“Be honest,” Dallas whispered. “Are you imagining that red dress on your bedroom floor?”
He would not reply. Would not voice the words that would undermine his good intentions.
“Because I am,” his friend admitted miserably.
He fucking would not reply. Not his agreement, and not a warning. What good would warning another man away do him? None, that’s what. Hell, if anything, a warning would only make things worse for himself.
Dallas would expect him to act on his attraction. And if he didn’t, well, he’d open the door for Dallas to act on his.
“Don’t be mad, but I can’t seem to help myself. I want her.”
Okay, so the door was already open. “Why would I be mad?” The words escaped loud, gravelly, and pissed as hell, drawing stares and a few hushes. Better question: how would he stop himself from ripping his friend’s face off?
Noelle had called dibs on Dallas, which meant she was attracted to him. Wanted him in return. Would probably like being stripped by him, touched by him. Tasted by him.
If she hadn’t been already.
He whispered fiercely, “Have you two … ?”
“No,” Dallas answered, and he relaxed.
Dallas is your friend. Maybe Hector’s only friend. Dallas knew about his arms. Hector had finally broken down and revealed all. While working a case together, Dallas had used a few unexplainable abilities of his own, moving faster than the eye could track, controlling people with his voice, shit like that.
Apparently Dallas was part otherworlder.
I wish there were an explanation for me. Though he’d kept searching, he’d found nothing. But he’d wanted Dallas to know there were others out there, that he wasn’t alone with his differences, and Hector had never regretted sharing. They’d bonded over it, almost like brothers.
And you can’t kill your brother, he reminded himself.
“And you two haven’t?” Dallas asked.
“No.”
“And you’d be okay if I … ?”
No! “Yes.”
“Okay, good,” Dallas said in that quiet voice. “That’s good. I’m gonna go for it, then. Tonight. As long as you don’t care.”
“I … don’t.”
“Good, that’s good,” he repeated. “Bridesmaids can’t help themselves, either. The romance, you know. Practically puts a bull’s eye on their panties.”
Another forceful breath, in and out, careful, measured, followed by another. Hector tried to release his growing tension with every exhalation. Suddenly his hands burned, itched, and both sensations spread up, up, all the way to his shoulders, until he knew the skin beneath his jacket was glowing.
This was very, very bad.
He jumped to his feet. The pastor stuttered to silence, and every head in the room turned his way, including Noelle’s. He was careful to avoid her gaze as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shoved out of his row. Was that burning cloth he smelled? Despite the fact that he only ever wore fire-retardant clothing?
Without any kind of explanation, he stalked down the aisle and out of the chapel. Before he torched it and everyone in it to the ground.
Fifteen
WHO KNEW A WEDDING reception attended by stone-cold killers would prove to be the party of the century?
Noelle hid in a corner in back of the spacious ballroom, swathed in shadows, trying to take everything in. The walls were painted to look as if they’d been covered in pink lace. Glasses were clinking, conversations were raucous, and champagne and chocolate scented the air. Laughter abounded, as did the sucking sounds of a good kiss. A lot of people were getting down and dirty wherever they happened to be. A few down and dirtiers were even by the buffet table, rattling the dishes when gyrating hips met stone.
McKell had Ava on the dance floor, bumping and grinding and generally looking epileptic. So did everyone else on that floor, for that matter, moving to the hard, fast rock buzzing from strategically placed speakers. An elegant, twinkling teardrop chandelier winked over the seizers, highlighting their every blackmail-worthy nuance. She’d already done a little covert videoing from her cell, and planned to torture the agents for the rest of their lives.
“What are you doing over here all by your lonesome?” a male voice suddenly asked.
A flick of her gaze, and she realized Dallas had sidled up beside her. She’d have to pay better attention. Sensing a possible threat was necessary for her job, after all. Although Dallas didn’t look threatening today. In his pristine suit, with his dark hair slicked back, his dark complexion flawless, and his electric eyes bright, he was handsome in a fallen angel kind of way, half innocence, half wicked temptation.
And he’d said something to her, she recalled. “I’m two-fisting drinks with dignity,” she replied, toasting him with both of her nearly empty glasses. Her earlier buzz had already worn off, and she was looking for another.
His lips twitched, even as his gaze swept down the length of her, heating with desire.
Desire? Surely not. Not after the distant way he’d treated her lately.
“Darling,” he said, “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your dignity the moment you walked down that aisle. In my mind, I already had you stripped.”
So seductively uttered, so charmingly delivered, she found herself grinning with genuine amusement for the first time that day. “I do know how to rock a fantasy, don’t I?”
The desire, or whatever it was, cranked up a notch, turning those vivid eyes into a kaleidoscope of differing shades of blue. “Please tell me that’s not the only thing you rock.”
A chuckle bubbled from her. “Tsk, tsk. I almost think you’re flirting with me.”
“If you almost think then I’m not doing a good enough job.” His voice dropped a few octaves, going husky, layered with a needy rasp. “So, let me clear things up. I am flirting with you. Is it working?”
Her heart began to thud against her ribs. Not from arousal but from surprise and, well, quite frankly, unease. He was Hector’s friend. So if he was flirting with her this heavily, he didn’t think Hector would mind.
Hell, maybe Hector had even told him to go for it.
Her heart thudded harder, and she was disgusted with herself. Why did she care what Hector did, said? Or what he didn’t do, didn’t say?
She didn’t care.
She wouldn’t let herself care.
“No response?” Dallas asked silkily.
Oh, she had a response, all right. “Why now?” She drained one of her glasses, then the other, and handed them both to him. “First few months we knew each other, you treated me like a mischievous kid sister. Lately, I’ve been a diseased gutter rat.”
He lifted one finger, the universal sign for one sec, and trotted off to set the glasses on a passing waiter’s tray. When he returned, his hands were empty. Probably a wise thing, not plying her with more liquor. She’d start babbling about her kisses with Hector, her dreams about Hector.
Hector, Hector, Hector. Where the hell was he? Why had he stormed out of the chapel?
Dallas jumped back into the conversation as if he couldn’t wait another moment to engage her. “Let’s just say there were complications, and leave it at that.”
Intriguing. “Little known fact about me. I can’t leave anything at that. So, staying with the topic. What were the complications and how do they no longer apply?”
One strong shoulder lifted in a deceptively casual shrug. “I won’t tell you what they are, but I will tell you that they’re diminishing in importance.”
“Why?” Damn, but her curiosity was piqued in a huge way.
He released a wary sigh. “I’m certain I was wrong about one aspect of the—I was wrong, that’s all. And don’t you dare ask about what.”
“About what were you wrong?”
“Huh-uh.” Grinning like the imp he was, he shook his head, dark hair falling over his brow. “I’m not telling, and you can’t make me. Not dressed, at least.”
Cle
arly, he was an expert at flirting, and yet still she didn’t soften toward him. “I took a class on interrogation, you know. There are ways to make a guy talk that involve a handful of thumb tacks and, drum roll, being fully clothed.”
“Why don’t you dance with me instead?” Not giving her time to protest, he twined their fingers and ushered her to the dance floor, where he stopped and drew her into the hard line of his body.
He must have cued the band, because the music instantly turned soft and slow. For a long while, they swayed, silent, each lost in thought. Hers: this was almost nice. He smelled good, like soap and the after-sweetness of a rainstorm. Heat radiated off him, enveloping her.
And yet, still no attraction.
Sighing, she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed. Just a little, just to achieve a few inches of distance. He pulled her back in, closer … closer … until their chests were flush.
“There, isn’t this better?” he asked in that seductive tone, his breath fanning her cheek.
“Depends on what you’re comparing it to. Better than a root canal? Yes. Better than a pedicure? No.”
“Ouch. Harsh, Elle. Harsh.”
“Honest.” Elle. All the men in her life eventually called her Elle. A soft nickname for the soft girl they assumed her to be. Or rather, wanted her to be. Little wonder she longed to punch every one of them in the face when they used it.
Not that she’d ever admit the truth, however. Expressing your displeasure with something was tantamount to begging to be tortured by it.
Dallas’s hand slid down her back and landed on the curve of her ass. His fingers splayed, covering as much ground as possible. “Besides the pedicure, what do you consider better than this?”
Where to begin? “Long walks on the beach, even if it’s freezing outside. Good—or cheap—wine in front of a crackling hearth. Chicken noodle soup. But it has to be made from real chickens, and not that syn-shit, or I’ll have to strike it from the list. A lukewarm bubble bath, a mediocre book, a—”
“Okay, okay. God,” he said with a laugh. “You are hell on a guy’s ego.”
“Yours needing some stroking?”
“Something of mine needs stroking,” he muttered, “but it’s not my ego.”
“Yeah, I can feel your something,” she replied dryly. “Can you move that thing already? It’s annoying.”
“Annoyingly big, you mean.”
“Define big.”
Another warm, rich chuckle left him. “Fine. Give me a minute.” He pulled back long enough to reach into his pants pocket. Her mouth fell open.
“I didn’t mean—” She stopped. He was readjusting his erection in front of everyone!
Only he withdrew a pyre-gun, the crystal dull rather than sparking, indicating the safety was on, and stuffed the weapon in the waist of his slacks, behind him. Then he drew her back into his embrace.
“Now. Is that better?”
The shock had yet to leave her. “Now who’s hell on an ego?” she grumbled, her cheeks just a bit hot.
“Then let’s help each other out and revisit the whole stroking issue, hmm?”
Incorrigible sex fiend. And she wished, really and truly wished, she desired him. Even in the minutest amount. He was fun, funny, and probably a damn good lover.
“You know, Dallas,” she said, straightening to gauge his reaction. “I have this friend …”
The light in his eyes expanded, only to be crushed a moment later as his pupils expanded, too, the black pulsing. Just as Hector’s had done each time before they’d kissed, and then again yesterday when he’d eyed her black leather. “Is she a mild-mannered AIR agent by day and an insatiable nymphomaniac by night?”
Why wasn’t Noelle attracted to him again? Because this shit was amusing. “Her name is Hope Van Der Pyke.”
“And does she—wait.” The pupils retreated to normal size, and he lost his glaze of excitement and desire. “What?”
“She’s very pretty. Very wealthy. Kinda snobby, though. Anyway, you’re exactly her type.”
“Are you trying to set me up?” he said, nearly choking on the words. “With someone else? While I’m laying my best moves on you?”
“These are your best? Wait, never mind. Don’t answer that. I’d just have to feel sorry for you. So, to answer your question, yeah. I am.” His incredulity was adorable, and she couldn’t help but twist the knife deeper. “Is there a problem?”
“But I saw … we’re supposed to …”
One of her brows rose. This was more interesting by the moment. “We’re supposed to what?”
A pause. Then a heated, “Fuck.”
O-kay. “Do you mean that as a verb or a curse?”
“Both.” He released her to run a hand down his face, once, twice, three times. With the first, he revealed confusion. With the second, anger, and with the third self-deprecation tinged with humor.
His arms returned to her waist, but there was no drawing her in. Not this time.
“Want to tell me what just happened?” she asked.
“No.” Another grumble.
“Do it anyway before I show you the blades I’m carrying.”
At least his humor intensified, his lips quirking at the corners. “Violent women really crank my chain.”
“Annnd, not what I wanted to know.”
“Forgive me,” he said, fingers stroking up and down her spine. In reflex, she thought, rather than in a bid to arouse her. “This is just so new to me.”
“What? Being let down gently?”
“Not that. You’ll find this difficult to believe, I know, but I’m turned down flat all the time. I’m not sure why, either.”
She snorted. She just couldn’t help herself. “Yeah, that’s a real mind puzzler.”
“Hey. Is that sarcasm I detect?”
“Oh, Dallas,” she said, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Somehow you have turned the blackest day of my life into one that’s merely dark and gloomy. Thank you.”
He frowned. “Blackest day? Why? You look happy to me.”
Damn. She shouldn’t have let that slip out. “What are you talking about? I am happy.”
“But you just said … I just … Never mind. You’ll only tax my poor, abused brain further. So, here’s an admission for you, and an answer to one of your earlier questions. I saw this day … saw us … and we ended up in … Oh, never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“I—” The song ended, and his arms fell to his side, severing contact. “Uh, I’m needed elsewhere, so I’ll see you around, Noelle.” Off Dallas raced, never once glancing back.
“Well, okay, then,” Noelle muttered. Her gaze landed on Ava, who was peering up at McKell with utter adoration.
I want that, she thought.
Suddenly done with the party scene, and craving a minute alone, she took off in the opposite direction, heading for the back door. No one tried to stop her, and for that she was immensely grateful.
Outside, the parking lot was spread out around her. The sun was hidden behind dark, gray clouds, the air damp and cool. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall. She’d lived through the worst of the day. She could deal with anything else.
Right?
Sixteen
DAMN IT,” HECTOR CURSED when he spied Noelle. He should have left the wedding and stayed gone.
He’d left the wedding all right, but he hadn’t made it more than a mile from the chapel. Dallas’s I’m going for it had continued to ring inside his head, taunting him, infuriating him. Then he’d thought about Noelle’s red dress on his friend’s bedroom floor, resting beside a suit other than his. He’d pictured two naked bodies straining together on a mattress, had heard pleasure-filled moans.
He’d nearly destroyed the interior of his Jag as he reprogrammed the chapel’s address.
Once there, he hadn’t gotten out, hadn’t gone inside. He’d remained in the car, in the parking lot, the tint on his windows darkened to the highest setting so that no one could
see inside. He’d glared at the building, and yes, he’d taken care of himself while imagining Noelle. With him.
Finally he had calmed down, the burning in his arms subsiding, the glow completely diminished.
The only thing that burned him now was humiliation and shame. That he’d done such a thing in a public place … his stomach rolled. At least he was out of the danger zone. Small comfort, considering he wasn’t sure he’d stay out.
One of the agents inside the building was emailing pictures of the wedding reception to everyone in her address book, and not two minutes ago Hector had opened one of Dallas on the dance floor, his strong arms wrapped around Noelle. Noelle had been grinning up at him.
Only reason Hector hadn’t stormed inside to rip them apart was that Noelle had still radiated so much sadness. Seeing her, his chest had ached unbearably.
He’d told himself to go home, that Dallas would work his magic and Noelle would fall under his spell. That the two of them would drive to the nearest hotel—they wouldn’t be able to wait until they reached Dallas’s apartment, because God knows, if the situation had been reversed, Hector wouldn’t have been able to wait—and sleep together.
And once Noelle had slept with his friend, Hector would stop thinking about her. Stop dreaming of her. Stop craving her. Surely. He needed to stop. She was a thorn in his side, a torment to his soul, a sickness in need of a cure.
He could never be what she needed, never touch her the way she’d want. More than that, he wasn’t good enough for her. Another man would make her happier. Far, far happier.
Yet he opened his car door, got out, and walked toward her anyway.
Noelle heard the footsteps and opened her eyes, prepared to paste on a smile and wave whoever had intruded on her personal space inside. Then she spotted Hector, and straightened. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips. His presence was a surprise.
His big body was gorgeous, as always, but humming with tension.
His night-wild scent reached her before he did, waking every cell she possessed. Next she felt the heat of his body, electrifying her. And then he was there, just a few feet away. Within touching distance, the width of his shoulders practically engulfing her.
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