Born of Fire Read online

  That wasn't Syn's kiss. His soft, tender lips belied the cruelty she knew him capable of.

  Closing her eyes, she breathed in the warm, manly scent of him as his tongue gently probed her mouth, dancing with hers before his teeth nipped tenderly at her bottom lip.

  Syn closed his eyes, savoring the succulent velvet of her mouth as he inhaled the pure scent of female. Never in his life had he tasted anything so wonderful. So addictive.

  She was sweet and soft. He released her hands and cupped her cheek. Then he left her lips and trailed a path with his mouth down her cheekbone.

  Shahara shivered as his whiskers gently scraped her skin before he nuzzled against the sensitive flesh of her neck. Her throbbing intensified as chills spread all over her.

  His warm breath tickled her ear while he whispered something poetic in a language she couldn't understand.

  Unbidden, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, caressing the corded muscles that rippled beneath the smooth silk of his shirt. His rich, warm voice continued to soothe her with its strange, melodic language. Lulling her, hypnotizing her.

  She'd never known a man could hold her without causing pain and her newfound knowledge amazed her.

  Syn shifted and she felt the hard bulge of him against her thigh.

  Panicked shock jolted her.

  In that instant, Shahara remembered herself and why she'd come. He wasn't a tender man and he damned sure wasn't a kind one.

  He was a vicious killer.

  Hissing, she gripped his ponytail and pulled him away from her. "Vanna sitiara!" She caught him under the chin with her fingernails.

  His oath matched her own as she raked his flesh. At this point, she didn't care if he killed her. She refused to ever lie with a man wanted for rape and murder. Men were cruel and abusive by nature and she'd die before she ever submitted to one.

  Syn grabbed her hands again and held them by her face. His breathing labored, he curled his lips into a fierce snarl.

  Bravely, Shahara glared her hatred at him. "If you rape me, convict, I'll tear your heart from your chest and feed it to you!"

  The anger fled his features. His eyes went strangely dull as if something from his past shredded him. It was as if she stared into the face of a statue without any emotions or life at all.

  "I've never raped a woman, and I have no intention of starting now."

  A drop of blood fell from his neck where she'd scratched him and landed on her cheek. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at her eyes. "I'm going to release you. If you attack me again, it'll be the last time you ever make such a mistake."

  The icy dare in his voice quelled her more than his words. She had no doubt he would make her long regret any more moves against him. And like Gaelin, he would relish her torture. Laugh at her while he did it.

  But there would come a time when his guard would lax. Then he would be hers and she'd make him pay dearly.

  He released her hands and rose.

  Shahara lay there for a moment, warily watching him.

  Without taking his gaze from her, he retrieved the bottle from the floor. He gripped it so tightly, his knuckles protruded sharply against the leather of his glove.

  "Go ahead, throw it at me."

  A glimmer of shock passed across his features before he recovered his impassiveness. "I should. Hell, if I had any sense at all, I'd kill you and dump your body in the nearest slime hole."

  Shahara lifted her chin defiantly. Far better opponents than he had tried and failed. "Then why don't you?"

  "I have an appointment to keep."

  The unexpected response was far from comforting. But it served to weaken her cockiness.

  He slid his hand under his chin and cursed when he withdrew it and saw the blood on his glove. He gave her a look of such loathing that she thought he might kill her after all.

  Instead, he turned around and headed into the bathroom.

  She wiped his blood from her own cheek and listened to water splash against the basin. Rising from the floor, she stood in the bedroom uncertain about what to do next.

  How was she going to get out of this mess?

  Was he going to kill her? And just what would he do to her before he took her life? Various terrifying possibilities flashed through her mind, making her shiver.

  Hesitantly, she walked to the bathroom door that he'd left partially open. He stood in front of the sink, wiping the blood away with a washcloth.

  "What are you going to do with me?"

  His hand paused under his chin and he met her gaze in the mirror.

  The hatred in the dark stare chilled her all the way to her soul. "I don't know," he said at last. "I've never had anyone stupid enough to break into my house."

  The insult brought her temper to boil. "I'm not stupid."

  His disbelieving snort made her want to carve his heart out. "Breaking into my house wasn't exactly an award-winning act of intelligence. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a landline or computer here, or any other way for you to contact anyone on the outside. You can't get through the scanner that runs over the doors and windows unless I disarm it. So where does that leave you?"

  Shahara's stomach churned. It left her at his mercy and they both knew it. "I won't be your plaything."

  His scathing glare raked her body as if she were the most disgusting thing alive. "Don't flatter yourself."

  He rinsed out the washcloth and hung it on the towel rack to dry, then pulled out a tube of medicine and began applying it to the scratches. "I'll be gone until morning. You have the freedom of the place until then."

  He turned around and faced her, his eyes piercing her with lethal coldness. "But I warn you now, there's only one thing in this life that I treasure and that's my home. If you so much as put a scuff mark on my floors, I will take it out of your hide."

  In spite of the threat and the fact that she knew he would carry it out, Shahara narrowed her gaze. Show them no fear. That was the first lesson she'd learned as a young teen. "I don't take orders from convicts."

  Faster than she could blink, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to him with a steely grasp. His eyes snapped vivid black fire, provoking a potent fear inside her that she hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

  In that instant, she knew this man was capable of anything.

  His grip tightened. "Mess up anything, and I'll throw you to a rape gang so fast you won't even have time to protest before they cut out your tongue."

  Shahara swallowed at the threat that reached the center of her panic in a way nothing else did. It was her very worst fear. Her heart pounding, she stared at him, unwilling to let him know how much his threat frightened her.

  Despite her effort, she had the distinct feeling he knew anyway.

  She pulled her wrist free of his tight grasp. Why was he willing to leave her in his home? It didn't make sense. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

  "Think up ways to kill me while I sleep."

  The blase tone didn't comfort her in the least. "I've already got a large number of them in mind."

  He shrugged. "I should warn you that if you succeed in killing me, you'll never get out of here alive. You'll starve to death long before anyone misses me and thinks to come here to see if I'm all right."

  Now that was something she hadn't thought of.

  "Like I won't starve to death anyway if you keep me here without food," she said sarcastically, thinking about the empty cupboards in his kitchen.

  Without a word, he snatched his gloves off the counter, walked past her and pressed the controls to open his closet. He pulled out a black leather jacket and shrugged it on his massive shoulders. "You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch. If it'll make you feel any better, lock the bedroom door."

  That said, he left the room.

  Shahara stood in shock at his words. One minute he threatened her, then in the next he offered her a relative amount of safety.

  What kind of convict was he?

  Before she could regain her thoughts, she heard the front door close behind him.

  Syn leaned his head back against the closed door and took a deep breath to center his raging emotions and hormones. It'd been years since anyone had knocked him so off-kilter. A cynical stoic by birth, he'd always been able to control himself, control his emotions.

  But something about Shahara made a mockery of his iron will.

  He didn't know what was wrong with him. How could he be mad enough to kill her, then turn around and kiss her?

  If he didn't know better, he'd swear she used pheromone enhancers.

  "You're losing your edge." If he had one single brain cell left, he'd cuff her to the bed instead of giving her the freedom of his house to devise a way to kill him once he returned.

  But then he knew the reasons for that particular stupidity. One, she was Caillen's beloved sister and he didn't want to traumatize her too badly and have his friend never speak to him again over it. Two, she reminded him too much of Talia. The scared look in her eyes as she watched him, expecting him to throw her to the ground and tear her clothes from her.

  He hadn't been old enough to protect his sister--a fact he'd never come to terms with.

  And he would never harm a woman like that. Anyone for that matter. It just wasn't in him.

  But what was he going to do with her?

  Sighing, he wished he knew an easy answer. He'd give her a few hours alone. Maybe then she would calm down enough that he could speak to her without her trying to claw him to shreds.

  Or maybe he should tell her he was a friend of Caillen's . . .

  Yeah, right. She most likely wouldn't care. And considering the type of people Caillen usually associated with, it would only give her another reason to take him in. She'd probably consider it a community service.

  No, it would be best to keep his friendship with her brother a secret.

  Surely by morning she'd be willing to listen to him. For now he had a shipment to focus on and his legitimate business affairs.

  Shahara leaned her head back, letting the hot water slide against her body. It'd been a long time since she last had a hot shower . . .

  And this was heaven.

  In her flat, she was lucky to have lukewarm water even in the summertime.

  She must be insane to shower when she should be plotting an escape, but as she'd searched his place, the temptation had been too much for her. Besides, Syn had told her he'd be gone for the night so she had hours left to plot a way home. For just a few minutes, she was going to indulge herself.

  Feeling much better and with clearer thoughts, she left the shower, grabbed the long, fluffy towel on the bar and wiped the water from her face. She gasped as she realized the scent of musk in the towel smelled just like Syn.

  She clenched her teeth in anger and tossed the offending towel to the floor. No matter how good he might smell or look, Syn was a convict with an extremely violent past. She must never forget that.

  Just as she bent over to pick up her underwear from the floor, the door to the bathroom swung open.

  Horrified, she straightened and stared into a pair of beautiful, wide dark eyes.

  Syn froze dead in his tracks as all breath left his body like he'd been sucker punched. He couldn't have been more stunned had he opened the door and found a huge lorina waiting there to devour him.

  Then again, he had to admit he much preferred the sight of Shahara's well-rounded ass greeting him.

  She stood in all her naked glory, her pale skin glistening from tiny water droplets. Her mahogany hair clung to her body, dripping tiny beads of water onto the floor. And one particularly attractive, long strand was curled around her right breast.

  Ooo damn . . .

  Just as he'd suspected, her muscles were tight and well toned, and her breasts were made just the right size for a man's hand.

  Of its own accord, his gaze dipped to the mahogany triangle at the juncture of her thighs and . . .

  His tongue became terribly thick, and he hoped it wasn't hanging on the floor.

  Or worse, that he was drooling.

  Shahara couldn't move. Those dark, predatorial eyes hypnotized her like a snake's. He stood so still that he could have been a statue.

  Only he wasn't.

  He was a man, flesh and blood. And as she watched him, a slow appreciative smile spread across his face.

  Her face flooding with fire, she found her voice. "Get out!" she screamed, snatching her battlesuit off the floor and holding it up to her. "How dare you! You bastard!" She rushed toward him, shoving him back into the front room. "Get out and stay out!"

  Before Syn could fully recover himself, she slammed the door shut in his face.

  And to think he'd assumed she was locked in his bedroom. Yeah . . . That'd teach him to assume anything.

  Then again, that view had gone a long way in making up for the skin she'd clawed off him earlier. He smiled at the thought.

  Until he remembered he still hadn't retrieved his pack from the bathroom cabinet.

  Ah, shit . . .

  He rolled his eyes as he debated going back into the bathroom for it.

  Nah, that would be a mistake. This time, she might kill him. "Better leave it alone and not worry about it." Cause he had a feeling that if she saw him again right now after he'd embarrassed her, he'd be limping.

  More.

  Better to get out with all his body parts intact.

  Not to mention what Caillen would do if he ever learned of the view he'd just received.

  Yeah, he didn't retreat often, but in this . . . There was no other option.

  Shahara fumed as she heard Syn's deep laughter through the door, making her burn for retaliation.

  Her hands shaking, she fastened her battlesuit. Her cheeks stung with heat. How could she have been so foolish? He was a ruthless felon and a liar. She knew that. Why had she bathed in such a man's home?

  Thank goodness she'd been outside the shower when he found her. There was no telling what he might have done had she been trapped inside the shower cubicle.

  Once dressed, she decided it was time to teach Syn a valuable lesson about how to treat a woman with proper respect. Throwing open the door, ready for battle, she paused.

  The room was empty.

  Frowning, she searched every corner with her gaze, but didn't find a single trace of him.

  Cautiously, she entered the room, expecting a trick of some kind.

  A sweet, warm aroma greeted her. Something smelled incredible. Since she hadn't eaten in two days, the delicious smell made her empty stomach ache. At first, she thought she was imagining it, but as she crossed the room, she saw three sacks on the counter.

  Moving over to them, she opened the bag laying on its side and smiled at the boxed dinner tucked inside. Her stomach rumbled as she uncovered a steak, vegetables, and a roll. The wonderful aroma of gravy wafted up from the hot meal.

  Closing her eyes, she savored the rush of excitement. It had been more years than she could count since she'd last eaten a meal like this. She looked inside the other two bags and saw juice, bread, cold meats, cheese, and a few snack foods.

  What was it with this man?

  She couldn't believe a cold-blooded killer would be thoughtful enough to bring her food. Why was he doing this for her?

  Too hungry to think about it right then, she reached for the boxed dinner and took it to the sofa. It didn't take her long to power through the delicious meal and put the rest of the groceries away.

  Man, that had been good. She hadn't been full in so long that she'd forgotten the sensation of it.

  Looking around his immaculate home, she frowned. "You are the strangest creature I've ever met."

  The hardwood floors beneath her feet were polished to a high sheen that she was sure took hours a week to maintain. Ornate, white and black, plushly woven carpets were set between the two black leather sofas and under the dining table and chairs. The dining suite was made of hand-carved ebony-wood--an expensive luxury very few people could afford.

  He had four Chinergov paintings and, unless she was mistaken, they were the originals, not copies, as well as other expensive art pieces everywhere. But the most fascinating thing was the huge white piano set before the windows that looked out on a breathtaking view of the city below.

  This was high end.

  And next to it was an empty desk. Syn hadn't been kidding. There wasn't a computer of any kind here. How weird for such a renowned filch. They usually lived their lives hardwired into network systems.

  He must have set it up somewhere outside his home. But even that seemed out of character for someone with his background.

  He probably had a portable, then, that he kept on him.

  She shook her head as she swept her gaze around his home again. What a great place to live. She'd only dreamed of an apartment like this and she'd never have imagined such a place as the home of someone with Syn's brutal reputation. Most of the places she'd been to track down her targets had been grubby holes filled with rodents and stenches that defied belief.

  This place looked like it belonged to an aristocrat. Nothing was out of order. She could understand why he remained adamant she not destroy anything. She'd take pride of ownership, too.

  But then, she didn't steal from others.

  With that thought in mind, she went to search his bedroom, looking for her weapons. They had to be here somewhere.

  At the end of the hour, she hadn't found anything. Nothing under the ebony-wood bed, nothing in the closet he'd filled with exclusive, handmade clothes. Nothing.

  Not even a friggin' dust bunny.

  Her gaze fell to the nightstand she had yet to open. Only because she knew he wouldn't store anything in plain sight. That would be stupid and he was anything but.

  He must have everything locked in his wall safe. If only it didn't have a Grimson lock, she might have been able to breach the code. Or if she had her missing lockbox . . .

  Yeah.

  Shahara sighed in disgust and picked up Syn's holy book and prayer cloth from the floor where he'd left them. Even though she didn't respect his hypocrisy, she did respect the objects of his religion. She carefully wrapped the cloth around the book and moved to return them to their prayer box.

  Only there wasn't one.

  Must be in the nightstand . . .

  She headed for it and opened the drawer. There, inside, was a large backpack. Hope flared inside her that maybe it held a computer.

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