“You want me?” she asked in a low, sultry voice that made his body burn.

He stared, riveted, as she raised a hand, slipped her index finger between her full lips, and sucked, reminding him how it had felt to have those lovely lips close around his cock, her tongue stroking him until he lost all control. “Yes.” The word emerged as almost a guttural growl.

“You want to be inside me?”

When she drew that finger down over her chest to stroke her breast, his knees threatened to buckle.

“Hell, yes.”

“Then you’re going to have to catch me.”

By the time the words registered, she was out the door.

Eyes widening, another smile dawning, Roland gave chase. He deliberately refrained from using his preternatural speed, curious to see where she would lead him.

Sarah sprinted down the hall to the training room and darted inside.

Slowing, he entered behind her and paused by the door. Though he wouldn’t have thought he could get any harder, he did when he realized where she was heading.

Bypassing the assorted equipment, she crossed a large empty sparring area with a padded floor and turned to face him.

“Here,” she said, continuing backward with slow sensual steps as she watched him avidly. “I want you to take me here.”

Behind her stretched a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Sarah jumped when Roland crossed the distance between them in a single leap. Her heart raced as he prowled toward her with all the grace of a jaguar, eyes glowing, fangs peeking out from between parted lips.

His jeans rode low on his hips, the long, hard ridge of his erection impossible to miss. Barefoot, making no sound on the padded floor, he matched her step for step. The heavy muscles in his chest and rippling abs flexed as he stalked her.

She stopped a few feet from the wall. Roland halted as well, his body so close she could feel his heat, smell his wonderful scent, unclouded by cologne. His head dipped, his warm breath falling upon her neck.

She was already wet and trembling for him.

He inhaled deeply and rubbed his face against her like an affectionate cat as he slipped one arm around her waist. “Turn around,” he whispered.

Her pulse leapt.

Swiveling in his arms, she stared at their reflection in the mirror. This is what she had wanted to see. The two of them locked together. So different, but so good together.

She leaned back into him, raising one hand to cup his head as he nuzzled the base of her neck. The arm around her waist, so strong and tan compared to her pale flesh, tightened, drawing her hips into the cradle of his so she could feel his heavy arousal. Heat seared her as his other hand slid around to cup one breast, kneading, teasing, trapping her hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger, then rolling, pinching.

She moaned, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.

“You like that?” he murmured.

She nodded helplessly, sharp darts of pleasure piercing her.

When he pulled back slightly, she moaned a protest and wavered where she stood.

His arms left her. In the mirror she saw him step back and shuck his jeans, tossing them aside.

He wore nothing beneath them.

Then he hooked his thumbs in the narrow waistband of her panties and tugged them down to her ankles, holding her steady while she stepped out of them.

Moving up behind her once more, he clasped her shoulders, trailed his hands down to her fingers, and drew her arms out away from her sides.

“Look at you.” His heated gaze, glowing that bright, otherworldly amber, swept her form. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“Touch me,” she pleaded, every cell on fire.

A wicked grin tilted his lips. “On your knees first.”

Heart slamming against her ribs, she sank to her knees.

Kneeling behind her, he leaned forward to take her earlobe between his teeth, ever careful not to prick her with his fangs. “Spread your legs for me.”

She did so, watching his hand slide around from behind to recapture her breast.

“Wider.”

Breath shortening, she shifted until her knees were widely splayed.

Roland pressed his hard, muscled, very aroused body against her back.

Brushing her hair aside, he pressed heated kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Only you, Sarah.” He slid his other hand around her waist and down, burying it in the dark thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Sarah gasped, breath shortening as she watched his long, tapered fingers part the tender folds of her body, warm and slick with welcome, and delve deep inside her. First one finger, then two while his thumb circled and stroked her clit.

“Only you make me burn like this.”

She couldn’t respond. Couldn’t speak as the pleasure spi-raled through her, building as she rocked her hips helplessly against him.

Roland groaned. She was so wet for him. So wild for him. Her body clenching around his fingers as he stroked her and inflamed her need, his own building until he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to be inside her.

She moaned a protest when he withdrew his fingers, then cried out when he guided his cock to her entrance and plunged into her hard from behind.

The pleasure on her face was almost his undoing.

His whole body trembled as he withdrew, then plunged again. She called his name, raised her arms, and reached back to grip his hair in her fists, drawing his head down.

He slid his hand back into that tempting triangle of curls, stroking her in time to his thrusts. The scent of her was maddening, heightened by her arousal, making him crave more and more of her.

Eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted on gasping breaths, Sarah stared at their reflection in the mirror, watched his hands touch and tease and stroke her.

Pumping his hips, he thrust deeper and faster, the tension rising. She was close. They both were, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable.

“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered hoarsely, his glowing gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

Her body convulsed around him with the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. Crying out, she clung to him desperately. On and on the pleasure went as Roland continued to thrust.

Just when she thought it would stop, Roland’s body stiffened with his own climax, his fingers danced upon her swollen flesh, and a second orgasm claimed her.

When the last ripples faded, they sank weakly to the floor.

Sarah lay on her side, Roland spooned behind her, and fought to regain her breath.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her close, as though he feared his grasp was the only thing keeping her from slipping away.

Looking over her shoulder, she pressed a kiss to his passion-warmed cheek. “I love you, too.”

Chapter 15

The more immortals Sarah met, the more she understood Roland’s inability to believe she might be of the gifted ones’ bloodline.

Marcus arrived first, garbed in the black jeans, long-sleeved black T-shirt, and boots both he and Roland favored. The blades of the many knives and other wicked weapons that adorned him glinted in the overhead light.

Chris arrived next in dark fatigues similar to the ones David kept on hand for his guests. There was a holstered weapon under each arm and a thick file folder clutched in one hand.

The lovely Lisette soon followed. Sarah had hoped female immortals might show a little more diversity in their appearance, but Lisette’s long, wavy hair was as black as Roland’s, her eyes a lighter shade of brown.

Sarah’s heart sank. One would think that the coloring of the gifted ones would have been diluted at least a little bit after millennia of breeding with ordinary humans. Nothing drastic. A few hazel eyes mixed in. A brown hair woven through the black here or there. Something.

Roland had tried to tell her. No doubt he had wanted to spare her the crushing disappointment that now made her want to weep as Lisette greeted them with a smile.

The only way the Frenchwoman differed from the men was in height and build. She was perhaps five and a half feet tall with a build similar to Sarah’s: slender and athletic, yet shapely. Her long legs were encased in tight black jeans that rode low on her hips. A black tank top clung to full breasts and a small waist, over which she wore a long dark coat similar to the mens’.

Marcus smiled as he moved behind her and removed her coat. “Lisette.”

The inner lining, Sarah saw, contained a number of throwing knives and other blades she couldn’t identify, neatly tucked into loops.

“Marcus.” Her voice was low, warm, colored with a faint French accent, and as beautiful as she was with her porcelain skin and perfectly proportioned features.

Standing next to Roland, Sarah felt jealousy again stir as the woman left Marcus and approached them.

“Lisette,” Roland rumbled.

“Roland, mon coeur.” When she offered him her hand, Roland carried it to his lips for a kiss. “I heard you had left your lair, but did not believe it.”

“It was either leave it or burn with it.”

Even Lisette’s laugh was pretty.

Sarah found herself gritting her teeth.

Roland may not have fallen in love with any woman before her, but he sure as hell hadn’t been celibate. Had he sated his needs with human women, or immortals like this one?

“Is this the woman who saved you?” the Frenchwoman queried.

Roland rested his large, warm palm low on Sarah’s back. “Yes. Sarah, this is Lisette d’Alençon. Lisette, Sarah Bing-ham.”

“An honor to meet you, Sarah,” she said with a smile, extending her hand. “We are all in your debt.”

Sarah shook it and started to mention she hadn’t done anything, but Lisette leaned in.

“He isn’t really my heart,” she said with a smile, indicating Roland with a nod of her head. “I only tease him because he’s shy.”

Across the room, Marcus snorted. “He isn’t shy. He’s antisocial.”

Roland cut him a glare.

Lisette turned toward Chris. “Chris, you handsome devil, what have you found for us?”

He grinned. “You know I hate to repeat myself, chérie. I’ll wait until everyone is here.”