either side, but front and back were edged with a half wall that allowed him to look over into the backyards up and down their block. His breath caught in his throat as his sights settled next door.
Emerson stood fully naked, her arms stretched toward the sky. She moved in long, sensuous motions, her sleek body exposed to his gaze like an offering. His own body tightened in response, the sheer beauty of her striking him on a visceral level he was powerless to resist.
And helpless to ignore.
Fascinated, he stood and watched her. She was so private—so closed off from him in every way except sexually—that the opportunity to observe her without her knowledge was far too large a temptation to resist.
So he simply stood and drank her in.
One enchanting moment spun into the next as she moved through what he could only assume was a prayer. Her voice floated up to him in small snatches as she used her entire body in offering, moving through the ritual that encompassed her worship. Long slender fingers spread something from a pouch while the muscles of her thighs kept her balance as she moved through a series of complicated poses.
The long column of her throat caught the moonlight as her head fell back, and he imagined himself pressing his lips there, drinking in the hot scent of her as it mixed with the light summer breeze that swirled through the air.
On a muttered curse, he took a long drag on his beer, draining the bottle in a desperate effort to cool the raging ardor that filled him.
Gods, how he wanted this woman. His body burned for her in more ways than he could count.
He craved the opportunity to hold her tucked against his heart and he yearned to talk with her at the end of each day, their words full of the everything and the nothing that made up daily life. He wanted her for his partner—that glorious knowledge his every thought, every need, every want was safe with her.
Gods damn it all
.
His fingers dug into the concrete ledge of the half wall as he fought the rising emotions that threatened to swamp him like a ship at sea. Desire was a harsh and punishing taskmaster, and it was having a fucking field day with his emotions.
Unlike his fellow warriors, his Pisces blood ensured he didn’t equate getting in touch with his softer side as emotional emasculation. Fuck it all, he was
sensitive
and he still knew how to put his proverbial boots on.
And the damned woman had thrown it all back in his face.
The anger he’d managed to set aside after talking with Ilsa reared up again. Restless and needy, he turned away from the sight of Emerson in her ritual and took long, deep breaths as he struggled to find some of the calm he was known for. The slamming of his heart against his chest slowed and his tight grip on the bottle relaxed as the seconds ticked off, one by one.
Satisfied he’d regained some semblance of control, Drake turned and set the bottle on the ledge of the half wall. He’d talk to Emerson later—he had to. These reactions weren’t like him and he wasn’t content any longer to take the scraps she offered like a hungry dog.
He had feelings for her and he had things he wanted to say.
Resolved, Drake reached for his bottle, determined to leave her to her private moments. As his gaze caught on her beautiful form once more, a slight movement in his periphery caught his attention.
Cloaked in shadow, a large man skulked along the edge of the fence that rimmed Emerson’s backyard. As Drake focused on him fully, the asshole took hold of the top of the fence and pulled himself up to climb over.
Without conscious thought Drake threw himself into a port. Before he could even hear the bottle in his hand shatter on the concrete of the roof, he’d closed the distance between the warriors’ roof and Emerson’s backyard. On a loud battle cry, Drake slammed himself into the large form that dropped into the grass, his only intent to reach Emerson.
* * *
Emerson’s eyes popped open on the loud
Emerson stood fully naked, her arms stretched toward the sky. She moved in long, sensuous motions, her sleek body exposed to his gaze like an offering. His own body tightened in response, the sheer beauty of her striking him on a visceral level he was powerless to resist.
And helpless to ignore.
Fascinated, he stood and watched her. She was so private—so closed off from him in every way except sexually—that the opportunity to observe her without her knowledge was far too large a temptation to resist.
So he simply stood and drank her in.
One enchanting moment spun into the next as she moved through what he could only assume was a prayer. Her voice floated up to him in small snatches as she used her entire body in offering, moving through the ritual that encompassed her worship. Long slender fingers spread something from a pouch while the muscles of her thighs kept her balance as she moved through a series of complicated poses.
The long column of her throat caught the moonlight as her head fell back, and he imagined himself pressing his lips there, drinking in the hot scent of her as it mixed with the light summer breeze that swirled through the air.
On a muttered curse, he took a long drag on his beer, draining the bottle in a desperate effort to cool the raging ardor that filled him.
Gods, how he wanted this woman. His body burned for her in more ways than he could count.
He craved the opportunity to hold her tucked against his heart and he yearned to talk with her at the end of each day, their words full of the everything and the nothing that made up daily life. He wanted her for his partner—that glorious knowledge his every thought, every need, every want was safe with her.
Gods damn it all
.
His fingers dug into the concrete ledge of the half wall as he fought the rising emotions that threatened to swamp him like a ship at sea. Desire was a harsh and punishing taskmaster, and it was having a fucking field day with his emotions.
Unlike his fellow warriors, his Pisces blood ensured he didn’t equate getting in touch with his softer side as emotional emasculation. Fuck it all, he was
sensitive
and he still knew how to put his proverbial boots on.
And the damned woman had thrown it all back in his face.
The anger he’d managed to set aside after talking with Ilsa reared up again. Restless and needy, he turned away from the sight of Emerson in her ritual and took long, deep breaths as he struggled to find some of the calm he was known for. The slamming of his heart against his chest slowed and his tight grip on the bottle relaxed as the seconds ticked off, one by one.
Satisfied he’d regained some semblance of control, Drake turned and set the bottle on the ledge of the half wall. He’d talk to Emerson later—he had to. These reactions weren’t like him and he wasn’t content any longer to take the scraps she offered like a hungry dog.
He had feelings for her and he had things he wanted to say.
Resolved, Drake reached for his bottle, determined to leave her to her private moments. As his gaze caught on her beautiful form once more, a slight movement in his periphery caught his attention.
Cloaked in shadow, a large man skulked along the edge of the fence that rimmed Emerson’s backyard. As Drake focused on him fully, the asshole took hold of the top of the fence and pulled himself up to climb over.
Without conscious thought Drake threw himself into a port. Before he could even hear the bottle in his hand shatter on the concrete of the roof, he’d closed the distance between the warriors’ roof and Emerson’s backyard. On a loud battle cry, Drake slammed himself into the large form that dropped into the grass, his only intent to reach Emerson.
* * *
Emerson’s eyes popped open on the loud
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