Gena Showalter Bundle: The Stone Prince / The Pleasure Slave / Heart of the Dragon

Do not think about kissing him. Do not think about kissing him. “Anything I said in the garden doesn’t count. I was in the middle of a crisis situation.”

“Crisis situation or no, I still recall your words to me, just before you wrapped your palm around my—”

“That’s enough.” He wasn’t speaking of curses now; he was speaking about her midnight confession. Damn it, you’ve invaded my fantasies, is what she believed she’d said. “I’m sure you misheard. And for your information, touching your…Well, it was an accident.” Before he could add anything else, she said, “Look how late it’s gotten.” Katie pretended to study her wristwatch, only to realize she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Are you ready for bed?” Wrong question.

“I have been ready for some time.” His gaze raked over her with enough heat to incinerate her. “I am still ready.”

Yes, you are, she thought with a sigh. But this situation called for direct negation, not you-have-a-beautiful-body-and-I-could-lick-you-all-over remembrances. Before she could make a caustic remark, Jorlan spoke again.

“I would like to bathe ere I…sleep.” He hesitated over the word “sleep” long enough to make her anticipate “make love to you.”

Gulping, Katie led Jorlan to the bathroom and showed him how to work the knobs. “Place a small drop of shampoo into your hand and lather the bubbles through your hair. If you get it into your eyes…” Her voice tapered to a close, for as she spoke Jorlan gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled the material over his head. “Uh, don’t get any suds in your eyes or they’ll burn so badly you’ll want me to pluck them out. And I might just accommodate you.”

The shirt whooshed to the floor.

She’d seen his chest before—and a whole lot more—but that didn’t seem to matter. Each time she saw his beautifully tanned skin, she had the same reaction. Heat. Fiery heat that erupted into flames. Self-preservation kicked into gear this time and kept her hormones under control.

I have to stop reacting to him like this.

“I would willingly place these suds in my eyes,” he said low and honeyed, “if I knew you would kiss away the pain.”

“And I will forcefully put suds in your eyes if you don’t stop that.”

His chuckle swam over her like a caress, soft and wonderfully erotic. “This I might allow did you press your body against me to do it.”

She ignored that comment, as well as the fluttering in her stomach. “When you’re finished, turn the water off and put your sweats back on. And if you didn’t understand that, let me put it another way. Do not leave this bathroom without getting redressed.” All the basics covered, she raced to the door.

“You do not have my permission to leave.” With the stealth of a trained military man, he moved in front of her, halting her just before escape.

Her back went ramrod-straight. “I don’t need your permission for anything.”

“You are a woman,” he explained.

“You’re very observant, aren’t you?”

He sighed. “You must wash my back.”

“Wash your own back.” Katie inched forward another step. Another. And another. Almost there. If he would just move out of the way…

“As it is clear to me that you do not understand, I will explain another way. My muscles are still stiff from my confinement and require the gentle touch of a female.”

“I’m not touching your back for any reason because I know you’ll consider that part of your rule adjustment. I’ll find myself naked and in the tub with you.”

His long, spiky lashes swept down in a slow, alluring appraisal. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes!”

He leaned against the door frame and smiled. “I can promise you that you will enjoy every moment.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m still not interested.” She pushed past him and closed the door firmly behind her. Alone in the hall, she tried not to imagine all that glorious skin covered with glistening soap bubbles.

She failed.

He emerged half an hour later on a cloud of steam. A clean and fresh floral scent enveloped him. Fortunately, he was wearing his pants. Unfortunately, he was not wearing his shirt, and he was, without a doubt, one hundred percent pure Imperian beef. Droplets of water trickled from his hair and down his rippled chest, pooling in his navel. Her mouth went dry, and she wanted so desperately to lick the moisture from his skin.

Lord, when had she become such a sexual creature?

“All of your ‘shampoo’ was scented for a woman,” he accused.

And for seduction, she silently added, “Are you still hungry?” The words emerged as a croak.

He perked up. “You will feed me?”

“Sure. Why not?” They adjourned to the kitchen, and Katie used that time to cool her mounting desire. All the while doing subtle, deep breathing exercises, she gathered the necessary items for a turkey sandwich. She knew how to cook, very nicely, too. But she hadn’t actually baked a meal since leaving her father’s home at the age of eighteen. A small rebellion, she supposed, for all the years she had slaved over breakfast, lunch and dinner for the men of the house.

“I’m not your personal chef,” she told Jorlan, “so pay attention. Next time, you’re on your own. Are you watching?” Before he could answer, she began, working as she spoke. “Bread. Mayonnaise. Cheese. Turkey. Lettuce. Tomato. Bread. Got it?”

He nodded, and she handed him the sandwich. He ate the blasted thing as if he had never tasted anything so delicious in all his life. Definitely not a nibbler. In fact, he somehow made the simple act of chewing a passionate feat. His strong jaw moved quickly. Potent and intense.

Damn it! She needed to find something about him that turned her off. First Date Syndrome was preferable to Obsession Disease.

Jorlan fixed himself three more sandwiches.

“What are the houses in your world like?” she asked, sitting beside him.

He spoke in between bites, his eyes warm with remembrances. “They are much bigger than those offered here. The stones are more colorful, the chambers open and easily accessible. At times, it seems the sky dusts the floor.” He drained half a carton of milk, then leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grunt.

“Sounds beautiful.”

“’Tis indeed.”

“Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. Alone.”

“Your continued rejection humbles me.” The wry comment was delivered with an equally wry grin.

“Something needs to,” she muttered.

Walking through the hall, a sweet vanilla scent drifted to her nostrils. That was the only thing she liked about the place. The smell. Decorated with a contemporary slant, the interior was too bold, too modern, and lacked character. Instead of wood, the walls were trimmed with silver metal. Instead of carpet or paneling, the floors were covered with mosaic tile. Ceramic animal paws showcased all the light fixtures. She would have preferred a chandelier lit by hundreds of crystal prisms.

Katie knew she’d bought this home for all the wrong reasons. Her dad, who would have a fit if he knew a strange alien male was staying the night with her, believed only men could earn a living as home renovators—or anything else, for that matter. She’d wanted to prove to him that she, a woman, was a success at her business.

To this day, he refused to believe she earned her money on her own and hadn’t borrowed from her brothers.

Ryan James had been raised by the “old school” of thought. Men worked and earned money while women baked cookies, raised the kids and devoted their entire lives to pleasing their husbands. (Much like Jorlan’s perceptions.) Maybe that was why, sixteen years after becoming a widower, her dad still had yet to remarry. No sane woman would take him. He barked orders like a drill sergeant and expected total compliance from those around him.

As a child, that type of ideology could have easily crushed her spirit. Yet her brothers had sought to protect her from their father’s low expectations. They’d made her one of the boys, helped her don jeans and tennis shoes instead of lace and bows. She’d trailed their every step. She’d helped them catch frogs, stood by their sides and fished in a nearby pond, and held her own as they wrestled in the mud.

She and Jorlan reached the guest bedroom. “This is it,” she said, flipping the light switch. The room instantly brightened. “The bathroom, or chamber pot, or whatever you call it, is through the side door. It’s nothing as grand as what you described, but it’s comfortable and private.”