"No." He was still studying her as he sifted his fingers through her hair, untangling the ends of the strands, a restless, vulnerable move that wasn't about seduction as much as a need to simply touch.
The physical intimacy between them was unexpected, and it had no foundation. It shouldn't be like this between them. She knew she should push him away, but somehow, it felt so right. "No?" She couldn't remember what she'd asked him.
"No, I didn't call the police." He tucked her hair behind her ear.
"What?" She batted his hand away, startled by his comment. "You heard a woman possibly being murdered, and you didn't call the police? Why not?"
"What could they have done? I searched the area for an hour. I was there, and if I couldn't find her, no one else could." He shrugged, and something flashed in his eyes. "Trust me. I searched the swamp very thoroughly. I thought it was you."
She blinked at the unexpected turn to the conversation. "Me? Why would it be me?"
"Because you didn't answer your phone, and you knew that's where I was planning to go. It was a logical assumption, when I'm dealing with you, the woman who charged into a South American jungle to find her missing friend." He raised his brows. "Why didn't you answer your phone?"
She lifted her chin. "I turned it off after you were an hour late. I got tired of waiting on you." She didn't feel like mentioning that she'd also turned it off because the battery had been dying. Eric unsettled her, and she needed both of them to believe that she was strong and immune to his charms. She knew enough about Eric to know that the best way to manage him was to retain the power in the relationship.
Not that they had a relationship. Really. Seriously. And she didn't want one either. She really didn't.
His lips thinned, and he leaned forward. "Do me a favor," he said roughly. "Never turn your phone off again, okay? Not when I might need you."
She swallowed as his voice rolled through her, making her belly tighten. He'd paused just long enough over the word need to make heat plunge through her. She set her hands on her hips and gave him a steady glare. "Don't be late again, and I won't."
"I wasn't late. I was looking for you." His voice was haunted with an edge that made her heart pound. He looked right at her, his gaze boring into her. "I had to find you. You come first."
His words were so simple, so matter-of-fact, and yet they seemed to strike right past her shields. I had to find you. Suddenly, all the independence and self-sufficiency she'd cloaked herself in for so long shuddered, and she wanted to stop fighting so hard, and let herself lean on him. It just felt good to have someone care if she was dead.
No, no, no. She didn't want to feel like this. She couldn't go down this road again. Falling in love with Walter had led to terrible things. She wasn't getting involved with a man again. Not with Eric. Not with anyone.
Eric said nothing, but he leaned past her to order a beer from David. She held her breath as his shoulder brushed against hers, making her jump. She didn't want to come first to a man anymore. She wanted to be left alone.
But even as she thought it, Eric turned his head slightly so his lips were next to her ear. His breath was warm against her neck, making chills run down her spine, belying her own thoughts. "I missed you," he said softly. "Four weeks is a long time not to hear your voice."
Damn him. He wasn't going to leave her alone, not for one minute.
She scowled at him. "Don't start with me," she said. Heaven help her, she really did not want to hear him suggest they have sex, like he'd done a dozen times already in the jungle. And the reason she didn't want him to suggest it was because a little part of her wanted him to keep trying. She didn't want him to give up on her, even though she absolutely was not interested in getting physical with him, because as long as he kept trying, it meant that at least one person in the world believed that she had a chance to become whole again. His relentless, irritating, and annoying flirtation gave her hope, and she hadn't had that in a very long time.
He grinned, that same wicked gleam in his eyes that she knew all too well, that still made her belly tighten. "Oh, Jordyn," he said softly, his deep voice rolling over her like a seductive caress, "you'll know when I start with you, I promise you that."
And she could tell he meant every word.
***
Jordyn was safe.
The words kept tumbling through Eric's mind, again and again. He couldn't get them out of his head. The relief had been so visceral the moment he'd seen her sitting at the bar, looking so proper and dignified in her business suit. She'd looked cool and reserved, and for a split second, he'd wondered whether he'd imagined the fiery woman who had been haunting him since they'd parted ways. But the moment she'd locked gazes with him, the heat in her eyes nearly set him aflame.
Jordyn turned toward him as she slipped off the stool, the slit in her narrow skirt showing the slightest tease of smooth thigh. Her white blouse was damp from him, revealing just the faintest hint of lace on her beige bra. "I'm tired. I think I'm going to head to my hotel—"
"Not yet." There was no chance he was letting her ditch him. Not now. Not when his entire body was roaring with his need for her. Lace. His badass warrior woman was wearing lace, the ultimate in femininity. Shit. He was in over his head before, but now? He was a goner. "Let's sit in back. We need to talk about Tristan."
She grimaced, but nodded, a rare concession from her that made his body tighten. Hell. He was turned on by a simple nod from her? Yeah, apparently.
"Just for a few minutes," she said, reaching past him to retrieve her pink, fruity drink from the bar, holding it between them like a shield.
"Agreed." Musing that she seemed way too tough to allow herself to be seen with a drink that was a girly rose color, he set his hand on her elbow and guided her through the bar toward a table in the rear corner. Her shoulders were stiff beneath her silk blouse, and she was trying desperately to keep their bodies from bumping together as they wove through the tables, just like she'd done in the jungle. The woman wanted distance from him, but there was no way that she could hide her response to his kiss.
He hadn't meant to kiss her just then.
He hadn't intended to haul her up against him and feel the soft curve of her breasts against his chest.
All he'd wanted to do was make sure the woman who would help him find his brother was safe. But when he'd seen her...his brain had completely stopped functioning, and all that mattered was her.
That was the third time he'd kissed her, and not a single kiss had been planned. But he'd done it, and each time, she'd kissed him back with an intensity that had nearly shattered all his self-control. She wanted space from him, that was obvious, but there was something between them that neither one of them could deny.
Which was a major problem, because there was something going on between Jordyn and his brother, and he never coveted one of his brother's women. Ever.
So, that kiss was just going to have to haul its pretty little memory out of his brain and take a hike, because it wasn't going to happen again. He was going to have to shove all that lust right back where it came from, and deny his need for her. He laughed softly at the irony. He was the man who never denied his need for anything. And now, here he was in the presence of the first woman he'd truly wanted in several centuries, and he was going to shut himself down before he got started.
All for his bro? Yeah, all for his bro. Tristan was all he had, and he wasn't going to let a woman come between them. So, as of now, he and Jordyn were a platonic team on a mission to find his brother before things went irretrievably south.
True, he felt insanely protective of her. So what? It was only because of her connection to his brother...because he was a dedicated family guy. Amen, brother.
Eric glanced around the bar as they reached the table, instinctively checking to make sure no one was eyeing Jordyn the wrong way as he pulled out a chair for her. The two men by the door were watching, and he glowered at them until they looked away.
She g
lanced up at him as she sat down. "You pulled out my chair?"
He had? He looked down at his hand still wrapped around the wooden back of the chair, and shrugged. Apparently, he had. That was a new thing for him. He wasn't sure what to make of it. "I'm a gentleman," he said as he sat down across from her.
She laughed softly, a lighthearted sound that seemed to reach right through his tension and crack it. "You're not a gentleman," she said. "You're arrogant, and all you think about is sex."
He grinned at her, enjoying the lightness of her tone that belied her accusation. "I'll grant you the arrogance, but it's only you that makes me think about sex." Well, hell, what was that? Hadn't he just finished putting her off limits when it came to nakedness? He was pretty sure he had.
Her cheeks turned red. "Shut up."
His smile widened as she tossed the familiar phrase at him, the one she used every time he crossed a boundary that made her uncomfortable. It felt good to hear her say that, and he finally relaxed. She was really here. She was really okay.
She was safe.
He'd never felt such an extreme sense of rightness as he had when he'd seen Jordyn across the dingy bar. It was as if the rest of the world had disappeared, sucked into a vortex that was occupied only by her.
Shit. He was in trouble, wasn't he? She was his brother's woman...wasn't she?
He leaned forward, studying her. "What's up with you and Tristan?" He didn't bother with subtlety or finesse, neither of which had ever been a particular skill of his. He had to know. He had to hear it from her lips that she and Tristan were involved, otherwise his damned libido was not going to shut up.
Her face grew shuttered, and she glanced away.
"No. You don't get to shut me out when it comes to my brother." He leaned closer, into her space, just close enough to catch a whiff of the scent that he knew so well. Vanilla and some sort of faint flowery scent. God, she smelled good. Not that he was thinking about it.
He glared at her. "My brother's extremely important to me. You're my only link to him, sweetheart, and I need to know everything about you and him. You might have been the last person to see him." Yeah, okay, he'd made it sound good, like his need to know about the two of them was because he needed to find Tristan. It was, but he also needed to do something about the fact that he couldn't keep himself from appreciating the curve of her collarbone and wondering how soft her skin really was.
Jordyn looked back at him, and, engaging in her typical modus operandi, attempted to regain control of the conversation by changing the subject. "Don't you need to call the cops about the missing woman?"
He shrugged. "I called on the way back. If I didn't find anything, they won't either, because I'm really good at things like that. But I figured they might want to know in case someone is reported missing. Why won't you talk about Tristan?" he pressed. "What are you hiding?"
Her face tightened. "You called the police? You said you didn't contact them. You said you were so worried about me that you forgot to call." She sat back in the chair and folded her arms over her chest, completely ignoring his questions.
He'd forgotten how much he liked the fact she refused to give him what he wanted. He grinned, stretching back in the chair. His wet jeans were getting uncomfortable, but there was no chance he was going to cut this conversation short to change his clothes. "I was looking for you. You were the only thing I was thinking about, so yeah, it didn't occur to me to call them when I was there and could search myself. I'd never trust them to find you. By the time I got in my truck, I finally thought of calling them. When you asked earlier, I thought you were asking whether I'd called the cops at the time." It was a bit of a lie, because he hadn't thought clearly about her question one way or the other. The truth was, when she'd asked him the question, it had thrust him back into those moments in the swamp when he'd thought she might have been dead, so that was how he'd answered. "Why are you so important to Tristan? Why did he risk himself to save you?"
She shrugged. "We're friends."
Friends? She and Tristan were only friends? For a second, he contemplated jumping out of his seat and pounding his chest in victory at that news, but he managed to restrain himself, mostly because he was distracted by the thought that if she and Tristan weren't hot and heavy, then why had Tristan resurrected her eight times? "Then why did he save you?"
"Real friends do nice things for each other. I'd think even a guy like you would understand loyalty that isn't related to sex."
He bristled. "I understand loyalty," he said. "But Tristan's powers are different. They come at a great cost, and I assume you know that. Didn't you ever wonder why he was willing to do that for you?"
Doubt flickered in her eyes, and he realized she'd asked that same question many times, and hadn't liked the possibilities. Shit. What was going on with his brother? The more questions he asked, the murkier the situation became.
Jordyn leaned forward, pinning him with her intelligent, relentless gaze. "Why did you ask me about vampires when you first mentioned he was missing? Back when we were in the jungle?"
He thought back to that woman's scream, and the animal he'd heard. "Do you believe in werewolves? Werepanthers? Monster beasts from hell? Vampires?"
Her gaze met his, and he didn't see the amusement he'd been hoping for at his mention of mythical beasts. "I don't know what exactly I believe," she said softly, blessedly giving him a direct answer to one of his questions, "but I've seen a lot of things in the swamps that I can't explain. People see things. People disappear. Nightmares come alive. Everyone who has lived here for a long time has stories. But yes, I believe vampires are real."
"You do? Damn." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, digesting her response. It was getting less and less likely that there was an easily solvable explanation for what had happened in the swamp tonight. "Jordyn, I know my brother, and I know that he'd never risk resurrecting someone, let alone do it eight times. But he did it for you, and then he resurrected someone else, possibly a vampire. I need to understand what's going on with him. Tell me what happened between you and Tristan. Start from the beginning. How do you know him?"
Jordyn took a sip of her drink, and sighed in capitulation. "Do you want the short answer or the long one?"
"Don't leave anything out. It might help me figure out why he decided to help you." Satisfaction settled in him, and he clasped his hands on top of his head, letting her voice roll through him as he leaned back to listen. He hadn't been lying about missing the sound of her voice. He had. Sitting with her and listening to her talk felt good.
She shrugged, spinning her glass between her fingers restlessly, as if she were uncomfortable getting personal. "I left here when I was sixteen. I didn't want to be a part of this world. I wanted out." There was a tinge of vulnerability in her voice that caught his attention.
She wasn't giving him a direct answer about Tristan, but she was talking, and that was good. Really good, in fact, because as she spoke, he realized he was more than a little interested in finding out more about her. He wasn't going to lie: it wasn't simply so he could figure out why Tristan had bonded with her. He wanted to know because he was intrigued by her.
He watched her play with her drink, and he realized he liked the fact it was pink, revealing the softer side that she tried to keep buried. "Why did you want out?"
She gave him a hard stare. "I didn't have an idyllic childhood," she said defensively. "But that's not the point. I left here, and I met a Calydon warrior. He was sexy, and tough, and he thought I was amazing." Her voice softened, and a stab of jealousy shot through him. "I fell in love instantly, and then later discovered I was his sheva." She looked at him. "Do you know what that is?"
He stared at her in shock, denial raging through him. She was another man's sheva? It had been bad enough when he'd thought that she and his brother had something going on, but for her to be metaphysically bonded with another male, unable to see or feel anything for any other man? Shit. Even as he thought it, he vaguely recalled
her mentioning it before in the jungle. He hadn't really been paying attention back then. He'd been more concerned about the other things they'd been dealing with, and, at that point, Jordyn had been more of an interesting challenge to his seduction skills. Now, she was a woman to him, and it was different. He didn't like that she had been a sheva. Not one bit. "I know what a sheva is. It's a soul mate," he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "A physical, emotional, and metaphysical bond that locks a Calydon and his woman together for all time. Nothing can come between them."
She met his gaze. "Nothing, except murder."
"Murder?" He'd been expecting declarations of true love, eternal bliss, and deep, passionate intensity that had ruined her for all other men.
He had not been expecting murder.
Chapter 4
Eric's face went blank, as if he were hiding his emotions, but his eyes were intelligent as he rapidly processed her statement. "Your soul mate was murdered?" he asked.
Of course he would have figured it out. She'd be traveling the world alone only if her soul mate was dead. Nothing else could tear them apart. "Yes, he was murdered." Yes, yes, yes. The words hammered at her.
His expression suddenly softened, and she saw empathy in his face. Empathy. The first soft emotion she'd ever seen on his face, and it was empathy for the fact her soul mate had been murdered? Guilt flashed through her. "Don't feel sorry for me," she said quietly. "I was the one who killed him."
She waited for the condemnation, for the disgust to flash across his face. What woman murdered her soul mate? The reason was never enough, not even the fact that the sheva destiny was supposed to result in a sheva killing her soul mate. What was fate? A mindless excuse not to take control of her own life. She didn't believe it gave her an excuse for what she'd done.
Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) Page 4
