Marked

CHAPTER FIVE

“What do I smell?”

The spoon in Casey’s hand clattered to the stovetop, bounced off the surface and hit the tile floor at her feet. Soup splashed onto her sweater and jeans, and she hissed in a breath.

“Skata,” Theron said, moving toward her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Casey reached for the hand towel hooked over the oven-door handle. She swiped at the mess on her stomach and down her thighs.

Smooth, Case. Real smooth.

“I did not mean to startle you.”

Her hand paused at the sound of that sexy accent, then she gave herself a mental shake and continued wiping her clothes. The man moved like a silent shadow, even injured as he was. She was sure she’d only heard the shower turn off moments ago.

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I was thinking about something else.”

Yeah, right.

He bent at her feet to retrieve the spoon. She looked down and followed him with her eyes as he pushed to stand, then wished she hadn’t.

He towered over her. Nearly six and a half feet and at least two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. His hair was damp from his shower, brushed back from his face and just long enough to curl at his collar in a way that begged her to run her fingers through the damp mass. The long-sleeved black T-shirt she’d bought for him was snug against his muscled chest and arms, the faded Levi’s riding low on his lean hips. Beneath the cuffs of his jeans, his bare feet peeked out, looking ridiculously masculine against her pale pink tile floor.

She swallowed a groan as she flashed on what that body looked like stark naked. The long roped muscles, chiseled angles, hollows and planes that she could now envision way too well. The scars across his chest lived in her mind now, along with that arrow of dark hair that pulled her attention down until just the memory made her blush.

Injured, she’d found him wildly attractive, but now, semihealed and well rested, he was more than that. He was danger on a stick, dangled out in front of her like candy for a child. Every woman’s sex fantasy come true. And for some insane reason he was standing in her kitchen, watching her with wary eyes.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how that had come to pass, and if he weren’t looking at her right now, she’d probably have chalked it up to a dream. But it wasn’t. He was real, smelling of Ivory soap and a hint of her favorite shampoo. She had to block images of him wet and naked in her shower, using her bath products against his naked skin, because just the thought was too much to handle. And because she knew she must look like a moron right now, practically drooling over him, with soup staining the front of her outfit.

She blinked and turned for the cupboard, forcibly breaking the spell she seemed to fall under whenever he looked at her. “What you smell is soup. You must be starving. Have a seat at the table and I’ll get you some food.”

He shuffled across the floor and dropped onto a chair at the round oak table. Only when he grunted did she remember he was injured. “How’s your leg?”

“Better,” he said as she set a steaming bowl in front of him. His eyes barely flicked over the soup before returning to her. “A little sore.” He leaned over and took a deep whiff while she opened the drawer and pulled out a clean spoon. “What is this?”

“Cheddar broccoli. My grandmother’s recipe.” She handed him the spoon, set butter and a plate of warm rolls on the table near his arm. When he continued to stare at her, she choked on a laugh. “Don’t worry, it won’t poison you. I do know how to cook.”

Frown lines creased his forehead, but he spooned up a bite, blew on it, then cautiously tasted a small amount. His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s good.”

Casey smiled as she pulled the refrigerator open and grabbed a soda. She popped the top and set it in front of him, then spooned up a bowl of soup for herself. “I know modern women aren’t supposed to like to cook, but, well, I do. Makes me feel like I’ve accomplished some small feat during the day.”

She slid into the seat across from him and lifted her spoon to taste it herself. He waited and watched, and she had the strangest sense he was checking to make sure she didn’t keel over from food poisoning. She took a second bite and smiled.

The lines across his forehead relaxed, and he resumed eating. He glanced at the can she’d put in front of him, seemed to study it intently, then lifted it and looked inside the hole on top. “What is this?”

“You don’t like soda?”

“Soda?” he asked, turning the can and reading the side. Again he looked at her, waited while she lifted her can and took a drink. Only when she set hers down and went back to eating did he lift his to his lips and take a long swallow.

Then proceeded to spew Diet Dr Pepper all over the table.

Casey leapt from her chair and grabbed the kitchen towel again. She pressed it into his hand and against his mouth. “Not a fan of diet, huh?”

Hack, hack.

“Let me get you something else.”

She opted for a Coors from the refrigerator, since she never bothered to buy regular soda, and handed him that. He downed half of it before he pulled the bottle from his mouth with a frown and glanced at the label. “It tastes like water.”

She grabbed another towel to mop up the soda. “Well, it’s not a Guinness, but it’s definitely not water. Where the hell are you from that you don’t drink diet soda or light beer?”

He finished coughing and studied the can of diet soda on the table as if it might just jump up and bite him. After polishing off the rest of the beer, he set the empty bottle on the table before he said, “A small village. We…do not have a lot of foreign trade.”

No kidding. Casey slid back into her seat. “A small village where?” On Mars?

He finally tore his gaze from the can and looked up into her eyes. Familiarity sparked again as she studied his face. What was it about him that made her feel like they’d met before?

“A small village near the Aegean.”

“The Aegean Sea?” He nodded. Well, that sort of made sense, actually. She’d known he wasn’t American. Casey went back to her soup. “So you’re Greek.”

“No, not exactly.” Just when she was sure he wasn’t going to go on, he said, “The…political arena where I’m from is ever changing.”

He had the strangest way of putting words together. Like he was trying too hard to sound normal.

“I see,” she said. Though she really didn’t. She knew the Yugoslav wars in the 1990s had changed the landscape of the Balkan region. Though she could trace her roots to the area and she was good with geography, even she wasn’t sure how countries had been divvied up after the gunfire had ceased. “So what brought you to Oregon? It’s a pretty long trip for you.”

He nodded and reached for a roll. “I was looking for a friend.”

The woman at the club.

Casey swallowed back a spurt of jealousy she didn’t understand and continued eating. But a lump of remorse settled hard in her stomach when she realized what she had to tell him next.

She set down her spoon and wiped her hands on her napkin, laying it next to her bowl on the table. “I don’t know what happened to the woman you were with. When I found you in the parking lot, she was gone.”

He didn’t look up from his food. “She’s fine.”

Just what the heck does that mean?

“How do you know? You were already hurt by the time I reached you. Where did she go?”

Almost as if he realized he’d said too much, he lowered his spoon and met her eyes. She saw knowledge and secrets in his dark gaze. Coupled with the flat-out truth he wasn’t going to explain anything to her.

She leaned back in her chair and narrowed her gaze, trying to look at him objectively and not as the sex symbol she’d been fantasizing about earlier. “You know, I’m starting to think something about you just isn’t right. What did happen to you? Someone attacked you in that parking lot, didn’t they? You weren’t hit by a car. No matter how many times I’ve tried to tell myself that’s all that happened, I know it’s not. I think it’s about time you were honest with me.”

He clasped her arm on the table before she even saw him move, turned her palm up, slid his fingers down the center of her hand and hooked his pinky around her thumb, pinning her hand with ease. Slowly, he circled his index finger over the center of her palm, down to the heel of her hand, lower, until electricity burned along her wrist. Sparks shot straight to her spine and a warm, almost liquid sensation rushed through her entire body.

Her breathing slowed. The pupils of his eyes grew until she found herself staring into pools of obsidian dark as night. And suddenly she had trouble remembering just what it was she’d gotten so worked up over only a moment before. Though she knew there was something. Some reason. Hanging on the edge of her subconscious. Why couldn’t she reach it?

But the thought was overridden by the way he was touching her. So…sinfully delicious and…oddly peaceful.

“Listen carefully,” he said slowly. “I was walking across the parking lot when you turned the corner in your car. It was dark. You were tired. You didn’t see me until it was too late. Your car hit me. You brought me here because you were worried about me and felt guilty. I’m not familiar with American hospitals and didn’t want to go to one if I didn’t have to. You helped me heal. You did a good thing.”

Yeah, that had to be the way it happened. Casey’s heart rate slowed as she relaxed further into his gentle caress. He had the softest fingers. His hands were warm and tantalizing. She couldn’t help but imagine those strokes running over her shoulders, down to her abdomen and finally up to her breasts.

“You want to continue to help me,” he said in an even softer voice. One that sounded like velvet and sandpaper all at the same time and ignited a rush of hormones deep in her body. “Anything I need.”

Of course she needed to help him. His injuries had been her fault. But…anything? Her cheeks warmed. Visions of his naked body laid out like an offering on her white comforter rushed through her mind again.

And that’s when she saw the wicked smile curling one side of his mouth, almost as if he could read her thoughts. “Yes, meli,” he whispered. “Anything I want, you will do for me.”

Heat snaked through her abdomen, dripped lower until she felt the unmistakable wetness of her arousal. And then he broke the contact with her hand as quickly as he’d grasped it.

She blinked several times. Felt oddly light-headed. Though he went back to his meal, her skin tingled as if he were still caressing her wrist. And something unfurled inside her then, some hidden part of her that had been waiting. Waiting for…this moment her whole life.

“Your soup is getting cold, meli,”

Casey tore her gaze from his rugged good looks and glanced down at her bowl. Riiiiight. Dinner. That’s what she was supposed to be focusing on. Not on him and some strange feeling that didn’t make a lick of sense.

Slowly, because her hand was trembling, she lifted her spoon and took a small bite. But didn’t taste a thing. Because what she suddenly wanted on her tongue wouldn’t come close to fitting on a spoon.

Some kind of instrumental music filtered through speakers in the ceiling as Theron sat in the kitchen watching Casey clean up the dishes from dinner. A candle in a large hurricane lamp flickered in the center of the table, casting warm light and the scent of vanilla across the room. But what held his attention wasn’t the candle or music, but rather the woman in his line of sight.

Woman. Holy Hades. A human woman. One he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. He’d changed his mind right there during dinner. When he’d held her hand in his and recognized the desire in her eyes. For some reason, the Fates had given him this respite here with her while he healed. Why should he fight it?

Her back was to him as she washed their dishes. He’d offered to help, but she’d told him to sit and relax and not irritate his injuries. If she knew what he was planning, she wouldn’t be standing there looking so at ease.

Snug jeans molded to her body like a second skin. Her simple white V-neck sweater was somehow hotter than any lingerie the Argolean gynaíkes he’d been with over the years had ever worn. Watching her, blood rushed to his groin and tightened his jeans until he had to shift in his seat to release the pressure.

He lifted the lager in his hand and took a small sip to cool the heat building in his veins. He’d had better, but this wasn’t too bad. And it beat that carbonated crap any day. Humans had some strange tastes, though this one he sort of enjoyed. And he could go on watching the woman in front of him move all night long.

Which was ironic, considering he’d given his kinsman Zander such a hard time about his unhealthy obsession with human women. And yet, here he was.

Theron’s watched her lean down and place a pan in a bottom cupboard. The denim stretched across her heart-shaped ass, the waistband dipping low over her back until he saw a glimpse of white lace peeking from beneath. His pulse kicked up and the blood roared in his head.

She opened a cupboard to her right and eased up on her toes to put a bowl away. When it was obvious she was having trouble reaching the highest shelf, he rose slowly and moved to help her. The pain in his leg had dimmed to a dull throb, but there was no reason to tell her that.

Citrus and lavender drifted to his nose when he got close, remnants of the same shampoo he’d used in her shower and something else that could have been lotion or perfume, he wasn’t sure which. He eased in behind her and took the bowl from her hand. “Let me help.”

She stiffened as their fingers brushed. The muscles in her arms and legs went rigid. His chest brushed her back as he set the bowl on the top shelf, and his elbow ran down her forearm in a barely there brush of skin against skin.

“Thank you,” she said softly, easing back down on her feet. The motion brought his hips into contact with that delectable ass he’d been admiring before, and the erection he’d been fighting all night came roaring back.

He knew she felt it because she went still. All through dinner, as they’d made mindless small talk about the area and the lake and her neighbors, she’d been looking at him like she wasn’t sure what he would do next. For a while he’d thought it was fear making her wary, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. The way her body tensed, the way she drew in a sharp breath and held it without moving at their contact was a clear sign of arousal.

Neither of them spoke, and in the silence he could hear her heart beating its erratic rhythm. He lifted a lock of hair from her shoulder and ran it between his thumb and forefinger. It was smooth and silky, and he had a wicked desire to see the dark mass spill over his abdomen as her lips trailed south along his body. He lifted the lock to his nose and sniffed. “Oranges or grapefruit?”

She swallowed. “Bed Head.”

His brow lifted, and he knew she caught his confused expression from the corner of her eye. “It’s a type of shampoo.” She turned slowly and eased back just enough so her sweet behind brushed against him and then was gone. “You really do live in an isolated area, don’t you?”

He nodded, watching the way her eyes flicked over his face as if searching for the answer to some unspoken question.

“I’m almost done here,” she said, “and it sounds like the CD ran out. Why don’t you go into the living room and find something else to listen to? The CD player’s in the entertainment center.”

At her words, he realized the speakers in the kitchen were silent. “If you wouldn’t mind, there are a few stitches left in my leg that could be removed. I could use your help.”

Her gaze flashed down to his denim-clad thigh, hovering momentarily on his growing erection. Her eyes widened slightly just before a blush crept over her cheeks. She turned quickly back to her dishes. “Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll, um, grab some supplies and meet you in the living room.”

A grin sliced across Theron’s mouth as he headed for the stereo cabinet. His leg was growing stronger by the minute, and there really was no reason to remove the few stitches that were left, as they’d be gone by the following morning, but he wasn’t above using any means he could to get his little human exactly where he wanted her.

She was, he decided as he opened the cabinet and glanced around the living room, a multitude of inconsistencies. When he’d asked how she found him behind that strip club, she’d told him she worked there. He’d tried to picture her in XScream but couldn’t. She was tall for a woman, and she definitely had the body to strip, but there was an innocence to her eyes that other humans who worked in those places lacked. The way she’d taken care of him after the attack—a stranger who’d stumbled out of a strip club, no less—was in direct opposition to the tough woman she obviously had to be in such an establishment. He tried to reconcile the two parts of her but couldn’t.

And then there was this house. Before he’d made his appearance in her kitchen, he’d taken a thorough tour and familiarized himself with both the interior and exterior. The house itself was old, the interior done mostly in white with bead-board walls and delicate crown moldings. The rooms were small, the ceiling only a foot or so above his head. The furnishings were antiques he couldn’t picture her buying, because they didn’t fit with what he’d seen in her bedroom: a red velvet club chair and fluffy gold pillows he could easily envision her sinking into. Modern art on the walls, a silver-framed mirror reflecting back into the room. Most of the house looked decorated by an elderly person. That one room didn’t.

He made a mental note to ask her about the difference, and then changed his mind. In the long run her answer wouldn’t matter. After tonight he’d never see her again.

He found the stereo equipment and was just opening the CD drawer when she walked into the room. A hint of lavender preceded her, signaling her arrival to his senses, setting off a heated reaction in his groin.

“Did you find anything worth listening to?”

He grabbed the first CD in the stack and read the cover. “Bing Crosby?”

Casey burst out laughing. He turned at the infectious sound, not entirely sure why she found his suggestion so amusing, but enjoying the reaction. If there was one thing he’d learned about humans over the last two hours, it was that they were wildly unpredictable and passionate in ways Argoleans never were.

“Is that wrong?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not if you’re eighty, I suppose.” She walked toward him and stopped so close he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Her fingers brushed his as she flipped through the stack, sending a tingling along his nerve endings that, oddly, relaxed him. “Most of these were my grandmother’s. She had a thing for good ol’ Bing.” She held up two CDs with Christmas trees on the front. He knew enough about human culture to recognize the holiday. “She’d listen to these year-round. Didn’t matter if it was June or December.”

She put Bing’s CDs back and flipped a few more before she found one she liked. “Try this one. It’s mine. I’ll go grab my first-aid supplies while you do that.”

He glanced at the CD cover. A man in a white shirt and big cowboy hat looked back at him. He didn’t have a clue what kind of music it was, but he figured if she picked it, it had to be good. Music began filtering out of the speakers as he moved to the couch and sat down.

The seat wasn’t large enough for his big body, but he stretched his legs out and relaxed back into the cushions anyway. He could hear Casey rummaging in the bathroom cabinet and smiled to himself. It had been a long time since he’d had to seduce a female. As an Argonaut, Argolean woman were his for the taking. If he wanted companionship, a crook of his finger was usually all it took.

She came back into the room and sat on the edge of the sofa just out of his reach, placing the first-aid kit on the low coffee table. “I love Kenny Chesney. He’s got the best voice.”

For a fleeting moment, he wondered just who the heck this Kenny person was and how he could find him and beat him to a pulp. Then when she started humming along to the music, he realized she was talking about the singer on the CD.

And wasn’t that just the weirdest reaction to have? If he were human, he’d have defined the feeling as jealousy, but that was an unknown emotion for an Argonaut.

He managed a wan smile.

She glanced at his face with a look of skepticism; then her gaze ran down to his legs and back up again quickly. A blush crept across her cheeks, one that warmed his blood all over again.

“You”—she cleared her throat—“are going to have to take off the pants if you want me to, ah, look at your leg.”

He fought to keep from grinning as he rose slowly from the couch, making sure to wince as if his leg was definitely hurting, and slid his hands to the top button of his jeans. Her eyes followed and froze, intent on watching what he was about to reveal.

A wicked thought occurred. And blood rushed to his groin.

Anything I want.

He popped the top button and hesitated. “I’m still a little weak, meli. I think I’m going to need your help with this. Give me your hand.”