WATER SPRAYED LISA’S JEANS-CLAD LEGS FOR THE SECOND time that day as the man surged from the bath. He towered over her, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl.
Lisa blinked incredulously. Once. Twice. And a third time very slowly, giving the apparition time to evaporate. It didn’t. The nude giant remained, his fierce expression unwavering, his eyes narrowed. What on earth had happened to Steinmann’s office? He wouldn’t fire her if he found her with a nude man—he’d have her arrested!
Lisa closed her eyes and shifted her feet, cautiously ascertaining that the world was solid beneath her boots again. Only when she was firmly convinced that she stood in Steinmann’s office clutching a medieval flask did she open them.
She was not in Steinmann’s office.
She lost her breath in a great exhalation of astonishment as she looked—really looked—at the man. Droplets of water glistened on his skin. Flames leaped in the hearth behind him, bronzing and shadowing the slopes of his muscles. He was the tallest man she’d ever seen, but his size was not confined to his improbable height. His shoulders were massive, and his broad chest tapered to a lean, muscled abdomen, tight hips, and long, powerful legs.
And he was nude.
She expelled a sigh of protest. He could not be real. And because he couldn’t be real, there was no harm in dropping her gaze for a quick tally of his perfection. A flawlessly proportioned man who didn’t really exist was standing naked before her. Where would any healthy twenty-three-year-old woman look? She looked.
That sealed it. He couldn’t be real. Cheeks flaming, she averted her gaze and faltered back a step.
He roared something at her in a language she didn’t understand.
Stealing a glance at his face, she shrugged helplessly, unable to make sense of her situation.
He bellowed again, gesturing angrily. He spoke nonstop in a stream of words for several minutes, waving his arms and glowering.
She watched him, mouth agape, her confusion deepening. It didn’t help that the man seemed oblivious to the disconcerting fact that he was gloriously nude. She found her tongue and, with some difficulty, coaxed it into action. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
He flinched as if she’d hit him; his dark eyes narrowed and he scowled. If she’d thought he was angry before, that was only because she hadn’t yet seen him truly furious. “You are English!” he spat, swiftly switching to English, though with a thick, rolling brogue.
Lisa spread her hands as if to say So what? What was his point, and why was he so angry with her?
“Doona move!” he roared.
She remained motionless, cataloging him as if he were one of the museum’s recent acquisitions, absorbing the incredible length and breadth of his body. The man dripped such intense sexuality that fantasies of a savage warrior, recognizing no law but his own, shivered through her ancestral memory. The danger rolling off him was frightening and seductive. You’re dreaming, remember? You fell asleep and only dreamed you woke up and Steinmann came. But you’re still asleep and none of this is really happening.
She scarcely noticed when the man reached for the weapon propped against the tub. Her mind registered dim amusement that her figment of fancy came replete with avenging sword. Until, with a graceful flick of his wrist, he pointed the deadly weapon at her.
It was her dream, she reminded herself. She could simply ignore the sword. Dreams were penalty-free zones. If she couldn’t have a boyfriend in real life, at least she could savor this virtual experience. Smiling, she extended a hand to touch his flawlessly sculpted abdomen—certainly the stuff of dreams—and the tip of the sword grazed her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet his. A girl could get a kink in her neck from looking that high, she decided.
“Doona think to distract me from my cause,” he growled.
“What cause?” she asked, feeling short of breath.
At that moment the door crashed open. A second man, dark haired and clad in a strange wrap of cloth, burst into the room.
“Whatever it is, I doona have time for it now, Galan!” said the man holding the blade to her neck.
The other man looked astounded at the sight of Lisa. “We heard you roar nigh down to the kitchen, Cin.”
“Sin?” Lisa echoed disbelievingly. Oh yes, he is definitely sin. Any man who looks like this must be pure sin.
“Get out!” Circenn thundered.
Galan hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly retreated from the room and closed the door.
As Lisa’s gaze returned to Sin, she looked down again at his improbable endowments.