by Aliyah Burke
“Are you threatening me?”
She stepped closer, her chest a heartbeat from his, and stared at him through slitted eyes. “Nope. Not remotely a threat. That’s a promise. You’ll be longing for a mere nosebleed.”
With a deft move, she entered the hospital room her brother occupied, closing the door behind her. Sun shone through the half-open blinds, giving the room a softness the stark white walls couldn’t. She’d brought in plants and balloons along with his iPod and docking station.
She still shook with anger as she sat by BB and took his hand in her own. Staring at him, she simmered with more fury at all the healing cuts and bruises on his face and body. His torso was scattered with pale swaths of gauze and even with his dark skin the bruising could be easily identified.
The door opened and Cort stepped through, his broad body blocking out the men behind him before he shut the door on them. His eyes travelled familiarly over her, then fell to BB’s unmoving body. Cort’s jaw clenched and flames raged in his eyes. Zémire had kissed her brother and released his hand by the time Cort got to his side. She stepped away to allow him a moment.
Across the small room, she leant against the corner and tried to confine her stare to only out the window. The parking lot held a lot less appeal for her than the sinfully handsome man staring down at her brother, however.
Cort. She’d missed him like hell these past few weeks. Allowing him into her life, heart and bed had been a mistake. A deliciously wonderful experience to be loved by a man who’d always turned her head.
Still a mistake.
She harboured no illusions, despite some of the things he’d said to her. Cort lifted his head and pinned her with his gaze. The anger was gone but the eyes still swirled with potent emotions. Her legs trembled a bit, heartbeat increased along with her breathing. He languidly skimmed her from head to toe. Her throat grew dry and she could feel the moisture gathering between her legs.
He prowled towards her. An unstoppable force. Each step closer sent a jolt through her. His eyes burned hotter and she wondered if she wasn’t about to go up in flames. Only when his body pressed along hers, arms on either side of her above her head, did he stop.
“Zémire,” he said on a single breath of warm air.
Nerves became shaky with each inhalation. Hard to stay mad and focussed on something else when the rugged scent that drove her from sensible to desperately horny hussy flooded her with each breath taken.
“Cort.”
“Explain.” He ran some fingers down the strands of hair by her temple.
Licking her lips, she peered past him to where her brother lay, then back to the man taking up more than his share of her oxygen. He waited.
“Do you mind moving back?”
“Yes.” He thrust forwards and she barely kept the whimper of longing contained.
“My brother—”
“Is sleeping. Besides, you said he knows about us.” He released her hair and trailed his knuckles along the top of her breasts, goose bumps rising to meet his touch.
He’s killing me. She ignored the ‘us’ he’d used.
“I came in the room and overheard Agent Jimenez and my brother. So I sneaked out and came back later to find BB asleep. I asked him about it this morning and he filled me in.”
“You’re deliberately being vague with me, Zémire. Why?” he asked, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
How the hell did his fingers get inside my shirt and bra?
Words escaped her. Another tug and she jumped. She ground her jaw and held his stare. Pride kept her mouth shut. It had nothing to do with him. One eyebrow rose and she knew he expected an answer.
“Zémire?” BB’s voice broke the increasing tension between them. “What are you two doing over there?”
She missed Cort’s touch the second he released her. “We didn’t want to wake you, BB.” She sidestepped the wall of solid muscle before her and progressed to her brother’s side. Running a hand along his face, she said, “I’ll let you two talk. I’ll be back in a while. And we’ll go home.”
“Love you,” he returned, staring at her with his remaining eye.
“You too, big bro.” She glanced past him to Cort who’d made his way over to the bed. He didn’t speak but she definitely got the message. Things weren’t finished between them. She walked out to find both Michaels and Jimenez waiting.
“We need to talk,” Jimenez said with a glower.
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“So I should ignore you bloodying my nose?”
She bristled, hands clenched, and she closed in. Michaels circled her wrist and stopped the action. “Given what you did to my brother? Yeah, you should.”
“Why don’t we chalk it up to emotions,” Allan interjected, sliding his body almost in front of hers.
Their eyes clashed around Allan. Jimenez looked away first. She didn’t argue when slight pressure was applied to her and she followed Allan without a word. Zémire was content that with Cort at his side, her brother was perfectly safe.
Neither she nor Allan spoke during the elevator ride, or along the walk to the parking lot. They meandered along the sidewalk, the Texas morning air pleasantly crisp with a slight breeze. She tucked some hair behind her ear and stared at her companion. He’d slipped on his aviator glasses. She smiled, thinking how he reminded her of Top Gun and how Tom Cruise had looked as Maverick in them.
“Why are we out here?” she questioned.
“Thought you might want a break.”
“What I want is for this nightmare to be over.” She leant against a lamppost and hooked her ankles. “Did you know?” This time she spoke French.
Allan stuck his hands in his pockets. “No, I didn’t know.”
Odd though it may seem, she believed him. Not that it made things okay, just that she believed him innocent in the debacle.
“Will he press charges?” Now the punch didn’t seem so brilliant. A fed? Jeez! They can lock me up and throw away the key.
Allan’s laughter shocked her. He shook his head after he got himself under control. “No, he won’t. He’d never let on he got busted up by a woman.” More laughter. “I’ve wanted to do that to him before. His expression was total disbelief. Like, ‘Oh my God. A woman just bloodied my nose’.”
Zémire chuckled then burst out laughing, joining Allan. People walking by gave them strange looks. Wiping her eyes, she held up her hands. “Stop, my gut hurts.”
He removed his glasses and she saw the sparkle in his green eyes. Allan was an extremely handsome man. “Come on,” he said.
“Where?”
“Coffee.”
That sounded so good. She inspected the other two wings of the hospital, which looked down at the lot. I wonder if Cort can see me. Brushing that thought away, she focussed on Allan and stepped lightly by his side. A quick coffee, what could it hurt? Then she’d get back to BB.
They conversed in French over their cafeteria coffee.
“To have degrees in cosmology and planetology must be energising. Then to use them both on Midi,” Allan sighed, “I’m jealous.”
“It’s my dream job. That place is by far the most beautiful I’ve been to.”
“We just go there for the skiing and biking.”
Gazes met and they said as one with smiles, “Le Tour de France.”
Talk of France continued until a tingle shot up her spine. A feeling of warning and longing. One that told her she was being hunted and the only man who could make her experience that stood near. Cort.
“A word, Zémire,” he said from behind her.
A final word to Allan combined with an apologetic smile and she rose, empty cup in hand.
“What, Cort?” she asked in English, facing him. “Who’s with my brother?” Like usual, just the sight of this man made her insides mush and made her crave things. No, not things. Him.
“The doc is with him. What were you two talking about?”
“None of y
our business.” She tossed the cup in a trash receptacle.
“Zémire,” he rumbled.
Good mood evaporating faster than water in the desert, she glared at him. Loud, booming recollections of him telling a woman to dress echoed like bass drums in her ears. And swiftly she got reminded of her place with him—a flavour of the month, so to speak. She struggled not to let her pain at that recollection show.
“I was extending him an open-ended invite to stay the next time he was in my part of France.”
She sauntered away, ignoring the flash of anger in his expression, determined not to let him know he got to her.
Chapter Eight
Blood thundered in Cort’s ears. The cafeteria began to take on a pinkish glow as the red haze of fury settled over him. Air became heavy and seemed to slow things down around him. His hands and breathing were like the whirl of a chopper blade. Everything moved in slow motion.
Except Zémire. Her steps took her swiftly from the room and out of his sight. Wrenching control back, he shook off the daze, glowered at Allan Michaels for good measure, and hurried off after her.
Zémire’s face, when he caught up with her in the elevator, couldn’t hide her surprise. Normally he would find it amusing. Not today.
“Did you really think I’d let it go, Zémire?” he demanded, stabbing at the ‘close door’ button.
“Let what go, Cort?”
Zémire relaxed against the rail, eyes overflowing with exhaustion and large circles beneath them. She’s not had an easy time of it, his brain cautioned. He took a deep breath.
“Us, Zémire. We need to talk about us.”
The car stopped and the doors slid open in silence.
“Not really,” she said, brushing by him to exit the elevator.
He grabbed her wrist and spun her back to his chest. At full contact it took all he had not to forget they were in public. Her lush body along his—his idea of heaven—made him even more aware of how much he’d missed her. Not just in a sexual way. Regardless of what my cock thinks. It had been at half-mast when he’d restrained her before, but now, having her against him like she was…her curves and fresh scent made him fully erect.
“Zémire.”
She tried to draw back. He allowed it, only to follow until she stood sandwiched between him and the wall of the hallway. Swimming in the deep inviting pools of her eyes, he could read the desire she attempted to keep hidden.
He knew the protest was forthcoming and stopped it before it could get out. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue slipping along the seam of her lips before delving in. The sweet, heady, and addictive taste that was uniquely Zémire flooded him. Revitalised him.
She sank into him, purring in the back of her throat, hands splayed against his pecs. Their tongues danced with one another, sliding and stroking. Her eyes were shut and he had to remind himself again they were still in public. With great reluctance he ended the kiss. Heavy lids lifted to expose her eyes, smoky with want.
“There’s much for us to discuss.”
Her face shuttered before all expression smoothed away. “I have to see to my brother.” She ducked by him, turned back, and rested a hand on his arm. “Good to see you, Cort. Thanks for coming by to see him.” A slight smile and she walked away.
He frowned as she disappeared around the corner. All prim and proper, Zémire. One wouldn’t think you’d just had your tongue shoved down my throat. Like he hadn’t felt the hardened tips of her nipples pressing against him, or seen the rapid beat of her pulse.
“Kysenzki, a word.”
Pivoting his head to the left, he found Allan Michaels standing there.
“Yes?” Amazing how the urge to punch him appeared. Just like that.
“Just thought you should know Agent Jimenez was asking Zémire about your partner.”
His brows drew closer. Two things bothered him. One, the fact Michaels felt comfortable enough with Zémire to use her first name. And two, why would she be asked about his partner? They’ve never met. Have they?
“You mean, Ms. Gibson? Why would my partner be a concern in regards to her?”
“No, I mean, Zémire. I’m not sure why he did.”
Cort bristled. “But you knew he was my partner?”
“Yes. And before you ask, no I don’t know why, I just thought you may want to know.”
Looks like he’d be having another chat with Jimenez. He scanned over the meticulously dressed agent whom he’d watched laughing with his Zémire. Then to know she had invited him to stay with her in France. There came that unchecked urge to smash him right in the kisser.
“Stay away from Zémire.” The order slid out.
Allan lifted a brow. “She told me she wasn’t married or in a relationship.”
That stung. “She’s not.” Not yet at least. “Stay away from her.”
“I like her, we have a lot in common.”
Images of Allan’s nose busting open and blood flowing filled his mind’s eye. “I don’t care.” He shifted his weight.
The smirk on Allan’s face told him he wasn’t cowed at all. “Bye,” Allan said, heading towards the elevator.
Muttering under his breath, Cort strolled to BB’s room. The guard was gone and the door had been propped open. BB sat in a wheelchair while Zémire packed his things. His friend was reserved and withdrawn. Zémire’s entire body showed her concern but the moment her brother looked at her, she rewarded him with a huge smile.
“Knock, knock,” Cort said from the door.
Both looked at him, Zémire only for a short time before putting her attention back to packing.
“Hey, Cort,” BB said, moving himself back and forth in the chair.
“Breaking out?” he asked with a grin.
A wane smile crossed BB’s healing face. “Nawh, they’re letting us go. My sister isn’t as sweet as I’d thought.”
Cort trained his eyes on Zémire, who steadfastly ignored him. Zémire had a temper. A fact that totally turned him on. “That so?” he asked, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with BB as opposed to lusting after his friend’s sister.
“She threatened to go to the press and tell them what Jimenez did. He caved. Quickly, too. And it looked like he’d already been beaten. I could see the beginning of a black eye.”
Cort had no idea how he refrained from bursting out in laughter. “I’m sure he deserved whatever he got,” he said.
“Did you hit him?”
“Me?” Cort asked in shock.
“Yes, you.” BB watched him carefully.
Behind him, Cort could see the look of panic on Zémire’s face. She doesn’t want BB to know. Skimming his lower lip with his tongue, he sighed. “You know me,” he muttered offhandedly. I can’t believe I’m taking the blame for this. Why am I?
“Thought so. You know, Cort, one day your temper will get you in trouble,” BB reproved.
“What can I say?” He shrugged, sans remorse. The immediate relieved expression on Zémire answered his earlier question.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, gratitude brimmed in her eyes.
That right there is why I did it. To get that soft look from Zémire. She’s got me wrapped around her little finger. Yep, I’m so pussy whipped.
It didn’t matter what reprimands he got from BB. All that mattered was pleasing Zémire.
“What can I carry down?” he questioned, doing his damndest not to get a hard-on when her brother was in the room. Realising he fought a losing battle, he drifted past BB until he stood between Zémire and her brother.
She played with the stark whiteness of the cotton bedding, bringing to mind all kinds of scenarios. None of which did a lick of good against the rod of steel in his pants.
“Why don’t you push your brother and I’ll carry his stuff?” Cort offered.
Zémire began to debate with him until he planted her hand over the rigidness in his jeans and arched a brow. Her large eyes widened before they filled with primal hunger. She licked her lips and re
leased him with the barest of squeezes.
Shit, just kill me now. I’m about to come from that little touch.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes dropping back to his crotch and lingering there.
“I’ll meet y’all at the elevator.”
“Okay,” she responded, still focussed on the proof of his desire.
He cleared his throat and her gaze jumped up to his. Before she could move away, he added in a whisper, “Tonight in the barn, Zémire. It won’t be pretty if I have to come to the house to get you.”
Her eyes held his before she got around him. “Let’s go home, BB.”
When he pivoted, they were gone. With a groan, he ran his hand down his face, readjusted himself, and struggled to quench the need in his body for Zémire. Even his heart pounded out her name. Zém-ire. Zém-ire. Zém-ire.
One deep breath and he grabbed the box on his way out. They rode down in silence, lost in their own thoughts. From his peripheral view, he observed his friend. His left eye gone, the empty socket covered by a black patch, combined with the fresh scars gave BB a much rougher look.
He felt so bad for what BB’d gone through. Benvolio Gibson had one of the best personalities he’d ever encountered in a person. Confident, sure, and funny, he never met a stranger, so for this to happen to him made Cort’s gut clench. He was so lost in thoughts he almost missed the look between Zémire and Agent Michaels while he handed her something after they stepped off the elevator.
Anger simmered as they spoke softly, almost intimately, with one another. It boiled up when Allan lifted his head and shot him an arrogant smile.
Cort stashed the items in the backseat of the waiting vehicle and turned to intervene with Zémire but there was no need. The agent currently ambled back to the entrance.
“Thanks for helping, Cort.” Zémire’s gentle tone wrapped around him.
Rotating so he faced her, Cort stared unabashed. Her eyes watched him. He longed to draw her in close, bury his nose in her hair and allow her unique scent of watermelon and freshly fallen snow to soothe him. He wanted to follow her to BB’s and take her to bed.
