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  Olivia just stared at him blankly. She’d never responded to Coln with such raw need. Oh, there’d been passion, but not this . . . half-crazed lust.

  He frowned at her. “Olivia, are you all right?”

  She forced a smile despite the sick guilt curling like a worm inside her. None of this was his fault. “I’m fine.”

  Rhys looked a little doubtful. “I asked if you wanted to take a shower.” He hesitated a moment. “You could go first if you’d rather.”

  She winced, belatedly processing the situation. Having invited her to shower with him, he was offering her a way to decline gracefully.

  Olivia summoned a smile. “Let’s conserve some water.”

  Rhys laughed, sounding relieved. He sat up with that effortless strength and put her on her feet, then rose himself. Despite her guilty conscience, she found herself admiring the way that big body unfolded. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

  The house was seriously impressive, with its open floor plan and high-beamed ceilings. The floors were hardwood, while the furnishings were simple and masculine, with touches of luxury. Paintings and photos hung on the walls, suggesting an eye for art, and bookshelves stood packed with paperbacks and hardbacks, all of them visibly well-used.

  The bathroom suggested Rhys was a bit of a sensualist—though she could have guessed that from the way he made love. A glassed-in shower with multiple jets took up one wall, and a huge Jacuzzi tub sprawled across the other, long enough to accommodate his considerable height. Gleaming tile in blue and seafoam green covered the walls and floor in a geometric pattern, cool and smooth beneath her feet.

  While she looked around, he stepped into the shower, turned on the water and tested it, then gestured her inside. Olivia joined him. The warm water pounded down on her hair while he stepped out to collect towels and washcloths to hang over the nearby rack.

  The glass was pebbled, breaking her view of him into abstract blobs of color. Even so, she was struck by how gracefully he moved.

  As he stepped back into the shower, need ambushed her with a craving to run her hands across the broad shoulders, trace the path of water droplets rolling down his chest. Lick them away. Taste his skin. Oh, for the Goddess’s sake, we just had sex. I can’t be this hot already. And if I jump him again so soon, he’ll think I’m a sex addict.

  A bead of water gathered on one small nipple and clung there. She wanted to lick it off so badly, it was all she could do to keep herself from leaning forward.

  Olivia dragged her eyes away and reached for the soap in the dish set in the wall. Rubbing it back and forth in her palms, she started working up a lather. White foam slid from between her fingers, the sensation seductive. Cut it out, she told herself.

  Herself wasn’t listening.

  Glancing down, Olivia realized Rhys must sense her mood. His erection jutted, even longer and more impressive than when they’d made love.

  The shaft had a lovely bowed shape, so thick it was wider than the head.

  Swallowing, she dragged her gaze away and started to stroke the soap over her body. The cool slide of the cake over her breasts was almost enough to make her moan. Lust scalded its way through her, so intense it could’ve been years since the last time she’d made love.

  Something’s wrong here.

  From the corner of one eye, she saw the sparks circling them again, gold and blue-white with darting motes of green. She knew the gold was her own power. The blue-white swirled most thickly around Rhys’s body, which meant it was probably his. The green must be, too; she knew it wasn’t hers . . .

  She bent to run the cake of soap down one thigh. Which was when she noticed the green light was orbiting her body, not his.

  A spell, Olivia realized. Oh shit, that’s the geas—but this time it’s trying to make me have sex with him.

  * * *

  A long stream of lather slid seductively down one of Olivia’s smooth, leanly muscled thighs as Rhys watched with absorbed fascination.

  Which was why he started when she swore viciously and slammed her palm against the shower’s glass door. It banged against the wall as Olivia stomped out. “I cannot believe this!”

  Dumbfounded, Rhys stared after her as the shower pounded his shoulders. A minute ago, she’d been as laid-back and aroused as he was. Now she was furious and he had no idea why.

  “What’s wrong?”

  As he stepped from the shower, she whirled toward him, her eyes bright with fury. “It’s the geas! I’m still under that bloody compulsion spell.”

  He frowned. “But I thought we broke it during the fight.”

  “No, because I can still see it. Look at me, Rhys.” She spread her slender arms wide, displaying her lush body. “Tell me what you see.”

  He fought to ignore the droplets of water glistening on her skin, the lather sliding over her curves. He had the definite feeling a leer wouldn’t be appropriate. “What am I looking for?”

  “The magic. What does the magic look like?”

  When he concentrated, he saw flashes of golden light specked with sparks of emerald green, a lovely fireworks display against the backdrop of her nudity. “Gold and green sparks.”

  “The gold is mine.” She pointed at him, drawing attention to the pulses of blue-white light orbiting his body. “The blue-white is yours. So who the hell does the green belong to?”

  He studied the swirl of sparks orbiting his body. “Blue and yellow do make green.”

  “Sure, if we’re talking paint, but that’s not the way magic works. Sidhe magic falls in the yellow part of the spectrum. Yours seems to tend toward the blue end, just like the Direkind’s. I have no idea what generates green magic.”

  “So you think the geas is still working on you?” He reached toward one of the flashing green motes, instinctively trying to capture it. His skin tingled, and he heard something like a high and distant cry. Definitely inhuman.

  She was right, though he wasn’t sure what made the spark feel so alien.

  Olivia drew in a sharp breath. He looked up to realize she was staring at his hand, her gaze fixed, full lips parted.

  Because your fingers are about half an inch from her nipple, dumbass. His instinct for self-preservation told him he’d better pull that hand away if he wanted to keep it.

  But as he started to step back, her eyes flashed up to his.

  The next instant, his arms were full of deliciously naked woman, kissing him with a starved intensity. Which made no sense whatsoever, since she’d been furious a heartbeat before.

  And that’s what she’s so pissed about. She thinks I’m doing this.

  Catching her by the shoulders, Rhys pushed her gently away until he could meet her gaze. She wore an odd expression, her eyes dazed, even as her mouth drew tight with anger.

  “Are you saying that you made love to me because of the geas?” The question emerged in a low growl. He forced himself to take a deep breath and release her carefully. You didn’t really want to make love to me? He didn’t ask the question out loud. He didn’t really need to. The answer was too humiliatingly obvious. “Are you sure you’re not just . . .”

  “Horny?” She shot him a bitter look before whirling away on one bare heel. “I thought that was what it was at first, but it came on so damn fast. I noticed from the first how fascinated I was with you—the way you moved, your hands, your mouth . . .”

  “So obviously you’re under a spell.” Hearing the sheer offended male ego behind the question, Rhys gritted his teeth. “It’s not my spell, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Of course not.” Olivia made a dismissive gesture. “As you said, your magic’s not green.”

  “I’m also not in the habit of using magic to force women to have sex.”

  At that, she shot him a wary look and sidled a pace away. “Your eyes have turned yellow again.”

&
nbsp; Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. “What’s the point? Why make us have sex?” Though there wasn’t much “making” to it as far as he was concerned.

  He realized a good chunk of his anger was born of disappointment. Rhys had thought he’d finally found a woman like him. A woman who understood magic, who shared his abilities. Shared his passion.

  He should have known better.

  “I have no idea why they’d cast a spell like this on me,” Olivia said, eyeing him warily. She evidently realized just how pissed off he really was. “None of this makes any sense.”

  I’ve got to get some distance from her before I say something I’ll regret. “Look, you take the shower. I want to think.”

  Snatching a towel off the warming rack, Rhys started drying himself off. “I’ll make up the guest room.”

  He managed not to slam the master bathroom door on the way out.

  Chapter Five

  On the other side of it, he hesitated for a moment, wrestling his anger and disappointment.

  It had been some of the best sex he’d ever had. Olivia had gone up in flames beneath him. Rhys had never had a woman react to him like that, not even the ones who knew the size of his bank account.

  And she knew exactly how to drive him completely out of his mind with a kiss, a stroke of skilled fingers, the brush of her body across his.

  He stalked across the bedroom to the walk-in closet, where he pulled out a pair of jeans and a polo shirt at random. As he dressed, he brooded. He supposed he could understand her rage. If he’d realized he was under a spell that forced him to fuck an utter stranger, he’d be pretty pissed, too.

  Extending a hand in front of his eyes, he studied the magic swirling around him. Those blue-tinted sparks were a lot thicker than the field that surrounded her, and there was a lot more turbulence in their swarming motion.

  And there wasn’t so much as one green spark among them. She was right; the spell was just on her.

  Which meant his emotions were genuine.

  Then again, why wouldn’t they be? She was everything he’d ever dreamed of: beautiful, talented, in possession of all the secrets he wanted so badly to know. Of course he was halfway in love with her.

  That fast. You barely know her. Idiot.

  He tossed the clothes on the bed, then headed to a bureau and pulled open a drawer to dig out a pair of briefs and socks. He could have conjured clothing, of course, but he always had a fear that his magic would fail at some inconvenient moment and leave him stark naked in public.

  As he got dressed, he remembered the sight of Olivia riding him like a Valkyrie. All that lovely hair flying around her face, her violet eyes glowing with her magic.

  Dammit, he wanted it to be real.

  Olivia knew the answers to mysteries that had tormented him since he was ten years old. She knew magic, understood how it worked, how to assemble spells to accomplish her goals.

  More than that, she was bright and fierce and courageous, and he’d never met a woman like her.

  And I’m damned if I’m going to just give her up.

  He didn’t need magic to seduce a woman. He’d always found his body, his charm, and his face were enough to do the job.

  And okay, maybe there was some arrogance in that thought, but then, Rhys had always known he was an arrogant son of a bitch. He just usually did a better job of concealing it.

  Arrogance could be useful, though, because it gave you the guts and confidence to go after what you wanted.

  What Rhys wanted was Olivia Flynn.

  The question is, what does she want?

  Well for one thing, she wanted revenge on this Gorin douchebag. Now there was a plan Rhys could get behind. Any bastard willing to torture a child to death had been doing evil shit to a lot of people for a long time. The planet would be a lot better off without the Day-Glo Dickhead on it.

  Both planets.

  Normally Rhys didn’t believe in taking the law into his own hands. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give justice a hand—or even a good strong shove. In Gorin’s case, Rhys would love to shove the bastard into a giant trash compactor, even if he had to conjure one especially for the occasion.

  Assuming, that is, that Gorin was indeed the one behind all this. The werewolves would probably know the answer to that question. All Rhys had to do was capture one of the furry bastards and ask.

  And in the meantime, he meant to convince Olivia that there was more between them than a spell.

  * * *

  Olivia sat on the slick fiberglass bench inside the shower, letting the water pound down on her shoulders.

  Dammit, it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t she entitled to a little pleasure?

  Though maybe a “little” was the wrong adjective. Rhys had damn near blown the top of her head off. And if I’d kept my mouth shut, he would’ve done it again.

  Olivia straightened to let her head thump against the shower’s tile wall. She’d just been so pissed off when she realized her hunger had been driven by a spell.

  The question that really made her crazy was why? There had to be a reason for this, but damned if she had any idea what it was.

  Standing, Olivia reached for the shampoo and poured a palmful of it. It smelled like sandalwood.

  Well, that explained at least part of his seductive scent.

  She considered conjuring something a little more feminine for herself, maybe with notes of lavender to calm her down.

  Then she sighed and started working what she already held through her long, white mane. She could have used magic to banish the dirt, but she’d found over the years that nothing cleared her mind quite like a hot shower. It was as if it washed away all the poisonous thoughts and emotional upheaval.

  And yet now, as she tried to figure out what was going on, her mind remained stubbornly blank. She simply didn’t have enough information. There were too many pieces of the puzzle still missing. And to make matters worse, the puzzle seemed to be getting bigger, with more and more empty spaces opening up, and too few pieces to fit into them.

  Finally, clean but still confused, Olivia got out of the shower, her hair a dripping tail down her back. With a grimace of disgust, she gestured.

  Magic ran the length of her body, and the smell of ozone filled the air. When it passed, her hair floated around her dry body, the fine strands water-free.

  Next she conjured black leggings, boots, and a pretty blue silk top. Pausing in front of the mirrored bureau, she contemplated her reflection. It felt odd to let her bare face show after so many years of concealing it behind a glamour, almost as if she were more naked than she’d been making love to Rhys.

  It had been centuries since she’d been proud of that face. After all, it had been the cause of her family’s murder.

  When she’d come to Mortal Earth two centuries ago, she’d gotten in the habit of wearing a glamour, both to keep Gorin from finding her and to avoid being noticed, as women who looked like her often were.

  So why show my true face to Rhys?

  Ego, she supposed. Or maybe she was just desperate to keep him from kicking her to the curb. I may be a crazy lady who all but announced she wouldn’t sleep with you without being under an evil spell, but at least I’m pretty. Keep me around.

  Geas or no geas, Olivia needed Rhys. He was the only chance she had get the revenge she’d dreamed of for so many years.

  And Sweet Goddess, what kind of bitch does that make me? Using him, putting him in danger, then buying his cooperation with her body. Her mother would’ve been scandalized.

  If she’d still been alive.

  If Ansgar hadn’t ordered her parents’ murder to keep them from offering Olivia sanctuary.

  In the end, there’d been only one place she could go: Mortal Earth. It was so hard to use magic here, you couldn’t really scan the planet for a magical signature th
e way you could back home. And her self-banishment had worked. Olivia had been safe here for two centuries. Now she was in the crosshairs again.

  At least this time she had an ally. Rhys would help her—assuming she hadn’t alienated him so thoroughly he’d kick her out on her ass.

  Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the bedroom door and swung it open.

  “Olivia?” Rhys called from down the hallway in that deliciously masculine voice of his.

  Deep within her, something seemed to clench and heat. She wished she knew whether it was the spell or her own body.

  Olivia nibbled her lower lip, uncharacteristically embarrassed. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic. Hell, I think I’m a lunatic.

  But she wasn’t a coward, so she squared her shoulders and strode down the hall, pausing in the guest room’s open doorway. A queen-sized sleigh bed occupied one side of the room under a dove-gray satin comforter. A cherry bureau stood against the other, across from a cherry rocking chair in one corner.

  Rhys gave her a tight smile and gestured at the newly made bed. “I put on fresh linens.”

  “Thanks.” She gazed at him, wondering what to say. In the end, the choice was obvious. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

  He shrugged those magnificent shoulders. “I don’t blame you. I’d have been just as pissed in your shoes.” He moved toward the door, and she stepped aside. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure this will make more sense in the morning.”

  “Well, it could hardly make less sense.” She grimaced. “Probably shouldn’t have said that. We’ll get a rain of frogs next.”

  His lips twitched. “Or locusts. Don’t forget the locusts.”

  “Goddess, I hope not.” But as he started to walk past, he broke step.

  Olivia found herself looking up into the warm, rich amber of his eyes. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to duck away, he bent his head and kissed her.

  Instant lust scalded through her, but before she could grab for him, he stepped back and gave her a small smile. “Good night, Olivia.”