Come, lass. Come to me. I promise not to hurt you.
He was a predator, trying to seduce his prey.
After a moment’s hesitation, she headed straight toward him.
Relief raced through his body.
He would get her to heal him. And if she refused or tried to deny that she couldn’t, he’d threaten to expose her.
Chapter Four
Olivia’s cowboy boots turned to lead as she slogged her way back to what was left of the Grape and Bean. Though it couldn’t be more than ten or twelve steps, it felt like a mile. She was so exhausted she could hardly see straight. Healing the woman who was almost dead had drained her of all her energy. She hardly had anything left. She needed to grab her things and get out of here as quickly as possible.
The man—Asher—stood in what used to be the doorway, staring at her with an intensity that made her stomach do a couple of backflips. Gorgeous guys came into the wine shop all the time, so what was the big deal about this one? Well, for one thing, she told herself as she noted his scuffed motorcycle boots and the skull ring on his pinkie, he wasn’t pretty-boy good-looking. He had an untamed quality about him that suggested an uncontrollable side. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few tattoos and a piercing or two.
Oh God, why do I always seem to find the bad boys so attractive? She seriously needed to employ the trick she played on herself in order not to eat fattening food.
Rough, rugged, badass guys with swagger are unhealthy for my well-being.
No. Wait. Who the hell cares if something is unhealthy if it’s tasty? She needed to frame it up differently.
Rough, rugged, badass guys with swagger make me nauseous and sick to my stomach.
There. Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d start to believe it.
“What are you still doing here?” She honestly thought he’d be gone by now. Hurt or not, he seemed like a take-charge kind of guy. The kind who made things happen, who didn’t wait around for things to happen to him.
“What did you just do?” His eyebrows were two fierce slashes above his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“To that woman?”
She looked at him warily. What was he getting at? He couldn’t possibly know what she had done. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was bone dry. “I did what they told me to do. That’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She took a step forward, hoping he’d move out of her way, but he didn’t. He just stood there like a brick wall in front of her. A big, huge, muscle-y one.
Thankfully, the plate glass window next to the door had been completely blown out. Taking care not to cut herself, she stepped up and over the sill. There. She was going to get her things and get the hell out of here.
But before she could move toward the office in the back, he grabbed her arm. Even through the heavy fireman’s coat she still wore, she felt the strength of his hand.
“I saw you,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “so don’t try to deny what you did.”
Her heart banged around in her chest like a jarred moth looking for a way to escape. This was not good. “Let go of me.” She tried to pull away from his grasp, but his hand was like an iron wrench. Two seconds ago, she thought she would die from exhaustion, but now she felt as if she could run a marathon.
“Weren’t you watching?” she asked. “I helped stop an injured woman’s bleeding until an ambulance became available and took her to the hospital. That’s all.” One quick jerk and she was free of him. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have been able to do that if he hadn’t been hurt.
His gray eyes bore into her as she took a few steps back. She could tell he didn’t believe her. “Don’t bullshit me. You healed that woman.”
She wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth. Despite the chill in the night air, a bead of sweat trickled down the middle of her back.
Think, Olivia! Think!
As he stood there, waiting for a reply, her brain finally came up with a few options:
(1) Laugh. Make it seem as if what he’d said was the funniest, most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. But given what was going on around them and the fact that her employer’s dead body wasn’t very far away, laughing would be a terrible response. Scratch that.
(2) Beg. With tears. Lots of them. Even though she was truly freaked out and could probably cry without too much effort, it wasn’t her style. Next.
(3) Run. Grab her things and run like the devil was chasing her. She was an expert at it—she’d been doing it all her life. But she was too exhausted. Just the thought of sprinting out of here made her want to curl up in a ball and go to sleep. Scratch that, too, for now.
(4) Barter. Tell him she’d heal him if he promised not to say anything. But she wasn’t sure she had enough energy left to help him. If she didn’t, she’d have exposed her secret for nothing. He’d be pissed and would go to the authorities. Nope. That wouldn’t work, either.
(5) Lie. BS her way through it.
She settled on number five, the only reasonable choice. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He frowned. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You expect me to believe that horseshit? She was almost dead until you got to her. Even the aid workers thought so.”
“That’s ridiculous. The EMT came over here and asked for my help. You heard him. You were here.”
“Yeah, probably because he felt bad that he wasn’t going to be able to help that woman. He didn’t want to leave her there to die on that stretcher by herself.”
“You’re wrong. What kind of aid worker would do that?”
“It’s battlefield medicine. In a crisis situation, you have limited resources and sometimes you have to make a choice to help others who have a better chance of surviving. Admit it, Olivia. Her situation was hopeless until you came along.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “It’s pointless to argue. I know what I saw.”
Why would the guy know about battlefield medicine? Was he a former soldier? If he was, then he probably still had connections in the army, which meant this was worse than she thought.
The BS route wasn’t going to fly, not in the face of this new revelation. She really did need to get out of here. If a stranger could guess her secret, then others could as well. What an idiot she’d been to expose herself like that. She should’ve been more careful. Who knew how many others had noticed what she’d done?
She decided to change her mind and go with number three, no matter how exhausted and drained she was.
Shrugging out of the fireman’s jacket and tossing it in the direction of what used to be the register counter, she stepped over a few broken bottles and trudged toward the office where she kept her things, exhaustion weighing down each step.
“You’re wrong,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m nothing special. If what you say is true, then why wouldn’t I be out there helping other people? Think about it.” She grabbed her jean jacket and messenger bag from a hook just inside the door and turned to go.
Suddenly, he was there in front of her, all six foot whatever of him, blocking her from going anywhere. Holy crap. If the guy wasn’t a bouncer, he really should think about becoming one. He was supporting most of his weight on one booted foot while holding onto his bad arm. Although he was injured, there was something really strong and commanding about the way he was looking at her.
“I think it’s because you’re hiding your ability.” His pupils were two little pinpricks surrounded by gray. “You don’t want them to know.”
Them? So he wasn’t with the army, but the fact that he knew her secret made him just as dangerous.
She took a step backward, the broken Reidel stemware making a crisp, crunching sound beneath her cowboy boots. He moved with her.
“What do you want from me?” she rasped.
“It’s my turn now,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he towered over her. “You’re going to heal me.”
All of the oxygen disappeared
from her lungs as if she’d been punched. Her ligaments turned to rubber.
He was trying to intimidate her into using her abilities for his gain. Just like David. A slow burn of indignation ignited in her belly. She would not let it happen again. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t act stupid,” he growled. “Like you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you did it for her, you sure as hell are going to do it for me.”
Déjà vu with déjà dick.
How the hell had she found herself in another situation like this? Did she give off a vibe that said, “I have a secret that needs to be exploited?” Was she some kind of jerk magnet? She flexed her hands and wished she had the nerve to punch him right in the face. She’d hit him on the left side of that chiseled jaw and knock him flat on his ass.
Ding ding ding. And the winner by TKO is—
“Whoa,” he said, holding up a palm. “You need to relax.”
She choked out a bitter laugh. Few things pissed her off more than someone who told her to relax. It was condescending and rude. Other than her gynecologist or a masseuse, no one else had the right to say that, otherwise they got lumped into the category of Total Asshole. And right now, this guy was at the top of the pile.
“I don’t appreciate being called stupid.”
He looked confused and took a step backward. She wasn’t expecting that.
“I didn’t.”
“Oh really?”
“But I apologize for giving you that impression.”
She exhaled and slowly unclenched her fists. She wasn’t expecting that reaction from him, either. It was possible she’d spent too much time recently in a world where insults and intimidation were the fuel you needed to beat the crap out of someone. Maybe she’d heard him wrong and overreacted.
He cast a furtive glance behind him. “You do need to heal me, however. How long is it going to take?”
How long?
Another injured man had asked her the same question in the makeshift training room of an underground fight club. They hadn’t known she was a Healer-Talent and just assumed she was going to apply a few bandages. Why she’d let David drag her there in the first place was beyond her, because they’d only dated a few times. But he was charming, had money, and she was an idiot.
David hadn’t wanted to spend the money to hire a trained cutman, so when his best fighter split open his eyebrow in the locker room five minutes before the main event, Olivia had idiotically offered to help. The compulsion to heal every little injury was something she’d learned to control, but when the injured fighter told her he’d been thinking of joining the army in order to provide for his family, that was the last straw. She should’ve fought the urge to heal him, but she didn’t, and then David put two and two together.
You’re working for me, sugar, and if you refuse, I’m sure the army will be very interested to hear about an unregistered Healer-Talent.
It had taken her a month to set up a new identity, but as soon as she had, she’d left and never looked back.
“Come on,” Asher said, jolting her away from her thoughts. “What are you waiting for?” He stared at her with that penetrating, astute gaze he’d used on her before. There was no way she was going to get around him. He was ready for her this time.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I…I can’t. At least not right away. Healing that woman took too much of my energy. I don’t have much left.”
His gaze ran over her body. “I’m guessing you have enough.”
Enough for him, maybe, but it’d leave her with nothing. She’d be stuck until her energy levels built back up enough for her to walk out, but who knew if she had the time? “And if I refuse?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Then I’m telling the authorities I saw you bring a woman back from the dead.”
It felt as if she’d been slapped. “You can’t,” she choked.
“I can and I will unless you help me.”
Her blood ran ice cold. Just like David, this guy was going to use her to get what he wanted. Fine. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. She’d do what he wanted and when it was over, she’d pray that no one came for her before she could run again. “I won’t be able to heal you completely.”
“I need to walk out under my own power. That’s all I’m asking.”
She slipped on her jean jacket and slung the strap of her messenger bag over her head to free her hands. She must’ve moved too quickly because the room started spinning. Healing another human so soon was going to be hard work, she thought, placing a palm on the wall to steady herself.
In a flash, a strong, muscular arm was around her waist, steadying her. “What the hell?” His breath was warm on her cheek.
“Did you think I was lying?” she asked. “That woman was in really bad shape. She was almost dead, so it took everything I had to bring her back. Healing energy is finite and needs to be replenished. I don’t have an unlimited power source.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held her tight.
“Stop all your movin’ around, lass,” he said, a shadow of pain darkening his features. “You’re killing me.”
Since when had she given him permission to give her a nickname? To her surprise, though, she didn’t hate it. It reminded her of something a conquering Scottish hero would say.
The side of his muscular body pressed into her. God, he smelled fantastic. Not perfumey or cologne-ish, but rugged, working-man good. Along with the touch of alcohol on his breath, she detected soot and ash, motor oil, soap, and a subtle yet musky, all-male scent. She started to take another long inhale of him.
“There you go,” he said, his voice gravelly, his lips inches from her ear. “Breathe. That’s it. Do you need to sit down?” The vibration of his voice hummed through her body like a finely tuned motor.
“No, I’m…I’m feeling a little better. You should sit. You’re the one who was almost killed.” She placed her hands gently on his chest to push him away. He was warm, his muscles well defined and very hard. Although she was barely touching him, healing energy rushed unbidden from her fingertips, mending his broken leg and the torn cartilage in his knee. But it was too much, too fast. The room spun around her and her knees buckled.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists and held them away as if they were covered in mud.
Somehow she found herself lying on the floor with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly leaning over her, a look of worry plastered to his handsome face. She must’ve passed out because she had the distinct impression that she’d been in his arms a moment ago.
“What happened?” Asher asked, his brows furrowed with concern.
“I…I don’t know. It’s never been…that easy before. I wasn’t expecting…the pull was so strong.” She normally had better control. Once the connection was made, she could best describe it as a push of energy that took a bit of effort, like forcing honey through a thin needle. Expecting the room to still be spinning, she slowly sat up. But the room wasn’t spinning and neither was her head. She felt almost back to where she had been before she healed him, which was odd because she used a lot of energy. “Here, let me finish.”
“No,” he said, his eyes hooded and dark.
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes, woman, but not if it’s going to do this to you.”
A man had never addressed her as woman before, either. She couldn’t decide if she liked the dominating way it sounded or not.
Maybe a barbarian from Cascadia would speak like that, but not—
Wait. She narrowed her eyes and examined him more closely. Dark hair. Check. Slight accent. Check. Hiding some secrets, which you would expect if you were a Cascadian in New Seattle. Big check.
Was he…?
No. He couldn’t be. He was just your run-of-the-mill, normal, everyday bad boy that she always found so damned attractive but had sworn to stay away from.
A sound near the door—a cough—interrupted her thoughts. She turned her head and every muscl
e went rigid.
Right there under the torn Grape and Bean awning were the man and woman from the army vehicle. When she was healing Monique, she’d been startled half to death when they pulled up. She’d assumed they had figured out what she was doing and had come to bring her in. But they hadn’t. They disappeared into the crowd of people and she’d shrugged it off as paranoia.
Never underestimate your intuition, she recalled her mother saying. It’s rarely wrong.
“We’re from the AIU and we need to ask you some questions.” The woman’s voice was deep, almost masculine.
“The AIU?” Olivia asked.
“Army Investigative Unit.” The woman skirted around an overturned chair. “Since we were on the scene, the Institute for Army Affairs asked us to look into something.”
Panic shot through her veins like a drug from a needle. It was all she could do to remain outwardly calm. Officials from the Institute were the ones who’d taken her brother away.
“Your papers, please.”
“Don’t have them,” Asher said, looking down at his tattered clothes. “They were destroyed.”
“Same with mine.” She hoped to God they wouldn’t see her messenger bag on the floor. She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking.
Whenever she was nervous about something, she often visualized things down to the smallest detail. It was an imagery technique her father had taught her once.
“After you step through something in your mind,” he had told her, “the real thing doesn’t seem so daunting anymore.”
He also said to consider the worst that could happen and know things rarely turned out that way.
Now, inside the ruined wine shop, she pictured the woman cuffing her, the cold metal closing around her wrists. They’d explain how they’d seen her heal the woman and that she needed to come with them.
The man would grab her upper arm and escort her to a waiting vehicle, where the woman would open the back door for her. The man would put his hand on her head as she climbed in, because they do that on the reality cop shows. Was it to force someone inside when they didn’t want to go or was it a courtesy thing so you didn’t hit your head?
Rogue's Passion Page 4
