like a snake-charmer, mesmerizing with his stare: “Look at me, Brooke.” His voice was beautiful, powerful, so deep and alluring…
So very, very dangerous.
She squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the inherent potency of it with all of her will. No. Don’t do it, Brooke. Do not look at him.
He pitched his voice an octave lower and repeated the words: “ Look at me .”
Though her every instinct protested, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
And then, he threaded his fingers through her hair, and heaven help her but she could have sworn a current of electricity shot through his fingers, and she wanted to crawl into his lap and immerse herself in the peace he was offering. He began to rub soft, gentle circles along the base of her scalp, directly over the area she had thumped against the door, and the pain subsided instantly—as if it had never been. What was this power he had? This inhuman ability to soothe, heal, and coerce? It had to be bad. Some sort of voodoo or sorcery.
“Don’t,” she whispered again, the sound drifting softly from her lips. “Let go of me.” Even as she spoke the words, her head lolled back against his hand, betraying the fact that she wanted more of his touch.
And then a deep wave of serenity flooded her entire body.
It swept down from the top of her head, spread out through her neck and shoulders, and traveled along the length of her torso, grounding at her feet. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn someone had just pumped an IV full of Stadol into her veins—and he had done it with only his touch. No one should have that much power. No man. No animal. No earthly being should possess that much control. And she knew, instinctively, that he did.
Oh, did he ever—
Far beyond what she was seeing now.
It was painfully evident in his countenance—in his eyes and his mannerisms—that the man possessed some sort of raw, uninhibited power. He wore it like some men wore clothes…in the proud way he held up his head, in the hard, absolute set of his jaw, in the strength and regal stature of his shoulders, and in the infinite wisdom reflected in his eyes.
Who was he?
What was he!
Brooke shifted her weight and gently shoved at his arm to break their contact, hoping she would not provoke his wrath. Dear God in heaven, what would anger look like in a man like this? “Please, don’t touch me,” she said, wishing there had been more authority in her own voice.
“If that is truly your wish.” He drew back his arm, sat back in his seat, and turned to look out the window, seemingly unaffected.
Brooke doubted there was much that could affect this man, if anything.
If that is truly your wish?
Had he actually complied that easily?
Was he really that agreeable?
She bit her bottom lip and almost dared to hope. “Could you take me back to the hotel, please? Napolean?” She spoke respectfully, using his name for effect—somehow understanding that he was accustomed to being addressed with great deference.
“I’m sorry, I cannot.” His eyes were kind but stern, his resolve unwavering.
Brooke frowned, and then she shook her head, trying to throw off the mesmerizing cadence of his voice. “Um, why not?”
He smiled then, and it was as if the full glory of the moon had taken residence in the car. “Because you are my destiny , and there is much we must learn about each other in a very short amount of time.”
Brooke jolted. “Excuse me?” Before he could answer, she started to protest. “Um, I can pretty much guarantee you that whatever this destiny thing is, I’m definitely not that person. I mean, no offense; you seem like a really…interesting guy and all, but”— stop it, Brooke —“truly, I just want to go home.” Her eyes started to fill with tears. Damnit , she did not want to cry. She did not want to appear as afraid as she was. Brooke knew better than to give a predator an invitation to pounce—not even one who projected utter nobility and
So very, very dangerous.
She squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the inherent potency of it with all of her will. No. Don’t do it, Brooke. Do not look at him.
He pitched his voice an octave lower and repeated the words: “ Look at me .”
Though her every instinct protested, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
And then, he threaded his fingers through her hair, and heaven help her but she could have sworn a current of electricity shot through his fingers, and she wanted to crawl into his lap and immerse herself in the peace he was offering. He began to rub soft, gentle circles along the base of her scalp, directly over the area she had thumped against the door, and the pain subsided instantly—as if it had never been. What was this power he had? This inhuman ability to soothe, heal, and coerce? It had to be bad. Some sort of voodoo or sorcery.
“Don’t,” she whispered again, the sound drifting softly from her lips. “Let go of me.” Even as she spoke the words, her head lolled back against his hand, betraying the fact that she wanted more of his touch.
And then a deep wave of serenity flooded her entire body.
It swept down from the top of her head, spread out through her neck and shoulders, and traveled along the length of her torso, grounding at her feet. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn someone had just pumped an IV full of Stadol into her veins—and he had done it with only his touch. No one should have that much power. No man. No animal. No earthly being should possess that much control. And she knew, instinctively, that he did.
Oh, did he ever—
Far beyond what she was seeing now.
It was painfully evident in his countenance—in his eyes and his mannerisms—that the man possessed some sort of raw, uninhibited power. He wore it like some men wore clothes…in the proud way he held up his head, in the hard, absolute set of his jaw, in the strength and regal stature of his shoulders, and in the infinite wisdom reflected in his eyes.
Who was he?
What was he!
Brooke shifted her weight and gently shoved at his arm to break their contact, hoping she would not provoke his wrath. Dear God in heaven, what would anger look like in a man like this? “Please, don’t touch me,” she said, wishing there had been more authority in her own voice.
“If that is truly your wish.” He drew back his arm, sat back in his seat, and turned to look out the window, seemingly unaffected.
Brooke doubted there was much that could affect this man, if anything.
If that is truly your wish?
Had he actually complied that easily?
Was he really that agreeable?
She bit her bottom lip and almost dared to hope. “Could you take me back to the hotel, please? Napolean?” She spoke respectfully, using his name for effect—somehow understanding that he was accustomed to being addressed with great deference.
“I’m sorry, I cannot.” His eyes were kind but stern, his resolve unwavering.
Brooke frowned, and then she shook her head, trying to throw off the mesmerizing cadence of his voice. “Um, why not?”
He smiled then, and it was as if the full glory of the moon had taken residence in the car. “Because you are my destiny , and there is much we must learn about each other in a very short amount of time.”
Brooke jolted. “Excuse me?” Before he could answer, she started to protest. “Um, I can pretty much guarantee you that whatever this destiny thing is, I’m definitely not that person. I mean, no offense; you seem like a really…interesting guy and all, but”— stop it, Brooke —“truly, I just want to go home.” Her eyes started to fill with tears. Damnit , she did not want to cry. She did not want to appear as afraid as she was. Brooke knew better than to give a predator an invitation to pounce—not even one who projected utter nobility and
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