense. It had taken a lot of discipline to keep Lev from knowing she was far better than she let on. Still, she had developed genuine affection for him.

"Gavriil was worried, I could tell. The others just wanted you safe, they have no idea who you really are. I'm certain Gavriil knew, but he just told me that I was to stick with you, no matter where that led. He didn't come out and say you might go after the Sorbacovs, but he alluded to the fact that he was a little worried, that you were a fire element and unpredictable. He said you were very close to Lexi and now that he was there on the farm as a Prakenskii, you knew that Uri Sorbacov would send anyone he could after him and the others. He also was afraid Uri would use you to get at our family. He would know you meant something to us. We protected one another in the schools by allowing them to torture us to keep the others alive; of course he'd know we'd do the same for you."

She lifted her chin. "Essentially, he told you enough that you could figure out my past. You know that my parents were murdered." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her chest felt tight, as if it was impossible to breathe. The burn behind her eyes surprised her, as did the sudden clogging in her throat. She hadn't allowed herself to think about her parents and that terrible day in a very long time and now, over and over, that door seemed to creak open.

Casimir's hand, anchored in her hair, slid lower. His palm curled around her throat as if feeling her pulse beating there. Warm. Bringing fire to her skin. To the nerve endings so her body couldn't settle - didn't have time to do anything but react to his touch.

"My parents were murdered as well. My family was torn apart," Casimir reminded, his gentleness disarming. "I know what it feels like to need to bring those who committed those crimes to justice. My brothers, Viktor and Gavriil, hunted down the men who had been there that night, the ones following Kostya Sorbacov's orders. It took them a long time, years, to find out which ones pulled the triggers, but in the end, they killed every one of them. Only Kostya remains. None of my brothers could get near him. They're too well known."

She knew then. There was no getting air. No getting her breath back. "You become different people. You were that horrible man on the plane, bugging me every time I turned around just for your own amusement."

Above her head, he nodded.

Her lungs burned. Felt raw. "You were Tomasso and then the man in the cappuccino bar and now you're someone else. You're planning on going after them both. To keep your brothers safe. That's why, when you had the chance, you didn't put your mark on me."

She knew all about that claiming mark. She'd seen her sisters rubbing their palms. She knew they each could press their thumb into that mark and call their man to them. They belonged. They were cherished. They were loved. She wanted that and yet... She didn't have the personality needed to be with a man that dominant. The Prakenskii brothers, each and every one of them, were extremely dominant men. Total alphas. How could they not be, trained in the schools to become essentially weapons?

She had secrets just as all of her sisters did, but hers were dark and ugly. "I need to breathe and I can't with you this close," she said, uncaring that she revealed too much to him. She didn't know what she was going to do, but if she didn't get air, she might faint, right there, at his feet.

His hand didn't loosen from around her throat. His thumb brushed her chin and then lifted it. Easily. She was very short in comparison to him. He tilted her head at an angle that forced her to look into his eyes. His eyes were startling mercury. Silver. The only other person she'd ever seen with eyes like that had been his youngest brother, Ilya. It was no wonder he wore tinted contacts all the time. Those eyes were memorable. Totally rare. Eyes that left a woman weak. He had scars on his face. Lines of silver in his hair where the scars continued. She sucked in her breath, wondering how those faint white lines got there.

He stared down at her for what seemed an eternity. He bent his head slightly toward hers. She found herself wanting to go up on her tiptoes, to cover those last few inches, but she locked the soles of her feet firmly to the ground. She wasn't going to get in any deeper.

"I really can't breathe," she whispered again. Hoping he'd let her go. She couldn't make that move herself, so he was going to have to come to her aid.

"I'll have to breathe for both of us," he said gently. Softly. His voice a stroke of velvet, caressing her skin.

His lips touched hers. Just touched. Rubbed. Softly. Barely there. Her bottom lip. Her top lip. His tongue outlined both. Traced the curve of her lips and then along the seam. "I had a lot of hours on that plane to stare at your lips. I memorized the shape of them. I dreamt of them. Fantasized about them."

When he whispered the words to her, his lips brushed against hers, sending a million darts of fire streaking through her body straight to the very feminine core of her. She felt each one strike, igniting more and more of that terrible need growing in her.

"Open for me."

"No." She whispered the denial. She needed to stay strong. If she didn't, if she opened her mouth to him, she'd be lost.

Casimir was so hot. His mouth would be hotter. The fire inside would break free and she wouldn't be able to rein it in ever again. Not with this man. He would own her. He would. She knew it just by standing there. He didn't have to touch her or kiss her. She felt him around her. In her. His passion called to hers. The wildness in him, buried deep, suppressed just as the fire in her was suppressed, called to her.

"Yes." His mouth moved over her face, lips tracing her jaw, her cheekbone, her eyes, moving back to her lips.

He was gentle. Patient. Persistent. He knew she was already lost. He knew. She saw the knowledge in his eyes. The possession there. The absolute resolve.

"I can't, Casimir." She didn't sound determined or sure, she sounded pleading. More, with her head tilted this way, she could see the hunger in his eyes - for her. No one had ever looked at her with precisely that look. She was melting for him, and that wasn't a good thing at all.

His tongue teased the seam of her lips, his lips, firm and hot and very, very tempting teased at hers. "Open for me, malyshka."

"Not I won't. I can't. There's a difference." She tried reason. Her brain screamed at her to push him away. This was self-preservation. Self-preservation was strong in her. She had duties. So many of them. She

had taken a vow with her uncle when she was just a little girl. She'd kept that vow. It didn't include having a man or a family. It meant, ultimately, she would probably die. But until she did, she had to stick to her absolute purpose.

"Golubushka," he murmured against her mouth. "You can. You will. I have waited a very long time and I never thought I could have you. Now, even if it is for a brief moment before we both die trying to save those we love, you have to give yourself to me."

He couldn't have said anything else that would induce her to let him have her. He intimated they would be partners. That he understood her vow. That he would never try to stop her from carrying out her plans.

Just this once, just this moment, she could have him for herself. She could be a woman. Real. Allow her fire to burn with his. She could let down her guard and just be herself. She opened her mouth before she talked herself out of it.

His tongue swept in and swept her away. There was no way to think, only feel. He kissed like he did everything. Sure. Confident. Perfect. Hot. So hot she knew she was melting, and it didn't even matter. She wanted to melt into him. Skin to skin. She didn't care if she paid the price later on. Right then, his mouth was all that mattered to her. All she focused on.

Hot lava poured into her veins, and melted her insides. Her legs went weak. He angled her face, poured himself down her throat. Took her breath, gave her his own. He was sweet and gentle and then rough and demanding. Coaxing. Commanding. He kept her wanting more. Needing more. He allowed her to come up for air and then she didn't know if she initiated another kiss, or if he did. She only knew she was lost in him. In pure feeling. So good. So perfect. Better than anything she'd ever imagined or dreamt.

His hands slid down her back to her bottom, shaping, kneading, pulling her up and into him. She wanted to be closer. Wanted to be skin to skin. He had no shirt, but she was fully clothed. Would it be so wrong to take this night? Flames burned through her body, settled low and sinful. She didn't know him, yet she did. She recognized him. She saw him. Casimir Prakenskii. She probably saw him better than he saw himself.

She hoped he saw her. She was Lissa Piner now, and she thought of herself as Lissa, but she wanted him to see the woman she really was. Giacinta Abbracciabene. Passionate. Needy. Greedy even. For him. For his body. For recognition that that woman existed.

His hands moved on her, sliding up her spine, under her blouse, slipping the material up over her head, tossing it aside. "I have to touch you."

She knew what that felt like, having to touch him. She had her hand back now that he'd moved her closer to him, imprinting her body onto his. She was free to explore, to run her hands over his chest, to feel the heavy muscles, ropes of them on his arms and shoulders, yet his body was still lean enough to have that amazing definition that allowed him to assume any build he chose.

She wasn't surprised that he didn't have tattoos. Those marks would be identifiable and he couldn't afford to be identified. His fingers made short work of her bra, and he slid it from her body, tossing it aside with her blouse. His mouth took hers again, a little rougher, almost fierce. She could taste possession. She could taste the male in him demanding she surrender.

She could do that - surrender herself to him for this one night. Whatever happened after, she'd have this. She never expected to have it. Such a gift. He obviously knew what he was doing, and she was ready to follow wherever he led.

He tugged her lower lip between his teeth. Bit down gently, just enough that she felt the little bite of pain flashing through her, and then his tongue was there. Soft velvet fire, teasing and stroking. He nibbled his way down her chin to her jaw, using the edge of his teeth and then his tongue. She had never considered that anything like that would be hot, but it was. So hot, she knew in another minute he was going to have to hold her up.

His hands slid around her back to her sides, shaping her waist, then sliding up her rib cage to settle at the sides of her breasts as if memorizing the very shape of her. She had no idea she could be so sensitive, but she was aware of his every touch, like a fiery brand, burning into her skin. His mouth was even hotter as he kissed his way down to the upper swell of her breasts. His thumbs moved, brushing her nipples, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Cried out.

Chaos reigned in her mind. Pleasure ruled. She reached up to cradle his head in her arms, loving the way his spiky hair felt against her skin. Keeping her eyes open to watch as his mouth moved over her breasts, sucking at her very sensitive skin, scraping with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. She could see small strawberries left behind in his wake, but her body was on fire. It was all she could do to watch such an erotic sight and not scream for more.

She heard her own panting lungs, the ragged breathing she couldn't control. Her body didn't feel like her own, it belonged to him. She couldn't take her eyes from the sight of him feasting on her breasts. Her nipples ached. Hurt. Needed. The hunger in her was so sharp, so terrible, she gripped his hair in her fist and thought to push him toward the straining twin peaks. She couldn't. She could only cling. Her pulse pounded in her clit. Slick heat gathered so that her panties went damp. Her heart hammered. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Waiting. She thought she might die with the wait. His mouth kept moving, following the path she wanted him to take, but slow, far too slow.

Then he was there. His tongue lapped at her nipple and fire streaked. Raged. Flames rushed through her bloodstream, hitting her core like a fireball. She gasped. Cried out. His mouth closed over her breast, drew her nipple into the scalding, moist cavern, flattening the hard peak against the roof of his mouth. He suckled. Her knees buckled. She was forced to hang on to him or fall.

"I can't stand up," she admitted, gasping the truth when she wanted to scream with pleasure.

Casimir spent a good deal of time being a lover. He was expert at it. He could be anyone and easily became whatever his mark was looking for. Whatever they needed. He had complete command of his body at all times. He was that disciplined. He'd learned that discipline in a very hard, brutal school, but that had served him well over the years. His body never spun out of control. His cock never went hard and hot and aching, so painful he thought he might burst, not like now. Never without consent. Until now.

He'd lost that control somewhere in the hours on that plane, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. He'd been into his role, deliberately, for his own amusement, annoying her, getting under her skin, and somehow, she'd gotten under his with her soft-spoken kindness. His body forgot those long hours of harsh lessons and spun out of control. By the time they'd reached Italy, he was a walking hard-on, something he hadn't experienced since he was a boy.

In his youth, before he realized there was no escaping the life monsters had chosen for him, he dreamt of a woman of his own. Fiery. Passionate. Oddly enough, a flaming redhead. Lissa was definitely everything he'd ever dreamt of. She'd been so calm on the plane with all of his taunting, but he'd seen the fire in her. Caught glimpses of it. She would catch fire fast, burn hotter than any volcano and come apart for him.

Her skin was softer than he thought possible. He'd managed twice on the plane to get into her space enough to feel the satin under his fingertips. Any more than twice and he would have totally creeped her out. She wasn't a woman to be trifled with. The heat in her eyes warned him so he'd resisted touching her. Now, he couldn't get enough of sliding his hands over her narrow rib cage to cup her breasts while he fed.

She was sensitive. Very sensitive. He took every advantage of that. His body might not be in his complete control, but he had enough experience to know when a woman liked something and when she loved it. Especially when something drove her out of her mind with pleasure.

He wanted her hands on him. His cock was so full he was afraid he'd burst with the urgent, demanding hunger roaring through him, but he couldn't rush this. Couldn't let his own need make him lose sight of what was most important. She had kissed him back, her kisses better than anything he'd ever experienced because she was

kissing him, Casimir Prakenskii, not one of his many aliases. She knew who he was and she wanted him, not one of them. He might not know who he was, but everything he knew about himself was definitely hers. All of him. What there was left of him. It might be miniscule, but the real man was there somewhere, and that man belonged to this woman.

He hadn't realized just how far gone he was. A man could only live so long in the shadows without an identity before the darkness consumed him. He'd made up his mind to try his hand at killing the Sorbacovs, both father and son. He knew they would be expecting those from the school to come after them, and they would be waiting. Kostya Sorbacov knew each of those students and what they were capable of. He would be looking for the master of disguises and suspicious of every man coming near them. Casimir didn't expect to come out of the encounter alive, but he was fairly certain he could kill at least one, if not both of his targets.

Holding Lissa in his arms, his hands moving over her soft skin, his cock pressed tight against her body, his mouth on her breast, touched something deep in him, something he hadn't known existed. She was like the sun itself. Hot and bright, burning for him. Giving him that light when he needed it the most - when he was all but lost. Her breathy little moans filled his ears. Music. Beautiful. Filling his soul.

He wasn't a poetry kind of man. He'd skipped the lesson on hearts and flowers, but there it was. He needed her to see him. To want him. He needed her like he needed air just to breathe. All along he'd been swallowed by the shadows, but somehow, she found him and her bright light burst over him.