Sabin, A Seven Novel by A.M. Hargrove Page A

punctured. They collapsed and I couldn’t breathe. It healed them.”
    It sounds reasonable.
    “It’s the truth, Serena.”
    “The damned mind reading.”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “So, how do you feel?”
    “Good as new.” To prove it, he stands and stretches. The remnants of his shirt are on the floor, and his muscles flex and move beneath his skin that is wrapped tightly around them. Before I know what I’m doing, I touch the places he was wounded. They are wide, pink lines in his flesh, left behind as a reminder. I imagine they will fade into thin scars eventually. Then I notice how perfect he is. What is it with these men?
    “They don’t hurt?”
    “Not a bit.”
    It comes to me then, how he risked his life for my friend. And that’s what they did for me, while I was diving. Is this what they always do? Is this what he meant by protectors? My fingers seek out all his scars, and there are dozens. As I examine the skin on his torso, I wonder how many times he has risked death. I lift my eyes to find him staring at me. Now it’s my turn to find it difficult to breathe. But there’s more. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to know his taste.
    My hand reaches out to touch the scar on his face, the one that runs from his eye to his mouth, but before I get the chance, he murmurs, “Bloody hell,” and his lips find mine as his arms pull me roughly against his body. If I thought I felt a zing when his hands touched mine, it was nothing compared to this. A current races along my spine and heat settles into my core, fanning out across my body. One of my arms coils around his neck as I stretch against him while the other hand presses into the muscles of his back. His tongue is like satin as it plays with mine, dancing, and teasing me. He tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before. Spicy and exotic. And then his scent wafts over me, looping around my brain, and I know I want more of him. My body throbs with need like it never has. I find myself spreading my legs and grinding myself against him, trying to get closer.
    All of a sudden he pushes me away. “Christ, woman. What are you doing to me?”
    Did I just hear him correctly? What am I doing to him ? I’m breathing so hard my brain has difficulty processing. I touch my lips because they’re scorched from his kisses and my heart thrums with such force I can hear it pounding in my ears. I rub my face, trying to make sense out of this. It has become painfully awkward. But oddly enough, I can’t stop staring at him. He’s so irresistible. And I want more of his kisses. He tilts his head and scrapes his lower lip with his teeth. His right front tooth has the slightest chip in it; I suppose it happened when he was fighting. It makes him look sexier than he already is. I want to lick it, along with his lip. And that scar. Hell, I want to lick every inch of him. And he smells so damn good.
    He suddenly says, “Aw, fuck it.” Then he grabs my wrist and I fly back into the rigid wall of his chest. “I should be doing anything but this, except I can’t seem to help myself.”
    “I don’t want you to help yourself.”
    “You say that now, but you may regret it later.”
    “I doubt that.”
    “You said yourself I was an ass.”
    “You are, but that doesn’t negate the fact I want to kiss you. And lick you. Everywhere.”
    “You want to lick me?”
    My eyes narrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. I’m sure you’ve been listening to my thoughts.”
    The corner of his mouth curls. “Yeah. I have, even though I shouldn’t. My teeth. I thought that strange.”
    “That’s not the only thing I want to lick.” Damn, did I have to blurt that out?
    He looks at me under half-closed lids. “Care to enlighten me?”
    “Kiss me first.”
    He bends his head until his lips brush over mine. “Bossy, aren’t you?”
    “Only when I’m not getting what I want. Now kiss me.”
    And he does. But this time, it’s more sensuous. More tantalizing. He takes