Fantasy Lover

Chapter 3

Grace did what most any woman would do while confronting a naked man in her living room. She screamed.
Then she ran for the front door.
Only she forgot about the cushions that were still on the floor where they'd piled them. Tripping over two, she went sprawling.
No! she silently cried as she landed in a painful heap. She had to do something to protect herself.
Terrified and shaking, she scrambled through the cushions, looking for a weapon. Feeling something, she pulled her hand up, only to find a pink bunny slipper.
Dammit! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wine bottle. Grace rolled toward it and grabbed it in her hand, then whirled to face her intruder.
Faster than she could react, he wrapped his warm hand around her wrist, tenderly immobilizing it. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
Good gracious, but his deep masculine voice was rich, with a thick, lilting accent that could only be described as musical. Erotic. And downright yummy.
Her senses dulled, Grace looked up and...
Well...
Quite honestly, there was only one thing she saw, and it made her face hotter than Cajun gumbo. After all, how could she miss it since it was just an arm's reach away. And it was such a large it, too.
In the next instant, he knelt by her side and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. He ran his hands over her scalp as if feeling for an injury.
Her gaze feasted on his chest. Unable to move or look past all that incredible skin, Grace fought the urge to moan at the intensely wicked sensation of his fingers in her hair. Her entire body burned from it.
"Did you hit your head?" he asked.
Again that strange, glorious accent that reverberated through her like a warm, soothing caress.
She stared at the wealth of golden, tawny skin that seemed to beckon her hand to reach out and touch it.
He practically glowed!
Compelled, she wanted to see his face, to see for herself if the whole of him was as incredible as his body.
As she looked up, past the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, her mouth dropped. The wine bottle slid from her numbed fingers.
It was him!
No! It couldn't be.
This couldn't be happening to her, and he couldn't be naked in her living room with his hands in her hair. Things like this just didn't happen in real life. Most especially not to average people like her.
And yet...
"Julian?" she asked breathlessly.
He had the sleek, powerful build of a finely toned gymnast. His muscles were hard, lean, and gorgeous, and well defined in places she didn't even know a man could get muscles. On top of his shoulders, his biceps and forearms. His chest and back. His neck to his legs.
You name it, it bulged with raw, masculine strength.
Even it had started to bulge.
His golden hair fell in haphazard waves around a cleanshaven face that looked as if it really had been carved from stone. Unbelievably handsome and captivating, his face was neither pretty nor feminine. But it was definitely breathtaking.
Full, sensuous lips curved into a halfhearted smile, displaying a set of dimples that cut deep moons into his tanned cheeks.
And those eyes.
Gracious!
They were the clear celestial blue of a perfect cloudless sky with a tiny band of dark blue highlighting the outer edges of his irises. His eyes were searing in their intensity and shining with intellect. She had a feeling his looks, really could kill.
Or at the very least, devastate.
And she was certainly devastated at the moment. Captivated by a man too perfect to be real.
Hesitantly, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. She was amazed when his arm didn't evaporate, proving all this was just a drunken hallucination.
No, that arm was real. Real and hard and warm. The skin beneath her palm flexed into a powerful muscle that made her heart pound.
Stunned, Grace could do nothing but stare.
Julian arched a puzzled brow. Never before had a woman run away from him. Nor discarded him after she'd spoken the summons's chant.
All the others had waited in expectation for his incarnation, then fallen instantly into his arms, demanding he pleasure them.
But not this one...
She was different.
His lips itched to smile as he swept his gaze over her. Her thick, sable hair fell to the middle of her back, and her light gray eyes looked like the sea just before a storm. Gray eyes flecked with tiny bits of silver and green that shone with intelligence and warmth.
Her smooth, pale skin was covered with little light brown freckles. She was every bit as adorable as her smooth, accented voice.
Not that it would have mattered.
Regardless of her looks, he existed only to serve her sexually. To lose himself in the savoring of her body with his, and he fully intended to do just that.
"Here," he said, taking her by her shoulders. "Let me help you up."
"You are naked," she whispered, looking him up and down in astonishment as they came to their feet. "You are so naked."
He tucked the ends of her sable hair back behind her ears. "I know."
"You are naked!"
"We've established that."
"You're happy and naked."
Confused, Julian frowned. "What?"
She looked down at his arousal. "You are happy," she said with a pointed glance. "And you're naked."
So, that was what they were calling it in this century. He would have to remember that.
"And this makes you uncomfortable?" he asked, amazed by the fact that a woman would mind his nudity when no one ever had before.
"Bingo!"
"Well, I know a cure," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave as he stared at her shirt, and the hardened nipples that jutted out from the thin white material. Nipples he couldn't wait to see.
To taste.
He moved to touch her.
Grace stepped back, her heart hammering. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. She was just drunk and delusional. Or she must have whacked her head on the coffee table and she was unconscious and bleeding to death.
Yes, that was it! That made sense.
At least it made a lot more sense than the deep humming throb that burned through her body. A throb that begged her to jump this guy's bones.
And they were such nice bones, too.
When you have a fantasy, girl, you definitely go all the way. You must've been working too hard lately. You're starting to take home your patients' dreams.
He reached out for her and cupped her cheeks in his strong hands. Grace couldn't move. All she could do was let him tilt her head up until she looked into those penetrating eyes she was sure could read her soul. They hypnotized her like those of a deadly predator lulling its prey.
She quivered in his embrace.
Then, hot, demanding lips covered her own. Grace moaned in response. She'd heard all her life about kisses that made women weak in their knees, but this was the first time she'd ever experienced one.
Oh, but he felt good, smelled good, and he tasted even better.
Of their own accord, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, broad and rock-hard. The heat of his chest seeped into hers, beckoning her with erotic, sensual promise of what was to come. And all the while, he ravished her mouth masterfully like a Viking marauder bent on total devastation.
Every inch of his magnificent body was pressed intimately against her own, rubbing hers in a manner meant to heighten her feminine awareness of him. And oh, baby, she was aware of him in a way she'd never been aware of any other man. She slid her hand down the sculpted muscles of his bare back and sighed as they bunched beneath her hand.
Grace decided right then and there that if this was a dream, she definitely didn't want the alarm to go off.
Or the phone to ring.
Or...
His hands roamed her back before cupping her buttocks and pressing her hips closer to his as his tongue danced with hers. The smell of sandalwood filled her senses.
Her body molten, Grace explored the taut, corded muscles of his naked back with her palms as his long hair swept against the back of her hands in an erotic caress.
Julian's head swam at her warm touch, at the pleasant feel of her arms wrapped tightly around him as he ran his hands over the bounty of her soft freckled skin.
How he loved the sounds she made as she responded so provocatively to him. Mmm, he couldn't wait to hear her scream out in release. To see her head thrown back while her body spasmed around his.
It had been so very long since he'd last felt a woman's touch. So long since he'd last had any human contact at all.
His body was white-hot with desire, and if this were anything but their first time, he'd devour her like a morsel of sweet chocolate. Lay her down and ravish her like a starving man at a banquet.
But that would have to wait until she was used to him.
He'd learned centuries ago that women always swooned from their first union. And he definitely didn't want this one to faint.
Not yet anyway.
Still, he couldn't wait another minute to have her.
Scooping her up in his arms, he headed for the stairs.
At first, Grace couldn't think past the incredible feel of strong arms surrounding her with heat-of a man actually picking her up and not groaning from the effort. But as they passed the large wooden pineapple at the base of her balustrade, she woke up with a start.
"Whoa, buster!" she snapped, grabbing on to the carved mahogany pineapple like a life preserver. "Just where do you think you're taking me?"
He paused and looked down at her curiously. In that instant, she realized that as tall and powerful as he was, he could do anything in the world he wanted with her and she would be powerless to stop him.
A tremor of fear thrummed through her body.
Yet for all the danger, some part of her wasn't afraid. Something in her gut told her he wouldn't intentionally hurt her.
"I'm taking you to your bedroom where we can finish what we've started," he said simply, as if he were discussing the weather.
"I don't think so."
He shrugged those wonderfully broad shoulders. "You would prefer the stairs, then? Or the couch perhaps?" He paused and looked about her house as if considering his choices. "Not a bad thought, actually. It's been a long time since I took a woman on-"
"No, no, no! The only place you're going to take me is in your dreams. Now set me down before I really get mad."
To her shock, he complied.
Feeling a little better once her feet were safely on the ground, she ascended two steps.
Now they were eye to eye, and on a little more equal footing-that was, if a person could ever be on equal footing with a man who possessed such innate power and authority.
Suddenly the full impact of his presence slammed into her.
He was real!
Dear heaven, she and Selena had actually conjured him to life!
His eyes bored into hers, his face stoic and completely unamused. "I don't understand why I'm here. If you don't want me inside you, why did you call for me?"
She almost moaned at his words. Worse, the image of his golden, lean, and powerful body thrusting against hers flashed through her mind.
What would it feel like to have a man so incredibly scrumptious make love to her all night?
And he would be scrumptious in bed. There was no doubt. With the prowess and moves he'd shown her so far, there was no telling just how much better...
Grace tensed at the thought. What was it about this man?
Never in her life had she felt sexual hunger like this. Never! She could literally lay him down on the floor and devour him.
It didn't make sense.
Over the years, she'd grown more than accustomed to sex being described in the most graphic of terms-some of her patients even purposely tried to shock or arouse her.
Never once had they elicited such a heated response from her.
But when it came to him, all she could think of was taking him into her arms and riding him into the ground.
That completely uncharacteristic thought sobered her.
Grace opened her mouth to respond to his question, then stopped. What was she going to do with this guy?
Other than that.
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.
Oh, yes, her body begged, please touch me all over.
"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 wavy, tawny hair fell midway down his back where it was secured with a dark brown leather cord. All except for three thin braids that had beads attached to their ends-braids that swung in time with his movements.
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 Julian'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."
Julian 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.
Grace headed to the living room and sat down on the couch. "So help me, Lanie," she breathed. "I'm going to get you for this."
And then he was there, sitting beside her, firing every hormone in her body with his presence.
Moving to the opposite end of the couch, Grace eyed him warily. "So, how long are you here for?"
Oh, great question, Grace. Why not ask him for the weather or his sign while you're at it? Jeez!
"Until the next full moon." His glacial eyes melted a degree. And as he ran it over her body, his gaze turned from ice to fire in the space of about two heartbeats.
He leaned toward her, reaching to touch her face.
Grace jumped to her feet and went to stand on the other side of the coffee table. "Are you telling me that I'm stuck with you for the next month?"
"Yes."
Stunned, Grace rubbed her hand over her eyes. She couldn't entertain him for a month. A whole, solid month! She had responsibilities, obligations.
She had a new hobby to learn.
"Look," she said. "Believe it or not, I have a life. One that doesn't include you in it."
She could tell by his face that he didn't care for her words. Not at all. "If you think I'm thrilled by being here with you, you're sadly mistaken. I assure you I'm not here by choice."
His words stung her.
"Well, not all of you feels that way." She gave a pointed glare to the part of him that was still ramrod-stiff.
Looking down at his lap and the lump bulging under the towel, he sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't have any more control over that than I do being here."
"Well, there's the door," she said, pointing toward it. "Don't let it hit you on the rump on your way out."
"Believe me, if I could leave, I would."
Grace hesitated at his words, and their significance. "Are you telling me that I can't wish you away? Or make you go back into the book?"
"I believe your word was bingo."
She fell silent.
Rising slowly to his feet, Julian stared at her. In all the centuries he'd been damned, this was the first time this had come up. All his other summoners had known what he was, and they had been more than willing to spend the month in his arms, happily using his body for their pleasure.
He'd never in his life, either this one or his mortal one, found a woman who didn't want him physically.
It was...
Odd.
Humbling.
Almost embarrassing.
Could it be that the curse was weakening? That maybe at last he might be free?
But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew better. When the Greek gods handed down a punishment, they did it with style and with a vengeance that not even two millennia could mellow.
There had been a time once, long ago, when he had fought against his damnation. A time when he had believed he could be free. But over two thousand years of confinement and unrelenting torture had taught him one thing- resignation.
He had earned his hell, and like the soldier he'd once been, he accepted his punishment.
Swallowing the gall that stuck in his throat, Julian spread his arms out, and offered his body to her. "You can do with me as you wish. Just tell me how to please you."
"Then, I wish for you to leave."
He dropped his arms to his side. "Except for that."
Frustrated, Grace started to pace. Her hormones finally whipped back under control and her head clearer, she yearned for a solution. But no matter how hard she tried, there didn't seem to be one.
A terrible ache began throbbing in her temples.
Whatever was she going to do for a month, a solid month, with him?
Again an image of him poised above her, his hair falling around them in a soft canopy while he plunged himself deep inside her body, tortured her.
"I need something..." Julian's voice trailed off.
She turned back to face him, her body still begging for his.
It would be so easy to give in to him. But that would be wrong. She refused to use him that way. Like...
No, she wouldn't think about that. She refused to think about that.
"What?" she asked.
"Food," Julian repeated. "If you're not going to use me right away, would you mind if I ate?" The sheepish, half-angry look on his face told her he didn't like asking for anything.
Then it dawned on her that as odd and difficult as this was for her, what on earth must it feel like for him? To be snatched from wherever it was he lived and thrown into her life like a slingshot? It must be terrible.
"Sure," she said, motioning for him to follow her. "The kitchen's in here." She led him down the short hallway to the rear of the house.
She opened the fridge and let him look into it. "What would you like?"
Instead of sticking his head in, he stayed about three feet back. "Do you have any pizza left?"
"Pizza?" she repeated in shock. How did he know about pizza?
He shrugged. "You seemed to really enjoy eating it."
Her face flamed as she recalled her earlier play. Selena had made another comment about food substituting for sex, and she had faked an orgasm while savoring her last slice. "You heard us?"
His face stoic, he spoke quietly. "The love-slave hears everything said near the book."
If her cheeks turned any hotter, they would explode. "I don't have any pizza," she said quickly, wanting to bury her head in the freezer to cool it off. "I do have some leftover chicken and pasta."
"And wine?"
She nodded.
"That's acceptable."
His commanding tone really set her ire off. It was one of those "I'm the man, baby, get me some food" Tarzan tones that just set her blood to boil.
"Look, buster, I'm not your cooking wench. Mess with me and I'll feed you Alpo."
He arched a brow. "Alpo?"
"Never mind." Still irritated, she pulled out her chicken primavera and prepared to nuke it.
He sat at her table with this oozing aura of male arrogance that just grated on her tolerance. Wishing she really had a can of Alpo, Grace forced herself to dump a heaping serving of pasta into a bowl.
"Just how long have you been in that book, anyway? Since the Dark Ages?" At least that's what he acted like.
He sat as still as a statue. No emotions, no nothing. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was an android.
"The last time I was summoned, it was eighteen ninety-five."
"Get out!" Grace gaped at him as she placed the bowl in the microwave. "Eighteen ninety-five? Are you serious?"
He nodded.
"What year was it when you first got trapped?"
Rage flashed across his face with such high intensity that it startled her. "One forty-nine B.C. by your calendar."
Her eyes widened. "One forty-nine B.C., as in one hundred forty-nine years before Christ? Holy guac. When I called Julian of Macedon, you really are of Macedon. Of the Macedon."
He gave a curt nod.
Her thoughts whirled as she closed the door to the microwave and turned it on. This was impossible. It had to be impossible!
"How did you get trapped in the book? I mean, the ancient Greeks didn't have books, did they?"
"I was originally entombed in a scroll that was later bound to protect it," he said darkly, his face still impassive. "As for how I ended up cursed, I invaded Alexandria."
Grace frowned. Now that didn't make a bit of sense, not that very much of any of this made sense to her. "Why would invading a city get-"
"Alexandria wasn't a city, she was a Priapine virgin."
She tensed at his words, and the implication of how invading a woman might get a man trapped for eternity. "You raped a virgin?"
"I didn't rape her," he said, meeting her gaze with a hard stare. "It was by mutual consent, I assure you."
Okay, there was a nerve there. Grace could see it clearly in his icy demeanor. The man didn't like talking about his past. She would have to be a little more subtle in her questioning.
Julian heard the strange bell toll before Grace pressed a bar and opened the black box where she'd placed his food.
She set the steaming bowl of food before him with a silver fork, knife, paper napkin, and glass goblet of wine. The warm aroma filled his head, making his stomach ache with need.
He supposed he should be shocked by the way and speed with which she'd cooked, but after hearing about things called a train, camera, automobile, phonograph, rockets, and computers, he doubted if anything could take him by surprise now.
In truth, there was nothing left for him to feel since, out of necessity, he'd banished his emotions long ago.
His existence was nothing more than snatches of days strung along centuries. His only purpose to serve his summoner's sexual needs.
And if he'd learned anything over the last two millennia, it was to enjoy what few pleasures he could during each incarnation.
With that thought, he took a small bite of food and savored the delectable feel of the warm, creamy noodles on his tongue. It was pure bliss.
He let the smell of the chicken and spices fully invade his head. It had been an eternity since he'd last eaten anything. An eternity of unrelenting hunger.
Closing his eyes, he swallowed.
More used to starvation than nourishment, his stomach cramped viciously in reaction to the first bite of food. Julian clenched the knife and fork in his hands as he fought against the brutal pain.
But he didn't stop eating. Not while he had food.
He'd waited so long to finally quench his hunger that he wasn't about to stop now.
After a few more bites, the cramps eased, allowing him to actually enjoy the meal again.
And as the cramps lessened, it took all of his willpower to eat like a human and not shovel the food into his mouth by the handfuls in a desperate need to quench the gnawing hunger in his belly.
At times like this, it was hard to remember he was still a man and not some feral, rampaging beast that had been freed from its cage.
He'd lost most of his humanity centuries ago. What little was left, he intended to keep.
Grace leaned against the counter as she watched him eat, slowly, almost mechanically. She couldn't tell if he liked the food, but he kept eating it.
Yet what amazed her were the perfect European table manners he had. She'd never been able to successfully eat that way, and she wondered when he'd learned to use his knife to balance the pasta on the back of his fork and eat it.
"Did they have forks in ancient Macedonia?" she asked.
He paused. "Excuse me?"
"I was just wondering when the fork was invented. Did they have them in..."
You're rambling! her mind shouted at her.
Well, who wouldn't? Just look at the guy. How many times do you think someone has acted like an idiot and had a Greek statue come to life? Especially one who looks like that!
Not often.
"The fork was invented sometime in the fifteenth century, I believe."
"Really?" she asked. "Were you there?"
His features blank, he looked up and asked, "What, for the invention of the fork, or the fifteenth century?"
"The fifteenth century, of course." And then thinking better of it, she added, "You weren't there when the fork was invented. Were you?"
"No." He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin. "I was summoned four times during that century. Twice in Italy and once in England and France."
"Really," she said, trying to imagine what it must have been like back then. "I bet you've seen all kinds of things over the centuries."
"Not really."
"Oh, come on. In two thousand years-"
"I've mostly seen bedrooms, beds, and closets."
His flat tone gave her pause as he returned to eating. An image of Paul pierced her heart. She'd only known one selfish, uncaring jerk. It sounded as if Julian had known many more.
"So tell me, do you just lie in the book until someone calls you?"
He nodded.
"What do you do in the book to pass the time?"
He shrugged, and she homed in on the fact that he didn't possess a wide range of expressions.
Or words.
She moved forward and took a seat across the table from him. "You know, according to you we have a month together, why not make it pleasurable and talk?"
Julian glanced up in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had actually conversed with him, except to issue encouragements or suggestions to help heighten the pleasure he was giving them.
Or to call him back to bed.
He'd learned very early in life that women only wanted one thing when it came to him-some part of his body buried deep between their legs.
With that thought in mind, he drifted his gaze slowly, leisurely, over her body, stopping at her breasts, which grew tight at his prolonged stare.
Indignantly, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited until he met her gaze.
Julian almost laughed. Almost.
"You know," he said, using her words. "There are far more entertaining things to do with a tongue than talk- like run it over your bare breasts and through the hollow of your throat." His gaze dropped down to the table to the approximate area of her lap. "Not to mention other places it can go."
For an instant, Grace was dumbstruck. Then amused.
Then very horny.
As a therapist, she'd heard much more shocking things than that, she reminded herself.
Yeah, but not from a tongue that she wanted to do things with other than talk.
"You're right, there are other things to do with one, like cut it out," she said, taking some satisfaction in the surprise that flickered in his eyes. "But I'm a woman who likes talk and you are here to please me, are you not?"
There was only the subtlest of tenseness to his body as if he resisted his role. "I am."
"Then, tell me what you do while you're in the book."
His gaze bored into hers with a heated intensity that she found unnerving, intriguing, and a bit frightening.
"It's like being trapped inside a sarcophagus," he said quietly. "I hear voices, but I can't see light or anything else. I just stand there, unable to move. Waiting. Listening."
Grace cringed at the very idea. She remembered once, long ago, when she had accidentally locked herself in her father's toolshed. There had been no light, no way out. Terrified, she had felt her lungs seizing up, felt her head go light in panic. She had screamed and pounded on the door until she had bruised her entire hand.
Finally, her mother had heard her and let her out.
To this day, Grace was slightly claustrophobic from the experience. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to spend centuries in such a place.
"How horrible," she breathed.
"You get used to it. In time."
"Do you?" She didn't know, but for some reason she doubted it.
When her mother had released her from the toolshed, she found out she'd only been inside for half an hour, but to her it had seemed like an eternity. What would it be like to really spend eternity that way?
"Have you ever tried to escape?"
The look he gave her spoke loudly.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Obviously, I failed."
She felt horrible for him. Two thousand years spent in a lightless crypt. It was a wonder he was still sane. That he was able to even sit here with her and speak at all.
No wonder he had wanted food. That kind of sensory deprivation was sheer, unrelenting torture.
In that moment, she knew she was going to help him. She didn't know how, but there had to be some way to break him out. "What if we could find a way to get you free?"
"I assure you, there isn't one."
"Fatalistic, aren't you?"
He cast a droll look at her. "Being trapped for two thousand years does that to a person."
Grace watched him eat, her thoughts whirling. The optimist in her refused to take his pessimism to heart, just like the therapist in her refused not to help him. She'd sworn an oath to relieve suffering when she could and Grace took her oaths most seriously.
Where there was a will, there was always a way.
And come heck or high water, she would find a way to get him free!
In the meantime, she decided she would do something for him she doubted anyone else ever had before-she was going to see to it that he enjoyed his reprieve in New Orleans. The other women might have kept him confined to their bedrooms or closets, but she wasn't about to put chains on anyone.
"Well, then, let's just say that this incarnation is for you, bud."
He looked up from his food with sudden interest.
"I'm going to be your servant," Grace continued. "Whatever you want to do, we'll do. Whatever you want to see, you'll see."
One corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement as he took a drink of wine. "Take off your shirt."
"Excuse me?" she asked.
He set his glass of wine aside and pinned her with a hot, lustful stare. "You said I can see what I want to see and do what I want to do. Well, I want to see your naked breasts, and then I want to run my tongue-"
"Whoa, big fellow, simmer down," Grace said, her cheeks scalding, her body white-hot. "I think there should be a few ground rules while you're here. Number one, there won't be any of that."
"And why not?"
Yeah, her body demanded in a half begging, half angry inner voice. Why not?
"Because I'm not some alley cat with her tail up in the air waiting for the nearest Tom to come over, stick it in, and leave."