LITMIR.BIZ

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agree to such a bargain?”

      “Because you’re desperate for any excuse to put your hands on me without admitting you want me.”

      Her lips pursed. “Fine,” she said.

      What! She’d just accepted? If so, he would lie to her right here, right now—which would mean he would have also lied to her about never lying to her, so he would actually need two spankings.

      “You’re gorgeous,” she added, and his excitement plummeted. “Your muscles are exceptional, and I could stare at them all day. But I also like to look at lions, tigers and bears, oh my. Touching them would be detrimental to my health. They’d eat me!”

      “So would I.” Unwilling to give up, he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “Slowly. Thoroughly.”

      She shivered and softened against his. “No?”

      Do not smile. “You can tell yourself it won’t mean anything. A momentary pleasure, nothing more.”

      “Right,” she said, her voice low and husky with want. “Because that’s all it would be.”

      He nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Of course, I would then have to spank you for saying so. For lying to us both.”

      Another shiver. Her hands settled on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. “How could I know whether I had lied or not...until you’d actually pleasured me?”

      A spark of triumph, every fiber of his being demanding he push her for more. Here. Now. She craved his mouth on hers, and he had to strike while she was receptive.

      Honor be damned.

      But he straightened. Only in the midst of a struggle did a man reveal his true character. Valerian would prove to Shaye she could trust him at all times, even when he had to forgo what he wanted most.

      Wide brown eyes regarded him warily. She’d expected him to pounce.

      How would she have reacted? Accepting at first, angry afterward?

      So vulnerable, his little Moon. What kind of life had she led? Had someone hurt her? Had a man betrayed her trust?

      Proving his worth wasn’t just important, he realized. Proving his worth was imperative.

      “Valerian?” His name drifted from her lips, a husky entreaty...a confused plea.

      “Breakfast awaits.” His harsh tone would have sent anyone else running for cover; his need for this woman was so great he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to keep his hands to himself. “Come.”

      Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he’d used the wrong word, considering their conversation. If “wrong” now meant “right.”

      She bristled. “Are you secretly a tease?”

      At any other time, he might have laughed at the intended insult. “No, Moon. I’m a warrior determined to win the war rather than a single battle, and that is hot, hard truth.”

      “You mean cold hard truth.”

      “No, it’s definitely hot.”

      Her mouth opened and closed and, in her delightfully stunned state, she offered no protest as he linked their fingers to lead her through the commons, the central meeting point for the barracks.

      Several couples had decided to camp there and now lay intertwined out in the open. Unlike the frantic moans that had rung out last night, silence reigned.

      “You nymphos need a sexual etiquette coach.”

      He stopped only long enough to pierce her with a hard stare. “Nymphs. Nymphs.”

      Eyes full of innocence, she said, “Nymph... Ohs.”

      Frustrating female.

      “So, what are we going to do about Joachim?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’ll deal with him when he wakes up. Give me an answer this time. I hate not knowing our plan.”

      We and our, she’d said. Not I. Not your. But we and our.

      He liked that she considered him a partner in this. “Worry not. We will do whatever is necessary to remain together.”

      “Whatever is necessary.... Are you talking about—” she gulped “—committing cold-blooded murder?”

      “Yes.” He kicked a pile of clothing out of the way and turned a corner. “But I would swing the blade, and you would merely watch.”

      “Yeah, because that’s the problem I had with the plan.” She sighed. “Is cold-blooded murder not a crime here?”

      “The strong govern the weak. If the weak refuse to obey, they must be pruned from the vine. In what way would it be crime?”

      “And you wonder why I want to go home,” she muttered.

      He wished he could wipe her memory of the surface world! “You will never be harmed here.”

      “Because you plan to protect me. Yeah, yeah. But I’m sure I’m considered a weakling to the rest of your world. At least physically. So what’s to stop the strong from attempting to govern me when you aren’t around?”

      “You are my queen. You govern others. They do not govern you.”

      A fresh, warm scent wafted to him just before the dining hall came into view, the table piled with food. The male centaurs and Minotaurs he’d hired from the Outer City had prepared a feast to welcome the new additions to the household.

      Shaye’s stomach growled, and he experienced a flicker of guilt. He hadn’t fed her dinner.

      He would have to take better care of her in the future. His woman should never go hungry.

      “Usually at this time of day, my warriors surround the table,” he said. Now he and Shaye were alone. Even the servants were gone. “You’ll have to wait to test your power.”

      “One, I’m not your queen yet. Two, I don’t want to order anyone around.”

      His pulse leaped. She’d said yet! “You order me around all the time.”

      “Supposed queen, remember?” she said and fluffed her hair. “If you don’t like my rule, you can cut me loose.”

      He snorted.

      She eased into the chair at the head of the table and eyed him. Expecting him to balk, he was sure. When he didn’t, she shrugged and filled a plate with food.

      As she swallowed a bite of coconut cream, her eyes closed in sweet surrender. “Oh, wow. Who prepared this? Surely not your army. They may look like beefcake, but I seriously doubt they know how to cook it.”

      “As if I would allow my men to cook,” he said, filling a plate of his own before taking the chair beside hers. “They would inadvertently poison us.”

      She popped a grape into her mouth. “So...you’re a chauvinist. Your men belong on the battlefield but never in the kitchen.”

      “Not even close. Food can mean the difference between life and death.” He leaned back and bit into a strawberry. How he would have loved to trace the fruit over her lips and lick the juice away. “The kitchen is a battlefield in its own right. My men simply have no real talent for it.”

      “Perhaps they’re too much like you. Arrogant, bossy, pigheaded, stubborn, half-witted, spoiled, demanding, self-absorbed and morally corrupt.”

      When she paused for breath, he grumbled, “Is that all?”

      “No. Horny. Overbearing. Mean.” She paused, tapped a finger against her lips before nodding. “That’s all.”

      “‘Mean’?” He frowned. “I’ve been the epitome of nice, catering to your every whim.”

      “Did you not steal me from my home? Have you not refused over

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