The Nymph King

That stung. Badly. But Shaye forced herself to smile. “Why don’t you go find your new husband and let him calm you down? This kind of upset will only cause you to shrivel up like a raisin.”

Gasping in horror, her mom patted the skin around her eyes, feeling for crow’s feet. “I just had Botox. I shouldn’t have a single line or crease. Do you see a wrinkle? Do you see a goddamn wrinkle? I can’t lift my brows to find out—the muscles won’t work.”

Shaye rolled her eyes. “Are we done here?”

Her mom stomped her foot and ground out, “I’ve finally found the love of my life. Why can’t you understand that and be happy for me?”

“Uh, hello. This is the sixth love of your life.”

“So the hell what? I’ve made mistakes in the past. That’s better than cutting myself off from relationships like you’ve done, just to avoid getting hurt.” She paused, raised her chin. “You spurn everything male, Shaye. You never date.”

No, she didn’t. Not anymore. She’d always been leery of the roads she would have to travel to obtain the fabled happily-ever-after. At one point, however, she had tried the dating thing. She’d quickly discovered that men never called when they said they were going to call. They weren’t interested in her as a person; they were interested in getting her out of her clothing. They admired other women when they were supposed to woo her.

They lied, they used, they cheated. And they weren’t worth the trouble.

Shaye twirled a strand of grass around her finger. “I wish you all the best with your new husband, Mother.” No reason to rehash everything. Again. “Now, I’m going home.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve apologized to Preston.” A finger was shoved in her face. “You treated him shabbily, and I won’t have it. I won’t have it, do you hear me?”

She had treated him shabbily, and she felt bad for it. But she wouldn’t apologize. That would invite conversation. Conversation would invite friendship, and friendship would invite emotion. Emotion, ultimately, would invite everything she’d worked so hard to avoid. “Do you truly expect me to obey a parental command from you? Now? After a childhood of being raised by nannies?”

“Well, yes” was the hesitant response.

“You’re forgetting something. I’m the Ice Princess of Bitterslovakia, the Grand Duchess of Bitterstonia and the Queen of Bitterland. Isn’t that what you’ve called me over the years?”

A gentle roll of waves splashed in the distance.

“I should have known you’d act this way,” her mom snapped. With an angry flip of her wrist, she tossed a dark tress over her shoulder and glared out at the water. “All I’ve ever wanted was a nice, normal daughter. Instead I’m stuck with you. You won’t be happy until you’ve ruined my wedding.”

“Which one?” Shaye asked dryly, pushing aside her hurt. She much preferred the icy numbness she usually surrounded herself with. That numbness had saved her during childhood, sweeping her away from depression and desolation and into a life of satisfaction, if not contentment.

“All of them, damn it.” Tamara didn’t face her, but continued to stare out at the pristine water. Another splash sounded, this one closer. “You’re jealous of me, and because of that you’ve never wanted me to be happy. Every time I’m close, you do something to hurt me.”

Of all the things her mother had said, that cut the most. After all, Shaye was here because she wanted her mom to be happy. She’d never shoved the woman from her life, because, despite everything, she did care. It was something she’d fought against and hated, but there it was. The girl who wouldn’t let herself care for anything or anyone else still wanted her mommy’s approval. Ugh. “Don’t blame me for your misery. You alone are responsible.”

“Conner and I wanted this day to be perf—” Tamara’s eyes widened, glazing with lust as her words jammed to an abrupt halt. “Perfect.” She sighed dreamily. “Hmm. So perfect.”

The way her voice dropped to a husky purr, as if she wanted to peel off her dress and dance naked in the moonlight, had Shaye blinking in confusion. “Um, hello. Arguing here.”

“Man.” There was a hypnotized quality to the word, an entrancement that spoke of passion and secret fantasies. “My man.”

“What are you talking about?” Shaye dragged her gaze to the ocean. Her mouth fell open in shock.

There, rising from the water like primitive sea gods, were six gloriously tall and muscled barbarians. The moon settled reverently behind them, enveloping them in a golden halo. Each of them carried a sword, an honest to God, I’ll-slice-you-into-a-million-pieces sword, but she couldn’t seem to make herself care. They also carried unconscious scuba-clad men, some anchored under their arms, others draped over their backs. Again, she couldn’t make herself care.

The warriors were shirtless, and all of them possessed sinewy washboard abs, skin so tanned it resembled liquid gold poured over steel, and faces any male supermodel would have envied. Only better. So much better.

Unbelievable…surreal…magnificent.

Shaye gulped, and her heart skipped a beat. Heated air snagged in her lungs, burning and licking her with white-hot flames. All six of the warriors were suddenly looking at her as if she’d make a tasty meal, no silverware required. Strangely enough, she wanted to splay herself on a table, naked, offering her body as the dinner buffet. All you can eat. No charge.

She moistened her lips, her mouth watering, her skin tingling, her stomach clenching. I’m turned on. Why the hell am I turned on? More important, why wasn’t she running?

Closer and closer they came. So close now she could see the silvery water droplets sliding down their hairless chests and gathering in their sexy navels. The water slid lower, lower still…

Snap out of this, dummy, she thought dazedly. Her gaze snagged on the man in the middle, and for a moment she forgot to move. Forgot to breathe. Dangerous, her mind supplied. Lethal. He was taller than the rest, his dark-blond hair hanging in a wet tangle around his wickedly mesmerizing features. His eyes…Oh, Lord. His eyes. They were blue-green, neither color blending with the other but standing alone, and so erotically seductive she felt the pull of his gaze all the way to her bones. Her nipples hardened, and an ache throbbed between her legs.

There was something wild about him, something untamed and savage, a deceptively calm glint in his expression that said he did whatever the hell he pleased, whenever the hell he wanted. And as she stared at him, he stared at her. He studied her face, searing arousal flickering in those magnificent eyes of his, deepening and mixing the blue-green to a smoldering turquoise. But the arousal was quickly followed by a glint of anger.

Anger? Was he mad? At her?

“Mine,” her mom said on a wispy catch of breath, still lost in some sort of trance. “All mine.”

Never ceasing their confident swaggers, the warriors exited the water and dropped the still-unconscious scuba-men on the beach. Arms now free, the warrior in the middle cocked his finger, beckoning Shaye over to him. Shivering, drowning in his maleness, she somehow managed to shake her head no. Go to him, her naughty mind beseeched. She shook her head again, violently this time.

The man’s smooth chin canted to the side, and he frowned. “Come here,” he said, his voice a husky whisper that drifted over the small distance, as intoxicating and heady as an erotic caress.

Another shiver slipped down her spine, so intense she almost fell to her knees. What would happen if he actually touched her? What would happen if he trailed those luscious pink lips along her every curve and hollow?

Stop, Shaye, a small, rational voice inside her commanded. Just stop.

“Come here,” he repeated.

“Yes,” her mom said, already stepping toward them. The dreamy glaze in her eyes darkened with eagerness. “I need to touch you. Please let me touch you.”

The part of Shaye that acknowledged these men were dangerous also acknowledged there was something wrong with her mom—and with herself—but she still couldn’t seem to care. A stunningly intense sensual fog was weaving through her mind, and nothing else mattered.

“Fight this,” she told herself. “Fight this, whatever it is.” Waging a mental war, she kicked and shoved at the sudden images of herself and that man, naked and straining together, his mouth on her breasts, his fingers slipping inside her, her legs parting, giving him better access…

“No. No!” she ground out. Even as she spoke, a blanket of calm settled over her thoughts. A familiar, icy wall encased her emotions, pushing away everything but the need to escape.

These men, whoever—whatever—they were, were dangerous, their intentions obviously malicious. They had swords, for God’s sake, and they radiated lust. Blood lust, sexual lust, she didn’t know.

They were almost upon her.

Scowling, fear cresting, she reached out and latched on to her mom’s arm, jerking Tamara to a halt. “Don’t go near them.”

“Must…touch.”

“We have to get help, warn the others. Something!”

“Let me go.” She struggled against Shaye’s hold, desperate to free herself. “I have to—”

“We have to go back to the tent. Now move!” Dragging her flailing mother behind her, Shaye raced toward the reception area, toward the laughing voices, soft music and unsuspecting guests.

As she ran, she dared a glance behind her. The men hadn’t slowed, hadn’t turned away. Lust and hunger intensified in their features as they followed her.

“Help us,” she shouted, kicking sand with every step. She swept the curtain aside and entered the tent. “Someone call 911!”