by Jaime Rush
He had a lazy heat in his eyes that reminded her of when they’d fallen into lust by the river. “Very kick-ass.” He held out his hand, and she reached out to shake it. Except he slid his wet fingers between hers and yanked her into the tub. “It’s why I can’t resist you.”
She fell against him, her midsection instantly soaked. He was kissing her just as quickly, one hand at her cheek, the other at her back.
“It’s just the adrenaline,” she said, though her mouth was kissing him right back.
“The adrenaline, yes, you . . .” His mouth moved down her neck while his hands unbuttoned her blouse. “You were so strong and sexy and fierce.”
She moved against him, straining to feel his hands on her. He shoved her shirt back over her shoulders, and she unclasped her bra. “And when you pulled me off that bike and held onto my hand, kept me from falling . . .”
But he wasn’t keeping her from falling now. In fact, he was pushing her right over the edge.
His mouth on her breast stole away her breath and words. She dug her fingers into his hair, tilting her head back.
“Have to . . . stop.” But he didn’t stop, thank gawd. He left a slick trail in the hollow between her breasts, lavishing attention on the other one now.
“You smell good, you taste good,” he murmured. “I want to bury myself inside you.”
She felt his erection pressed against her thigh, so close. “Me, too. I want that, too.”
Her hand trailed down and touched him. He let out a delicious sound in his throat, and when she wrapped her fingers around the length of him, he shuddered. His teeth scraped her nipple and his hands tightened against her back.
The heat she felt wasn’t from the hot tub. He filled her with it, his touch, his mouth moving against her skin. Her breath was coming in small gasps, the throbbing between her legs overwhelming. She ran her other hand down his back, her fingers splayed to feel as much of him as possible. To touch him, to finally touch him, and to feel him . . . heaven and hell.
“You are making me crazy,” he whispered.
“I know, I know, I know.”
“I mean, you . . . are . . . making . . . me . . . crazy.”
Heat vibrated, and she was startled by the brush of fur against her stomach. She looked down to find an agitated jaguar leaping out of the tub. His black eyes glittered, his two fangs huge against the black fur. He shook off the water, his body rigid. Then he stalked toward her.
She backed up as far as she could go, sensing his on-edge energy. He came closer, his eyes sharp chunks of black ice, body trembling with pent-up restraint.
“Cheveyo . . .”
She leaned farther back. Coward. You faced that hell dog but you’re backing away from Cheveyo.
But not Cheveyo exactly. He was barely in control, both when human and tearing off her clothes and in cat form. He turned and snarled, taking several steps away. Then he turned to man again, gloriously naked. He bowed his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I never lose control.”
She pulled her shirt together. “It’s the blood loss. You’re a little woozy.”
He grabbed a towel from the bar and handed it to her without seeming to realize he was both wet and naked, dripping all over the tile floor. “It’s not that. Look what happened at the river.” He took her in as she wriggled out of her shirt and wrapped the towel around her. “And just now.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Shameful. I had to turn cat just to regain control.”
“And to put distance between us. You knew I was afraid and used that.” Her lower lip pushed out in a pout. “You snarled at me.”
“I’m sorry.” He took another towel from a pile near the tub and wrapped it around his waist. “That was unacceptable.” He met her eyes on that, and she could see regret.
He held out his hand again.
She eyed it speculatively. “Is it safe?”
He nodded, looking contrite. Because she couldn’t stand for him to feel that way, she took his hand. He pulled her close, stroking her hair. In his arms, she knew what feeling complete was. She had hoped for a love, a man, to make her feel complete. Here he was, and he loved her, even if he’d never admit it. She doubted, with his life, that he’d loved any other woman. She could have stayed there forever, but he backed up far too soon.
Weariness saturated his expression. “Use the tub, now that you’re all wet. I’ll be in the bedroom. If I’m asleep, lie down with me. I don’t want you all the way downstairs on the other side of the house.”
She put her palm against his cheek. Words escaped her for a moment. He leaned into her touch before catching himself and moving away.
“Drain the water and run it fresh.”
No, she wanted his water. “You rinsed first, so it’s no big deal.”
The bathroom felt big and lonely when he closed the door behind him. The tub, however, did look nice. After stripping out of her wet clothes, she sank into the hot water. She grabbed a washcloth from the top of a small stack and washed. She hadn’t brought her bag into the bathroom, so she didn’t have her favorite cherry blossom shampoo. His was nice, though, scented with manly spices. She ran her fingers down her leg and felt the beginnings of stubble. Better shave just in case they went out-of-control crazy again.
She could hear him talking out in the bedroom.
“Cheveyo?” she said. “Do you have extra razors and shaving cream?”
He cracked the door open. “Yeah. Want me to get them for you?”
“That would be great.”
He walked in and opened one of the cabinets. Wearing cotton pants with a drawstring and nothing else, she could see the color of his skin through the thin material.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked, then added, “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
He gave her a curious half smile. “Pope. I wanted to thank him for healing me. He said he put the bike in the outbuilding. Whether she works or not, we’ll have to see.”
He set the items on the shelf, and she propped her foot on the edge and reached for the can of shaving cream. Then he did something that surprised her. He sat on the edge of the tub, taking hold of her foot. “Can I do it?”
“You want to . . . shave my legs?”
He grinned. “I think it’d be interesting.”
“I’ve never let a man shave my legs before. I’ve never had a man ask to shave my legs. But if you want to, just excuse my stubble.”
He set her foot on his thighs, soaking the fabric. He studied it, as though he were gazing at a piece of art. And not ugly art.
“I hate my feet,” she felt compelled to say, as though in apology.
“Why? They’re beautiful.” He ran his finger along her arch, tickling her.
“My toes are too spread apart, and too long.”
“They’re perfect. God doesn’t make ugly, you know.”
“Well, some parts of our bodies aren’t exactly . . . pretty. The puzzle pieces.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Puzzle pieces?”
She laughed. “That’s how my dad described our sexual parts when I first asked how babies were made. Two pieces that fit together.”
“Mother nature honors our . . . puzzle pieces. Our sexuality. Think about a half of a peach or pecan. Or some flowers. They resemble the flower of a woman.”
“I do remember looking at an orchid once and thinking it looked like a woman’s privates. But I haven’t seen many penis-shaped flowers.”
“There’s a type of fungus that grows out of the ground and looks very phallic. And avocadoes resemble testicles. They grow in pairs, one lower than the other. We got their name from the Aztec word for testicle.”
“Mmmm. Makes me think about, well, our parts differently.” Unfortunately, it also got her thinking about their parts. His part and the way it felt smooth and hard in her hand.
His gaze was heated, too.
She cleared her throat. “Let’s not talk about—”
He ran his fingers lightly along her leg, perhaps studying the contours, hopefully not the stubble. Then he squirted out shaving lotion and rubbed it down her leg in the same thoughtful way. She wasn’t sure how to read him, his current mood in particular. Gone was the catlike edge or even the hunter. Here was not even the man who’d held her after saving her life.
He ran the razor across the top of her shin, focusing all of his attention on his movements. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor after each run. He was even more careful around her knee, especially where she’d cut herself last time. With each stroke, in that quiet stillness of the room, his tender care made parts of her crumble away. He looked up only after he’d rinsed her leg with his hands, a signal to change legs.
“Are you crying?” he asked.
She swiped at her eyes and realized she was.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, you’re perfect. I mean, you’re doing perfect. It’s just . . .”
He faced her now, waiting patiently for her to spill her heart.
“You shaving my legs is the most tender, beautiful thing a man has ever done for me. It’s silly.”
He leaned closer and wiped her tears with his thumb. “You’re the princess. You are to be adored.”
She sucked in a breath at that, because he’d put into words her deepest longing: to be adored. Cherished.
He touched her face as she’d done to him not long before. “I’m sorry I can’t be that person.” His thumb stroked her cheek, slow motions. “But right now, I can adore you.”
She nodded, pushing back all the pain and regret at that, seeing it in his eyes. If she breathed, her tears would gush.
He dipped his hand into the water, bringing up her other foot. As he lovingly shaved that leg, she thought she knew what he was doing: living out a moment of a normal life, a normal relationship—with her. A life he could never have, and she saw that ache he’d spoken of before. The ache she once felt over not being able to have Lucas was nothing compared to how she felt now. Because Lucas had never been hers. Cheveyo was hers, in her heart, her soul. She had been oblivious while he checked on her, but when she first met him, she’d known him. Felt him. Loved him.
He rinsed her leg, then grabbed a towel and handed it to her. He held out his hand, and she let him pull her to her feet, the towel a shield and barrier between them. She wrapped it around her. This was when he should sweep her into his arms and carry her to bed. She stepped over the rim, and he leaned down to unstop the tub.
“There’s a robe on the hook there. You can use that, and I’ll bring up your bag. I remember seeing Pope carry it in.”
He closed the door behind him, and she sagged down to the side of the tub, her hand to her chest. Now she understood why he’d stayed away from her. Not only to protect her from the danger that surrounded him, but to protect both of them from this. He knocked a minute later and handed her the bag.
He wasn’t asleep when she finally left the bathroom, but he was lying on the bed. He’d changed into a dry pair of cotton pants, and she paused at the sight of him, his hair loose and tousled, expression somber. He’d left on a light for her, a child’s lamp with a smiling bear.
She walked over to the chest of drawers it sat on. “Is it okay if I leave this light on?”
“I usually do.”
To keep the shadows at bay? To see in the dark lest an enemy invade? So he’d know where he was, sleeping in the Tank so often?
She wore pajamas, silky blue ones with long lacy sleeves. She climbed onto the bed, and he pulled her against him. Her cheek pressed against his chest, and she ran her finger down that scar.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow we get up early and hunt.”
She thought that his gift of being able to slip so quickly into a deep sleep let his mind recharge faster than most. Her hand, lying on his bare chest, tingled. As soon as he reached the deepest sleep, she felt that ache again, his loneliness.
She had seen his soul when she’d connected with him. She wanted to see more of it, to know it as he knew hers. She closed her eyes and imagined walking into that darkness and pain.
The barrage of images hit her, the boy facing a terrifying creature who slashed at him with its claws, tearing that scar into his chest. Riding on his bike toward a sunset, his isolation a counterpoint to the beauty of the sky.
Then more horrifying scenes pounded at her. A woman’s body on the floor, her throat slashed. A boy cowering between a dresser and the wall. When she thought it was Cheveyo, a creature tore the boy from his hiding place. The boy’s screams cut right through her, but the creature’s fangs silenced him, slicing through his throat. The boy fell limp in a pool of blood. Rage and grief swamped her, and then darkness.
In that darkness, a voice boomed, “What are you doing in there?”
She jerked out of the trance.
Cheveyo sat up, his eyes wide. They narrowed as he came fully awake. “You were inside me, weren’t you?”
She sat up, too, still vibrating with the horror of what she’d seen. “I saw things, terrible things. I saw the boy who was killed, a boy who looked like you.”
He sat up, planting his elbows on his bent knees. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I feel such sadness coming from you. The only time I can get to know who you are is when you sleep.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He was closed to her now, his eyes shuttered.
“You know my soul. It’s only fair that I know yours.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t really argue with that, or at least he shouldn’t. Finally he said, “You don’t belong in the darkness of my soul. You’ll get lost in the shadows.”
She touched his arm. “Maybe I can pull you out of them.”
“That would be impossible.” He stared at nothing, his expression haunted.
“The boy . . . he was your son, wasn’t he?”
His voice was soft when he said, “Cody.”
The thought spun her. He had a son. “I’m so sorry.” That seemed terribly inadequate. She looked at the bear lamp, seeing it with new meaning.
He remained closed, shielded. “Go to sleep, Petra.”
“The thing that killed him, it was a Glouk, wasn’t it?”
He nodded, his gaze blank and aimed past her.
“You were . . . married?”
“I was eighteen when I met Darcy. She said she was on birth control, but she wasn’t. She got pregnant. I couldn’t marry her because I could have no legal connection to her, to anyone. Nothing that would put her and the baby in harm’s way. I didn’t love her, but I planned to provide for them from a safe distance. Then the baby came, and I fell in love with him.”
“How can you not fall in love with your child? Not even you can be that strong.”
“No, but I was young and stupid enough to think I could have a normal life and fight demons. My father warned me, but I’d been raised to believe I was the unconquerable warrior. I never contacted them or went near our house when I was engaged with an enemy. I thought that would keep them safe.” He laughed in a humorless way. “Darcy assumed I worked for the government or the police, and I let her believe it. I’d come back bruised, cut, and couldn’t tell her a thing about it.”
He went silent, and she gave him the time to process his thoughts. But not too much time. “And what happened?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“I don’t know how the Glouk found out about them. It baffles me, even now. My father was the one who warned me there was trouble at home, since my visions don’t work when it concerns my future. I raced home and found the Glouk there. Darcy was already dead. But Cody . . .” He took a deep breath.
“It’s okay. I saw it.”
“He was frozen, poor kid. I’d never worked with him. I didn’t want him training to fight boogeymen, living his childhood in war mode like I did. I fought the Glouk for hours, but he was too damned powerful. I was exhausted, b
ut he never tired. He threw me against the wall so hard, I heard bones crack in my body.”
She winced, tightening her hold on his arm. “And you couldn’t help Cody.”
He shook his head, his expression a mask of grief. “I had to watch, unable to move. Even worse, I passed out, left him there to die alone.” Self-incrimination saturated his voice. “When I woke, a whole day had passed. Everything was gone. Even their bodies. No blood, nothing. My injuries were healed, too. My father told me he’d pulled in other resources to heal me and clean the evidence. Having the police investigate would not be good. Darcy had been estranged from her family for years. I suspected that was why she’d wanted to trap me, so I could take care of her. She loved our son, though, and stayed home with him. There was no one to miss them.”
She leaned forward and put her arms around him. He let her for exactly two seconds before moving away. The shadows in the room made his face look darker and more haunted.
She said, “I’m sorry I intruded into that very personal, painful place. Maybe it’ll help to share it with someone.”
“Sharing pain helps no one. It just makes two people sad.”
Now she understood his steadfast refusal to allow anyone into his life, his heart. He blamed himself for his son’s death. “It wasn’t your fault that they died.”
“Yes, it was. Somehow I led the Glouk to them.”
She knew he wouldn’t believe anything else. “Was that your voice booming at me?”
“That was my father. He sensed you inside me. It’s what woke me up.”
“That was Wayne Kee?” She rubbed her arms. “He’s scary.”
“He can be. Don’t go poking into my psyche again. I won’t poke into yours anymore either.”
The truth was, now that she knew him better, she didn’t mind so much. “What did you feel when you came into me?”
He stretched out flat on the bed again, but he was still looking at her. “Do you really want to know?”
She nodded. “Is it that bad?”
“No, but it’s not always easy to see the shadows of your soul.”
