LITMIR.BIZ

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lapsed into silence. Unfortunately, that silence worked against her. Instead of concentrating on the oncoming traffic and construction cones that lined the median, her thoughts drifted to Jorlan’s circumstances. Her insatiable curiosity soon overrode her good intentions. “How long were you imprisoned in the stone?”

      “Nine hundred spans, seventy-two days and twenty-four minutes.” He spoke so quickly, so assuredly, as if he’d never stopped counting.

      “A span is a…”

      “Year. A span is a year.”

      “That means you’re over nine hundred years old.” The truck swerved as she jerked to face him. He’d mentioned that several centuries had passed, but she hadn’t given it any thought until now. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that. Most people never reach the age of one hundred, and those who do absolutely do not look like you. A thousand-year-old man would be buying Depends, drinking Ensure and worrying about osteoporosis.”

      He regarded her strangely. “Most of what you said escapes me, katya, yet will I strive to reply. Once the curse was spoken into existence, I stopped aging.”

      “But you’ll age now, though. Right?”

      “I will not age at the rate of your world, nay. I am part sorcerer, and sorcerers are eternal beings sustained by magic. Immortal. Aye, we can be killed with physical weapons as any flesh-and-blood creature, but if unharmed, our magic will keep us alive for eternity.”

      “But that’s imposs—” She clamped her lips shut. On top of everything else she’d witnessed and heard tonight, what was so unfeasible about a thousand-yearold alien who resembled a Calvin Klein underwear model and would live forever?

      “Oftentimes, the myths and legends of one world are the facts of another. Over the spans,” he said, “many people came into the garden at twilight, whispering of vampires and werewolves, creatures who do not age. Is it so unfathomable, then, that like these creatures, sorcerers can live forever?”

      Unfathomable? No. Not anymore. Frightening? God, yes. “I believe you, Jorlan. I do. I was just taken by surprise, that’s all.” She paused as a thought occurred to her. “You said you’re only part sorcerer. How long will you live?”

      The corner of his eye twitched. “That does not concern you.”

      “I can easily drive you back to the garden, you know. In fact, I’m turning around right now.” She jerked the steering wheel to the left, just to make a point.

      “Because you’re so obviously fascinated with the workings of my world,” he said, his tone stilted, “I will answer this one last question. I am the first and only halfling born between a mortal and a sorceress. My path is uncharted. Mayhap I will live half of forever. Mayhap not.” He paused. “Now you answer a question for me.”

      “Okay.”

      “What think you of love?”

      She blinked at such an odd change of subject. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking. Do you want to know what I think about a man and woman falling in love with each other?”

      “Aye.”

      “Well, I think it’s great.” Her brows knit together. “Why?”

      Instead of answering her, he turned and faced the window with a satisfied smile. Though slight, the movement caused his sheet to part, revealing a portion of his left thigh. Katie’s chin snapped forward. Watch the road, she commanded herself. But her gaze repeatedly returned to Jorlan, and every time she glimpsed him, her mouth watered for a nibble of that golden thigh. He’s not a bucket of chicken.

      He shifted in his seat, exposing more…more…please God…oh yes! The sheet was completely split down the middle, revealing the entire length of his leg.

      “What are you thinking about?” he asked suddenly. “Your face is flushed and your eyes look hungry. Starved, actually.”

      Katie’s cheeks reddened, and she jerked her attention to where it belonged. “I’m not going to bed with you, okay?” Oh my Lord, she thought the second the words escaped her mouth. She might as well have asked him if he wanted to finger paint her naked body with caramel-and-chocolate ice cream and lick it off.

      A knowing, masculine chuckle filled the small cab.

      Thankfully, he didn’t reply and the rest of the ride passed in silence, a silence she was now grateful for.

      At home, she found Jorlan a Dallas PD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants Gray had left behind. While Gray had always looked relaxed and cozy in the clothing, like a man spending a lazy day at home on the couch, watching TV and eating Twinkies, Jorlan looked eatable. His rock-solid build stretched the material and showcased every inch of his brawn. Had any other man ever looked so indecent in sweatpants?

      Note to self: Write Hanes a very stern letter about what’s appropriate in leisure wear.

      P.S. Never invite Gray over again. His clothes are obscene.

      Katie ambled into the living room, her newly clothed alien not far behind her. His gaze scalded her back, causing heat to percolate just underneath her skin. She stopped, whipped around, ready to demand he glance away. She froze instead. By the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was planning something naughty—like removing her clothing piece by piece. Far from angering her, the thought made her heart leap with anticipation. Damn him! The man was too appealing for his own good, and at the moment he was standing way too close for her peace of mind.

      She needed space and some sort of brain enema.

      She stepped away.

      He followed. Their gazes were locked and the space between them crackled with awareness. “If you ask, I will massage my hands in your hair, katya, and set each strand free from confinement.”

      Unable to help herself, she gazed at the hands in question. They were blunt, hard hands, clean yet well-worked. The hands of a warrior. Yet, she thought, under the right circumstances, they were probably capable of extreme gentleness and unending tenderness—a massage being one of those circumstances.

      Before he could sense her growing willingness, however, she planted her hands on her hips and strove for a flippant tone. “The day I ask you to touch my hair is the day I cook you a seven-course meal.” Which meant it would never happen. She wasn’t his slave, and besides that, she hated, hated to cook.

      But never was such a strong word. She probably wouldn’t cook him a meal. No, that didn’t work either. She might not cook him a meal. Damn, damn, damn. If only the sexual tension between them didn’t generate enough electricity to light the entire state of Texas.

      Jorlan inclined his head. A dark eyebrow arched and his expression was amused, as if he’d somehow listened to her internal deliberation. The corners of his mouth rose in that knowing grin she was beginning to despise. “Now I will not just make you ask for my touch, katya. I will make you beg for it. Over and over again.”

      His raspy tone suggested he possessed a sexual knowledge that went beyond the Kama Sutra. When most men spoke, their voice rated no higher than an Encyclopedia Britannica on her Knee Weakening Radar. But Jorlan’s sensuality blared like a cataclysmic force of nature, and he definitely tipped the scales.

      The crux of Katie’s problem was that she didn’t have much experience in dealing with such a sex-minded, eager man. Such blatant, in-your-face masculinity had certainly never been present in any of the men she’d dated. Plus, her intimidating height and take-charge attitude kept most advances at bay.

      Most of all, she just didn’t possess the soft, angelic beauty that inspired ardor. She knew it. Everyone else knew it, but that didn’t seem to bother Jorlan. And maybe that was why he affected her so strongly. Why every moment she spent with him caused her fortitude to wilt a bit more. He was the first man ever to look at her as if she were a succulent morsel to be devoured in one tasty bite.

      What if she was never able to find this type of chemistry again? Never find a man

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