Taking a deep breath, Olivia crossed the threshold and found herself stunned mute.
Rustic. Bare wooden floors with the merest hint of wax were the same natural oak color as the naked walls. Clearly, he didn’t believe in bric-a-brac, as the tables displayed only an occasional lamp.
And his carvings.
Marrok had been underestimating when he’d said there were more. There were hundreds. The wooden masterpieces surrounded her, filling every corner of her vision. Here a hawk prepared for flight, there a mare and her colts played in a meadow. From the smallest creatures, like a bouncing kitten, to a five-foot rearing centaur, each amazing piece occupied space on the floor, on shelves, on tables—and rendered her speechless.
Even his furniture had been made with the skill of a master craftsman, with exquisite legs and lines. Bookcases, some trimmed with flowing scrolls and arches, others with straight Mission-style lines, delighted her. More wooden chairs, all with breathtaking etchings, constructed in every style from Renaissance to modern—truly beautiful and all of his making.
He had the hands of a master…and the heart of a poet.
Taking in his amazing talent, and the expression of his emotions, her eyes watered. “My God, this is unbelievable. Every piece…They’re so real. I’ve never seen talent so—”
“Enough!” He slammed the door, then his fingers snaked around her arms. His mouth thinned to a hard line. “Drop the bloody pretense, Morganna. We are alone now, and I tire of your game.”
Olivia pulled one arm free from his grasp, only to have him recapture it. Dread stabbed her. “I—I’m not Morganna. Remember? My name is Olivia.”
His eyes glinted with ice and hatred. “Did you think I would be daft enough to believe that? I know who you truly are.”
“Let go! I don’t know anyone named Morganna. I don’t know what you mean.”
“I had a dream,” he growled. “Of you. Naked. Inviting me into your body, then unlocking your accursed book as you stole it and disappeared. Cease the pretense.”
Oh my God. The dream. Her dream. He’d seen it? Had it? Impossible. But Marrok had described everything perfectly.
God, she was going to be sick.
“Let me go! You’re scaring me. I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.”
He grabbed her wrists and shackled them together at the small of her back with one of his huge hands. Then he anchored his free hand in the V-neck of her blouse. She twisted and lurched in his grasp, but despite her struggles, he ripped open the garment with a harsh yank, exposing the cups of her pink lace bra. Terror hit her like icy water.
“No! Don’t touch me, you bastard!”
Olivia writhed in his grasp, straining to escape. His burning stare fixated on her cleavage. He ignited her fear and fury as his gaze roved over the lacy cups supporting her breasts and the front clasp of her underwire bra. The pained yearning she’d glimpsed in the cab returned.
Lowering her lashes, Olivia glimpsed the front of his jeans. Oh God, he was aroused again! Was it the thought of having power over her? He could rape her. God knew he had the strength.
“Are you pleased to know I react to your body?” he growled.
“No.” But in a weird way, she was. That wasn’t smart, she knew—but she couldn’t help herself.
Be smart. Remain calm, she instructed herself and shifted her weight to her left foot. She watched his dark face. He never moved—and his stare never left her breasts. Mentally, she counted to three and raised her knee to his groin.
Marrok moved faster, catching her knee in his palm. As he swung her leg over his hip, doom crashed to the pit of her stomach. Now his erection pressed against her sex. Shockingly, she felt herself become damp. Drenched, even as she reeled with fury.
Frantically, she glanced around for a nearby weapon. He released her wrists and wrapped his fingers around her chin, forcing her to meet his stare.
“I remember you, Morganna. Your tricks. Your teasing. Every bit of your body, including the strawberry mark between your breasts.”
With a single jerk, he flipped open the front clasp of her bra, exposing the mark she’d possessed all her life.
Shock reverberated inside her. How had he known exactly where it was and what it looked like? From the dream?
His gaze took an angry sweep of her face and breasts again, then released her so abruptly she nearly stumbled. “You cannot lie to me.”
With shaking hands, she righted her bra and tugged the edges of her blouse together protectively. “How did you know about…?”
His brows made an ominous V above his thunderous frown. “I touched every inch of your body. More than fifteen hundred years ago, aye, but I remember.”
More than fifteen hundred years ago? As in the what, fifth or sixth century?
“I’m only twenty-three.” She paused, grasping for a logical explanation. “Are you into past lives or something?”
“I wish. But you made certain there would be no death for me. You and the Book of Doomsday ensured I would live this hellish existence forever.”
Clearly, he was both dangerous and delusional. And she was trapped with him in the middle of nowhere.
Olivia retreated. “I—I don’t know about any doomsday book. You have me confused with whoever this Morganna is. We might have the same birthmark, but—”
“Because of you, I lost my knighthood.” He stalked closer, his eyes shooting rage. “Arthur banished me for touching you. Still, your lust for revenge was not satisfied until you cursed me with immortality and never-ending solitude.”
He thought he was immortal? Well, anyone who believed he’d been alive for fifteen centuries would think so. He also believed he’d been one of King Arthur’s knights, and that she was someone called Morganna. As in Morgan le Fay, Arthur’s half sister? And after becoming his lover, she had somehow made him immortal? Not even in her most fertile imaginings could she ever conjure up anything that fantastic. Olivia swallowed. How did one calm a raving madman?
“And what was my great sin? Insulting your vanity because I moved on before you decided you’d had enough of me in your bed?”
“Marrok, honestly. I obviously have some resemblance to this woman, but I never met you before this morning. I don’t know anything—”
His fingers curled around her wrist like five fiery clamps, cutting off her speech. He dragged her closer. “You know everything, including how to release me from this blasted curse.”
He dug into the pocket of his jeans. Olivia didn’t wait to see what he had planned; she whirled and darted for the door.
Only to find it locked and the key to open it missing.
Marrok ran up behind her, trapping her against the door, his enormous chest covered her back, trapping her against the wood. His erection pressed hot and hard against her.
He grabbed her arm and clasped a medieval-looking bracelet around her wrist, securing it with a tiny silver padlock. He stepped back and stared in triumph.
“Amethysts the color of your eyes set in pure silver. Your weakening combination. Merlin made it for you. As long as you wear it, you cannot do magic. I have locked it snug around your wrist. There it will stay.”
Magic? Olivia stared at the heavy, ornate silver bangle lined with huge purple gemstones. Discreetly, she tugged on it. Nope, it wasn’t moving an inch.
“Marrok, I’m not this Morganna person.” She trembled, hit by a wave of sudden dizziness. “Let me go, damn it!”
He pinned her with a furious glare. “The bracelet remains, as will you, until you set me free.”
He crossed the room and disappeared down a hall. Olivia raced for the glass doors at the back of the cottage. Before she could reach them, he returned, grabbing her with one hand, clutching something red and square against his massive chest with the other.
“You never had a shred of decency, but find one now.” He held up a red leather book, his eyes burning. “Open this and write the reversal of my curse, so I can finally die.”
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU WANT TO DIE?” He was both suicidal and delusional. Oh, this was bad. “Look, I don’t know anything about that book. Just call Bram and let me go home.”
Fury spiked across his face. He loomed closer. She retreated, heart pounding, wishing it was purely terror revving her up. But some invisible connection, along with the power of the book, resounded in her head, pulsed in her belly.
“You know exactly how the book works.”
“I’ve never seen the damn thing. Get it through your head that you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. I’m not Morganna.”
“Pretending amnesia, are you? No matter; I read your curse a thousand times before the bloody book locked. Mayhap you will remember these words: ‘Under midnight’s moon you loved me and made my body fly. By sun’s harsh light you left me to ache, no matter what I try. Eternity is my curse on you, with nights of endless need. Find the key to free your black heart or live this hell, no matter how you plead.’”
Oh my God. He’d made up the words to his own curse? This was really bad.
“With a few strokes of your pen, you condemned me to an eternity without companionship, sexual satisfaction, or end. Now open this book and end it.”
Dear God, how was she ever going to leave this cottage without being carried out in a body bag on a two-minute segment of the news?
Marrok was straitjacket material. How could she find the man so…sexual? Why was she so attuned to him, wanting to cling to him? Her body ached. He actually made her dizzy, as if she’d had a bit too much wine.
Focus! she berated herself. “I’m sorry that Morganna…um, put a nasty curse on you. I’m sure it sucks. But I’m not her. Let me go.”
“I cannot.” His hand curled around the nape of her neck, bringing her so close, she felt him exhale against her lips. She tingled, trembled. His eyes glowed with ferocity—and hot desire.
What would it feel like to make love to a man so focused on her alone?
Sick thought. It went with the sick man. She should be concentrating on escape, not the wild sensation of Marrok’s hands on her.
“Look, I don’t know what delusion you live in, and I can see how the lack of sex would make you cranky, but I’m not Morganna or the answer to your problems.”
Olivia scanned her surroundings for a weapon again, then remembered the Mace in her purse. Easing her hand into the bag dangling from her shoulder, she felt the can. As her fingers closed around it, relief spiked within her. This would bring him to his knees and give her an opportunity to escape this whole Outer Limits scene.
She withdrew it, aimed and sprayed in one fluid motion. But Marrok ducked, grabbed her arm and whirled her about, hauling her back against his chest.
Mace dissipated in the air, burning her eyes, as he ripped the can from her grasp. Swearing, he scanned the label and tossed it aside, sending it clattering across the floor.
“A modern potion, is it? Have you run out of your own or grown too lazy to make them?”
She struggled for release against the iron bands of his arms. “For the hundredth time, I’m not Morganna. I’m Olivia Gray, we just met today, and you’re insane. Let me out of here!”
As she twisted away, his arm tightened about her waist, enveloping her in hard flesh and body heat. Repressing her desire, she stomped her spiked heel on his toes. He swore, shaking the offended foot.
“Stop!” she cried. “I’m not the woman you want.”
She struggled against him. The solid stone of his body slid across her hypersensitive skin. Languorous need wound through her bloodstream like an insidious drug. His arousal, large and heavy, wedged against the small of her back.
“We both know that is untrue,” he spat bitterly. “Thanks to you, I cannot be satisfied by any woman. Would it be different with you, Morganna? Is that the thing I must discover?”
He thought taking her to bed would uncurse him? Crap, she was doomed. Especially since her body was pulsing in approval.
“Damn it, I’m not Morganna. Sex with me won’t change your…state. Get that through your head!” You make-my-knees-melt freak.
Marrok wedged his hard body more tightly against hers. “Your curse says I left you to ache, no matter what you tried. It would be like you to punish me until I returned to give you what you need. Is it that simple?”
“No, no, no! Get your hands off me.”
“If returning to your bed frees me, I will touch you how and where I wish. I avoided you for a century, until you…what, died after Merlin banished you from this realm? But no more. I will be on you, around you, inside you—”
“Not if I can help it!” He wanted freedom, orgasm. She was merely convenient. As hot as she was for him, she couldn’t lose sight of that. “No means no in any century, pal.”
“After a hard ride, will you let me loose, Morganna? Surely, you have grown weary of toying with me. Or does it thrill you to know you affect me now more than ever?” He arched his hips, thrusting his steely erection against her. Liquid heat poured over her. Why? She should be terrified out of her mind.