The Siren's Touch by Amber Belldene

Dmitri.
    “Never?” Under her fingertips, her rescuer’s body stiffened and then relaxed. His blue eyes reflected an astonishing compassion when he pressed her palm to his chest and winked. “Then touch me, girl.”
    She smiled back at him. Maybe it was pity, but she’d take what she could get. “You’re so warm.” She stroked his arm and then grazed her knuckles over his abdomen, where a narrow trail of dark hair tapered up from his pants.
    New and old sensations stirred in her body. She licked her lips and her pelvis felt full. Had she ever felt that dull ache before? Her breath came fast as she relished his hot, soft skin under her fingertips. She caressed his nipple with the pad of her thumb and it stiffened. Just seeing his do that caused hers to tighten and she strained forward.
    She slid his hand up to her chest, inviting. Instead of cupping her breast, he trailed his fingers up her arm and cradled her face. His crystalline eyes seemed glued to her lips. Would he kiss her? All at once, she knew the young man of her memory—the grocer’s son—had showered her with fumbling, awkward kisses. Dmitri’s sensual mouth would surely—
    “Sonya,” he rumbled. “That is enough. Give me your hand and let me go back to sleep, before your little experiment gets out of control.”
    She heated with another blush, rejected. She was probably too fat and inexperienced for the likes of him.
    Being dead couldn’t help either.
    He interlaced their fingers and buried his face into the pillow once more. At least she’d had a little respite from the rusalka. But somewhere, those familiar voices called to her, demanding justice, while she was lying around watching television in bed with a very appealing Dmitri.
    She rolled onto her back and focused on the flashing images. The sheets smelled of lavender and the man sleeping between them smelled musky and male. She wanted to nestle into his side until morning but she settled for sliding her legs along the soft linens and reminding herself she lived, in the flesh and blood.
    For now.
    She stretched, acclimating to the feel of her body—the twinge in tight calf muscles, the hollow in her belly, the pleasing burn of a much-needed stretch along her spine—a body born again and hungry. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. It was going to be a long night while her burly savior slept. She flung her free arm overhead and nestled into the bed, her body automatically remembering its preferred sleeping position.
    Her arm scraped against something hard and unexpected under the pillow. Blindly, she patted, trying to discern its shape. It didn’t take long. The right angle connecting a cold barrel to a textured grip was easily identified. She shivered.
    Gunshots echoed in her mind.
    When, where, why—she didn’t know. But those shots had killed her, and her family, and now she lay in a bed with a man who slept with a gun under his pillow.
    She couldn’t ignore the fear it would go off, killing her all over again. Carefully, she slid it out and set it down on the bedside table. Keeping a firm hold on his hand, she turned her back to him. It didn’t help. Even out of sight, the man took up all the space in her mind. Maybe it would help if she kept an eye on him. She flopped back over. The sheet and blanket had tangled in his legs. The graceful curve of his shoulder blade trailing into the dip of his lower back, that narrow waist—asleep, he was all beauty and no menace and her chest ached with the need to trust him.
    She pulled the blanket tight around her and turned her back to him once more.
    “Hey, you stole the covers.”
    She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed.
    “Sonya, you asleep?”
    She forced a few deep breaths.
    “Nice try, ghost. What’s the matter?”
    He curled around her, snaking his free hand under her pillow. After wriggling it around for a second, he froze.
    She stared into the center of the room. “It’s on the night stand.”
    “Damn. I’m sorry,