“Being with me.”
All her insecurities stuttered to a stop and she looked at him. Really studied him. Not just what she could see, but what she knew and felt about him. She saw him as this strong, capable soldier who could solve her problems with one hand. Literally. But was that what he saw?
“I have a lot of regrets, but you would never be one of them.” By some miracle, her voice didn’t waver.
He kissed her again, slow and sweet.
Zain rolled away and threw his legs over the side of the bed putting his back toward her. The movie had finally run its course, leaving them in silence. Unlike when he’d said not now, she didn’t feel bereft of his presence.
He peered over his shoulder at her.
“Do you mind if I take this off?” He held up his left hand.
In the span of a couple hours, the prosthetic had become...normal. An extension of him. Something she didn’t even think about. Not even when she’d held onto his bicep with the juncture of plastic and skin under her fingers.
“No.”
He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off.
Sensor pads dotted his back, and wires connected them to the arm. He reached around and peeled off first one, then two of the pads.
“Can...I help? Or is that rude?”
“It’s not rude, but I got this.”
She curled up, unable to look away and unsure if she should even be watching. The moment stretched on, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with her throbbing body. There were other scars and marks on his back and shoulders, but none as deep as the one on his face.
Zain carried the now lifeless arm to the dresser where he arranged its parts and pieces. When he was finished, he turned and held still a moment, as if giving her the chance to look. To stare. To change her mind.
More scars laced his body together, as if he’d been torn apart and put back together again. Without the prosthetic, his left arm ended maybe two or three inches below his elbow.
He was beautiful in his brokenness.
Emotion clogged her throat. She’d gone from horny to...feeling a thousand nuanced emotions all at once. Respect. Empathy. Desire. She couldn’t begin to know what it was like to be him. But he was sharing this one piece with her.
Andrea patted the bed. As if that were the signal he was waiting for, he crossed to the bed and lay down next to her until they were face to face. The movie forgotten.
“I’m losing my ability to be objective.” He made the statement like she should know what it meant.
“Is that a bad thing?” She shoved the pillow under her head, the better to see him, and prayed she didn’t look like a hot mess.
Zain smoothed his hand over her hair and down to her cheek. She held her breath, not quite convinced this moment was real.
“Maybe not? When I find out who’s done this...”
She swallowed. Yeah, she might feel sorry for the creep. Maybe.
Why was it, the threat of violence made her feel all breathless and tingly?
Zain leaned in, his hand on her cheek, and set his mouth against hers. The way her head spun—maybe she was still inebriated? Or was that just what lip-locking with a good kisser was like?
He pulled back enough to break the physical connection, his fingers still lost in her hair.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“Here?” Or was this his subtle way of getting rid of her?
“If you want.”
Oh, she very much wanted to stay where she was, but was that a good idea? He made her feel safe, and she’d met him—how many hours ago? Someone she’d likely known for years had just exposed her to a couple thousand people and she thought she had a good handle on whether or not Zain was someone she could trust?
She couldn’t find fault with her logic but it didn’t change her gut feeling that Zain would not hurt her.
“I can go if you want.” She said it because it was the right thing to do.
“Should you go? Probably. Do I want you to go? No.”
Ho-boy.
If she didn’t know any better, she might think she had a fever.
“Then I guess I’m staying here,” she said.
“Do you want a shirt to sleep in?”
Did she want to wrap herself in his manly-smelling clothing like some comic book vixen?
Yes, yes she did.
“That would be nice.” And probably allow her to breathe. The jeans fit like a second skin and the tank top was made for someone with much smaller boobs.
Zain rolled out of bed again and went to the dresser. He dug around for a moment before holding up a red Star Wars shirt featuring an X-Wing. The offering made her smile as she scooted out of bed and accepted the shirt. He held onto it for a second, his shadowed gaze locked on her. After a long pause, he released the shirt and backed up.
She turned and managed the four or so steps to the bathroom without her knees giving way.
Alone, the door between them, she pressed her palms to her heated cheeks.
She—Andrea—had kissed Zain. A really badass, real-life superhero kind of guy.
And he’d kissed her back.
And if things were different—if someone weren’t trying to harass her—tonight could have gone very differently.
These kinds of things did not happen to her.
She had a quiet—albeit pretty cool—kind of life. But she wasn’t sleeping. And this was very much happening. So why not go with the flow?
Andrea took a deep breath and stripped out of the jeans, tank top and her bra.
Christ, the whole world knew what she looked like topless. Guess there wouldn’t be any mystery there. No reason to get nervous, right?
She pulled on his shirt, luxuriating in the softness of the fabric after hours spent in clothes that felt painted on. That just wasn’t her thing, though she was—and would—be grateful to the girls for helping her out.
Right. All that was left now was to step out there in nothing but his shirt and act like it was all perfectly normal for her. Sure, other people were comfortable in their sexuality, but her? Not so much. There were many, very good reasons, why she’d lost herself in a world of controllers and avatars from an early age.
Zain liked her. At least enough to kiss her and offer to sleep with her. So why the nerves?
She couldn’t come up with a good reason.
Andrea grasped the handle and opened the door into darkness. The TV was off and the room silent.
“Do you mind ambient noise?” Zain stood with his back to her. He wore basketball shorts instead of jeans now.
“Nope.” She tiptoed toward the bed, only to find he’d pulled the blankets and sheets down on the other one. Farthest from the door. He’d even thought to move her phone to the nightstand within easy reach. She fired off a quick text to let Miranda know she wasn’t coming back to the already cram packed room.
The sound of rain filled the space. She scooted into the bed and nearly jumped when Zain slid in right behind her.
Where she was uncertain, he wasn’t.
Zain lay on his side, so close that if she shifted, even a bit, they’d be touching.
“I should be honest with you,” he said.
“Oh?” She clutched the sheets.
“I knew who you were—I mean, I didn’t recognize you dressed up—but I knew your name.”
“I gathered that.”
“No, what I’m trying to say is—I’ve been attracted to you. You just seemed...different.”
“Oh.” She wiggled her toes. He thought she was attractive? Pretty maybe? “Thank you?”
“I am not here trying to get into your pants.”
“Well if you want in them, I think they’re all gone. Piper’s are probably too small for you.”
“Really?”
“What?”
“That’s where you’re taking that statement?”
“I can’t help it. I’m nervous. I say stupid stuff when I’m nervous.”
�
��Come here.” Zain chuckled.
Those two little words were magic.
She rolled toward him until she was on her side, facing him. There was barely enough light to make out his shape, the rest she’d have to imagine. His hand slid between her cheek and the pillow
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“What?”
“My arm?” He rested his left arm against her side.
“No?”
“Some people do.”
“Those people would not be in bed with you if they did. And if they were, I’d probably have a problem being here right now—just saying.” The way he’d asked—it was almost as if he expected her to care that he wasn’t wearing the prosthetic anymore. She hadn’t paused to consider that other people, even Zain, might see him any other way than how she did. Which was, quite frankly, hot and a little intimidating. The arm bit wasn’t even a blip in her mind anymore.
“Just checking.” He leaned in and kissed her, sweet this time. Measured. As if he were holding back.
“What if I tell you I’m super sober right now?”
“Tomorrow. Tell me that again tomorrow.”
“You’re completely infuriating.”
“You aren’t the one with blue balls.”
“That would be your fault.”
“I’m aware.”
“Okay, just so you know.”
“Roll over.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“It comes with being in charge.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She sighed and did as he asked, smiling into the dark when he draped his arm over her waist.
Tomorrow she’d be ultra-super-sober and hopefully she’d still have the nerve to tell him.
7.
Screaming.
Burning metal.
The smell of his skin frying in the sun.
The pain shot across his shoulder, down his spine. He kicked his feet because they were the only thing he could move. The rest of him was caught under the truck. Or what was left of it.
“Zain? Zain!”
Rustling fabric. A muted squeak.
He knew that voice, but it was wrong. It didn’t belong in this hell-hole.
Zain’s eyes popped open, but the darkness was overwhelming.
Had he died?
The bed dipped on his right.
He rolled, reaching blindly for the source of the sound and grasped something soft. Curvy. Feminine.
A high pitched yelp preceded someone landing on the edge of the bed.
Andrea.
He tightened his grip on her thigh, curling his fingers around the soft, inner part of her leg.
It was a dream. All of it.
“Oh my God, Zain.” She panted, her voice shaking with near laughter, pitched too high with strain.
The nightmares were so rote now, he barely remembered them after waking up. They just happened. He hadn’t paused to consider what it might be like for someone sharing his bed. Hell, he hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a long time. His sleep-befuddled mind struggled to catch up, bits of the last hour before he’d passed out flashing to the forefront of his mind.
What was she doing there?
Kissing Andrea. Her sweetness. The way she’d laughed. Her complete acceptance of him. The fliers. Her trashed room.
He slid his hand higher, over her panties and hip, hooking his arm around her waist, under his shirt and pulled her to him. She came willingly, curling her arms around him.
“Zain? Is everything okay?”
“Just a dream.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have it most nights. It’s okay.”
“You...”
“What is it?”
“What’s the dream about? You sounded like you were in pain.”
“It’s different sometimes.” He’d had them for so long that they’d become normal. Usually he didn’t even wake up after them. Nothing had cured them or made them go away for long.
“What was it this time?”
“That moment under the Hummer after the explosion.”
“What?” Her voice rose in pitch, the shock palpable.
“It happened a long time ago.”
“And you still dream about it?”
“Yeah. It’s the past.” Or that was what he liked to tell himself.
The truth was, working for Aegis, doing what they did, it kept him right there in it. Reliving that bit of history again and again. Only now, more and more often, it was him calling the shots. Telling the guys where to go. If he fucked up, one of them paid the price just like he had. He wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. He could barely manage to get out of bed and face life some days.
“I’m going to get some water. Want some?” Andrea’s hand stroked his side, her fingers gentle.
“Hold on.” He brushed his lips across hers and rolled away before he could lose himself. Though he was awake, he knew how the dream went. Where it would go. How it ended, because that part was always on loop at the back of his mind.
He padded to the bathroom and turned on the light. A row of glasses stood ready to be used. He snagged one, but left the light on. The better to not stumble around the room with, but it also gave him a dim glimpse of Andrea in bed, the sheet up under her arms, hair everywhere. If possible, she looked even younger and more innocent half asleep.
Yeah, he was going to hell for not turning her over to someone else. He had problems. And she was...not ready for him. No woman deserved the kind of baggage he brought, which was exactly why she shouldn’t be there.
Zain snagged a chilled bottle of water from the mini fridge, poured a glass and handed it to her. She could have gotten her own water, but he took perverse pleasure in providing it for her. Watching her pink lips against the glass.
He’d come clean about his Internet crush and she hadn’t cared. Had she still been tipsy? Did she know what he’d said? Or was that because men professed their admiration all the time? She wasn’t a bed hopper. That idea didn’t hold water from its conception. Last night proved that. She’d been jealous of her friends talking to him—about her. That wasn’t the way a woman accustomed to sliding in and out of stranger’s beds behaved.
Again, he was justifying his impure motives.
“Thanks.” She handed the now empty glass to him, one side of her mouth hitched up, eyes still heavy from sleep.
He sipped from the bottle, then stashed it back in the fridge for later.
“Do you want the light on?” He padded to his side of the bed.
“It’s fine.” She patted the indentation in his pillow.
Zain slid back between the sheets, his mind fully alert now. There’d be no more sleeping. At least not for him.
Andrea snuggled in close, one arm wrapped around his waist. Her lashes fluttered slowly, a bit of the light gleaming off her eyes.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“You probably don’t want to know. Sorry about waking you up.”
“It’s okay.” She rubbed her toes against his shin, her sleepy smile teasing him with all sorts of ideas.
He leaned in. One kiss. That’s all he wanted, then he could let her go. Roll over. Pretend to sleep.
She tipped her chin up.
He set his lips against hers. Her chest pressed against his and her arm around him tightened. It was just a squeeze and a kiss. Innocent. Nothing at all. Or that was the lie he was telling himself. If only his cock would get on the same page.
Blood pumped from his head to his groin.
This needed to stop now. She was his client. He was taking advantage of her vulnerability. So many reasons why he really should back off, and yet... One more taste...
Andrea’s knee slid up his thigh. She rocked into him, stroking his dick with her hip as her tongue teased his lips.
Stopping. Right now.
He pushed his hand between them, but it got caught in the sheet and her shirt. Well, his shirt. He shook it loose, his knuckles grazi
ng the underside of her bare breast. Her lips parted on a small gasp.
There was no barrier stopping him from fucking her. None whatsoever. She’d made that perfectly clear before, and now with both her words and actions.
Zain rolled away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, taking most of the sheet and blanket with him. He gripped the mattress, sucking down air, and tried to focus on anything except his junk.
“Zain?” Her voice cracked, and damn it, he could already see her crestfallen expression without looking at her.
“Go back to sleep.” His voice was rougher, a testament to the lack of control.
“Did...did I do something wrong?”
“What? No.” He turned.
She sat propped up on one hand, the other pushing her hair back, off her face.
It’s not you...it’s me...
Yeah, that was lame as fuck.
“Do you want me to go?” Her brows were drawn down, the look of confusion creasing her face.
“No. Not unless you want to.”
“Then...what’s wrong? Did I—”
“It’s the dream. It’s me.”
“Oh.” She blinked slowly, the lines marring her features relaxing. “Can I help distract you?”
“Shit. Andrea. You don’t know what you’re asking.” He palmed his dick, trying to ease the throb of arousal. His mind was back there, caught on the precipice of death, and he just wanted to feel alive. Touching her, the need for her, reminded him of that in a way he didn’t often get.
Andrea crawled toward him, undeterred. She sat behind him, one leg draped over the side of the bed, her front to his back. Breathing wasn’t an option. Any moment he could say no or tell her to leave. Instead, she did what felt right. She slid her arms around his waist and chest, stroking his skin with her fingers, squeezing him.
He flattened one hand against him.
Andrea’s lips grazed his shoulder. Her other hand slid down his stomach and wiggled under the elastic of his shorts.
“Andrea...”
She froze.
“You can tell me no again and that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re probably right on the second part.” She hugged him to her, their bodies as close as they could be. At least on the outside.
Dangerous Games (Aegis Group, #3) Page 7
