Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, giving him a clear view of her pretty face—and the fear that filled her brown eyes when she looked him over. A common occurrence in his presence. Noelle was one of the only females to regard him unflinchingly from day one.
Twitch, twitch.
“Y—yes?” she stuttered.
“Get dressed and leave.”
Relief replaced her fear. “Certainly.”
Amid Devyn’s protests, she tugged a black and white dress over her head. As the material fell into place, it conformed to her curves. She slid her feet into too-high heels, and they clicked and clacked as she hurried out of the apartment.
“Now, then.” Hector pressed a few buttons on his reader, sending the contents to both Dallas and Devyn’s systems, and fell into the chair across from them. He told them what he’d learned about Bobby Marks’s wife, the explosive dinner with the mother, and they decided to hunt Brenda Marks down after checking in at the AIR office in an hour.
Every reply from Dallas was harder and harsher than necessary.
“So … you want to tell me what’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“No,” Dallas replied tightly.
“He had a vision,” Devyn said.
“Hey!” Dallas frowned at him. “When I tell you something’s a secret, and you tell me that secret is locked in the vault, you aren’t supposed to blab about it.”
Devyn blew him a kiss. “How was I supposed to know Hector would have the key to my vault?”
“Yeah?” Dallas grumbled. “And what’s the key?”
“Your happiness. God knows, nothing I’ve done has helped your pissy mood. So maybe, just maybe, talking about it with the other man involved will.”
Motions jerky, Dallas grabbed one of the coffees and drank deeply. “Fine, whatever, but you tell him. I can’t discuss it without vomiting blood.”
Dread poured through Hector’s veins. What the hell was going on?
“Dallas had an unchangeable vision,” Devyn said, meeting Hector’s gaze with steady determination. “He saw himself in bed with Noelle.”
“What!” Hector exploded, on his feet, a pyre-gun palmed and aimed before he realized he’d moved. He knew all about Dallas’s visions. Knew they were never wrong. Knew that predicting the future was one of his many half-alien abilities. Damn that ability!
A narrowed-eyed Devyn said, “Sit down. Now,” in a cold and deadly voice.
Deadly, but at the moment Hector was a predator without any type of moral compass. No one was more lethal.
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
As if he’d asked the first time. The Targon would kill to protect his “bestie.” And as he could control energy molecules with his mind, manipulating human bodies as if they were nothing more than puppets, he attempted to lower Hector’s arm.
Hector felt mental fingers clamping around his wrist, pushing, and resisted until both men realized the depths of his strength. He even let his skin atomize just enough to glow above the edge of his gloves and heat. “That’s right. You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do.”
Devyn hissed, as if he’d felt the heat of Hector’s skin even through the mental connection.
When Hector sat and sheathed his weapon, he did it under his own steam. He only had trouble forcing his arms to cool. Dallas. Noelle. In bed. Together.
He’d known it was a possibility, had even considered them a perfect match a few minutes ago, but this … fuck no!
Red glittered over his line of vision, and he once again curled his finger around his gun.
“—listening to me?” Devyn asked, exasperated.
“Fuck!” he snarled, throwing out the curse like a weapon. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Told you he’d react that way,” Dallas said, falling back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling.
“Well, he should have kept listening to me and we could have avoided the tantrum,” Devyn said after tsking under his tongue. “Dallas also had a vision of you sleeping with her, Hector. And I gotta tell you, that shocked the piss right out of me. I thought you were gay.”
“Fu—wait. What?” The red dissipated with a single blink.
“Oh, now I have your attention.”
Hector. Noelle. In bed. Together. Again? “Did I have sex with her?” he asked Dallas in a rush. “Did I harm her?”
Dallas gulped. “You woke up next to her, and both of you were naked. No, she wasn’t harmed.”
Shock blasted him, realization quick on its heels. In the vision, Hector had slept with her, next to her and naked, and he hadn’t hurt her. A miracle. His heart drummed against his chest with stinging precision.
He could have her, all of her. Would have her. Dallas was never wrong. Praise that ability!
“The problem is,” Devyn went on. “Only one of the visions will come true.”
“That’s not a problem. I want her. She’s mine.” Words he’d never thought to utter, but now that he had, he meant them. She. Was. His. If he could have her without hurting her, he would have her. Period. No one would be able to stop him. Not even Noelle.
Shit. He had some serious backtracking to do with her. Probably some groveling, too. She’d demand an apology for his lack of contact. He’d give it—and anything else she wanted.
“Lost you again.” Devyn sighed. “Let me finish before you start unzipping your mental pants, all right? If one vision comes true, Dallas will be saved. If the other vision comes true, Dallas will be ruined. I don’t want my Dallas ruined,” the Targon ended with toxic force.
Hector’s excited burst of possessiveness drained, leaving an empty shell in its wake. “I don’t understand. Save him from what? Ruin him how? Which vision will cause which?”
Despondent, Dallas toyed with the lid on the coffee. “I don’t know. I had the visions a while ago, but I didn’t know what the double thing meant until Kyrin explained it to me yesterday. I wish we could both avoid her, or both have her, but apparently, no matter what, one or the other is going to happen.”
“Not necessarily. I could kill her,” Devyn suggested.
Hector jumped back to his feet, the pyre-gun extended, his finger resting on the trigger. “You will not go near her.”
The Targon’s lips stretched into a languid smile. “How adorable. You actually sound like you believe you can stop me.”
“Oh, I can stop you. I can destroy everything you hold dear.” Hector had killed in cold blood before. Not since he was a child, fighting his way out of the slums. But for Noelle, to keep her safe, he would kill again. And again.
One side of Devyn’s upper lip lifted over his teeth in a scowl that would have scared a ravenous grizzly. “I dare you to try.”
“No one’s going to kill her.” Dallas waved his hand through the air, the kill-or-be-killed vibe dissipating. “Okay? All right?”
“All I was saying was that accidents happen.” Devyn spread his arms innocently. “And for that, everyone nearly snaps my head off.”
Tendrils of smoke rose from the seams of Hector’s gloves, making him cough. He gritted his teeth and sheathed the gun before he could melt it.
Dallas reached behind his back and withdrew something black and floppy and tossed it Hector’s way. “New pair of mitts. Knew you’d need them.”
Hector caught them and exchanged the old for the new. “Thanks.”
“So that’s why you asked me to bring them,” Devyn said with a nod. “I thought you were getting kinky on me.”
“You wish.”
“No, Bride wishes. She actually asked me why you didn’t kiss me at my wedding like Noelle kissed Ava at hers.”
Now was not the time to recall that tantalizing meeting of female mouths and tongues and—
Hector gripped his thighs, and even though he felt the burn all the way to the bone, he knew his legs wouldn’t bear so much as a streak of pink. If only the same were true for Noelle. “So what are we going to do about Noelle?”
H
e didn’t want his friend hurt. Ever. For any reason. And he especially didn’t want to be the reason.
His fantasy of being with Noelle, totally and completely, began to wither and die as quickly as it had formed.
“I don’t know,” Dallas said, despondent again. “I know you want her. I want her, too, but I can share, and I can walk away. No problem. You can’t. However, I keep thinking, what if sleeping with her is what will save me?”
Eyesight … going red again. “And what if sleeping with her ruins you?”
A lengthy pause, a heavy sigh. “Yeah, that’s always my second thought.”
“For the time being, why don’t both of you stay away from her?” Devyn suggested. “In the meantime, Dallas might have another vision and that vision might provide the answers you need.”
“We can try and avoid her,” Dallas said with a hint of anger this time, “but it won’t do us any good. One of us will be with her when the time is right.” He glanced at Devyn, frowned. “Talking about it didn’t help. We have to change the subject.”
Good. Talking about it wasn’t helping Hector, either. He felt raw, brutalized, unsure. Capable of any dark deed. He desired Noelle, but he also loved Dallas.
Yeah, he thought, he did indeed love the guy. He joked around with some of the other agents, but Dallas was the only one who knew him and accepted him anyway. Can’t hurt him.
“I’ll have to talk to Mia,” Hector croaked out. “Get her to take Noelle off our case.” Noelle would feel rejected, and rightly so. She’d be humiliated. Hate him. Never forgive him for so public a denunciation. Sickness spilled straight into his stomach.
“Thanks, man,” Dallas said in an equally abrasive voice.
“Speaking of the case, is that why you emailed me the morning news?” Devyn asked him, studying the screen of the device he’d just pulled out of his pocket. “Ah. I see.” A rich chuckle. “Motherhood certainly agrees with Miss Tremain, doesn’t it?”
His own device had fallen to the floor when he’d stood, he realized. Hector didn’t dare reach for it, too afraid he’d melt the plastic, so he leaned over and drank in the image he’d left on the screen. Noelle in black and white, a grainy photo but lovely nonetheless. She stood beside Corban Blue, and the bastard had his arm wrapped around her waist.
Both were dressed formally, Noelle in a short, tight dress that managed to glitter, even from the tiny screen, and Corban in a tux. He was tall, leanly muscled, his white hair slicked back from his face. He was almost pretty. Fine, no almost about it. He totally was.
Was that the kind of guy Noelle usually went for? If so, Dallas was more than a better fit for her; he was her type. And Hector couldn’t forget that she’d once called dibs on him. Even though only last night she’d claimed never to have wanted him.
Red returning … sickness spreading … Hector inhaled slowly, held, held, exhaled even more slowly. Can’t have her. He needed to get used to that. He had before, and he would again.
Yet still the questions formed. When had the photo been taken? How long had Noelle known the guy? Did they still talk?
The urge to murder the football star suddenly bombarded him. Hector never should have claimed Noelle as his. His mind and body weren’t going to let him forget as easily as before, were both forging full speed ahead as if her seduction was still an option.
The story speculated about the very things Hector had. Were the two on or off? How far along was her pregnancy? Was she having a boy or a girl? How had Corban reacted to the news? There were a few smaller photos of Corban—each with a different woman. How were those women taking the reports of his impending fatherhood?
A hard knock echoed through the room.
Dallas glanced at the monitor resting on the table beside the couch and jerked upright. The bronze of his skin leached of color, every negative emotion he’d projected returning to his gaze in a frenzied flood.
“What?” Hector demanded, already reaching for his gun. He sensed a threat, a big one, and reacted accordingly.
“Noelle,” the agent said, his voice as dead as the grave. “She’s here.”
Twenty-five
NOELLE STROLLED INTO DALLAS’S apartment as if she owned it. In a way, she did. The building belonged to her family. Hell, half the buildings in the city belonged to her family. A reason to gloat, sure, but she never cracked a smile.
She was in too volatile a mood.
When Hector hadn’t called or swung by to pick her up, as she thought she remembered him promising to do before he left her place last night, she’d assumed they were supposed to meet at AIR. So, after dressing in a tantalizing ensemble sure to entice him, off she’d gone, arriving bright and early and eager to see the man who’d given her such a glorious orgasm. Only to wait. And wait.
He was a good agent, and an even stronger, more dangerous man, so when he failed to show there, she hadn’t worried for his health. She’d simply assumed his own mind-blowing orgasm had made him lazy and he’d slept in.
Hoping to wake him, she phoned him—no answer. No big deal, though. He’d probably turned off his ringer. She’d driven to his home, a middle-class house in the center of suburban paradise. She’d looked forward to seeing him surrounded by his things, getting a tour of the place. Maybe kissing each other hello. But he hadn’t answered the door.
At that point, she’d begun to fume. Where was he? What was he doing?
She’d broken in.
His furniture was plain but well cared for, his bedroom neat and tidy. There’d been no personal touches anywhere, and that had surprised her. He really did keep himself distanced from everyone.
Last night he’d made an exception for her, but he must have changed his mind, because clearly he’d ditched her like yesterday’s news. His badge, gone. His pyre, gone. Which meant they were with him. Which meant, he was on the job. Without Noelle.
Mia Snow was a smart woman, had known Bobby’s identity before Hector and Noelle ever made it to the scene. After all, one of the cops would have IDed him before calling AIR. Dealing with the rich was often difficult, and Noelle could help in ways Hector hadn’t realized. Yet he’d rather go it alone than deal with her.
Well, he would soon learn that wasn’t even a possibility.
She’d headed back to AIR to hack into the GPS database and find his location, planning to show up and knock the shit out of him. Along the way, the PI she’d hired to document Cherry Picking Barry’s every move for the rest of his unnatural life had emailed her a string of photos.
Hector had stopped by Barry’s office. Hector had beaten the ever-loving hell out of him.
Hector had somewhat redeemed himself.
However, white knight or not, the beating hadn’t earned him a free pass. He had a lot to answer for. Now, however, she’d use words rather than steel-toed boots.
Dallas, Hector, and hello, gorgeous Devyn Targon were on their feet, watching her with differing amounts of astonishment as she sailed inside the living room. Dallas was wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, his dark hair in complete disarray around his model-perfect face.
The sight of Devyn, warrior king of the Targons, had her sighing dreamily. As always, he was a walking fantasy. His hair was dark and glossy, while his skin possessed the radiant sheen of crushed diamonds. And his eyes, oh, his eyes were the color of the richest, most decadent brandy.
He wasn’t ignorant of his appeal. He’d be the first to tell you exactly how magnificent he was. Actually, no. Not true. Anything female would be the first to tell you. He’d be a close second.
He wore a pinstriped suit tailored specifically for his spectacular body, not a wrinkle or flaw in sight. His silky brown hair was styled away from his face, ensuring his amber eyes were perfectly framed, and his crushed diamond skin on full display.
At one time, he would have made her mouth water. Same with Dallas. Over the last year, she’d developed an obsession for raw intensity.
Finally, her gaze moved to Hector. His hair looked even longer
today, a glossy jet, with the occasional strand of flax. He wore a black T-shirt, black slacks, and both paid his bad-boy muscles the proper homage. His dark brows were drawn low, his golden eyes narrowed. Thick lashes fused together and cast spiky shadows over cheeks flushed with growing … anger? Probably.
Fuck you, Hector. Back to his pissy, distant self, regretting what they’d done. Whatever. He’d made his bed, and now he could lie in it. Alone.
“Morning, boys. I’m happy to see you, too. Oh, goody. Coffee.” She grabbed the cup resting on the table and sipped. Grimaced. “Gross! What is this crap? Because it’s definitely not coffee.”
“We took turns peeing in the cup,” Hector snapped.
Non-deserved hostility was always a party in a box. “Well, your piss needs cream and sugar.” Wishing she had a shot of bleach for her mouth, she placed the cup back on the table.
“Too good to drink what the rest of us drink?” Dallas muttered. A night apart hadn’t improved his mood, either. Wonderful.
“Yes, actually, I am.” Her taste buds were not snotty; they just knew the difference between good and nasty as hell.
Hector shoved his gloved hands in his pockets. “What are you doing here?”
“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to your partner?”
He blanched.
That’s when she knew beyond any doubt that he wanted to do this without her, despite the passion they’d shared. Hurt bloomed. Rather than give in to it, she raised her chin. “Dallas offered to take me to sexual heaven, and since I wasn’t busy, I decided to let him.”
“Sexual … heaven …” Hector nearly popped a vessel in his forehead. His gaze swept over her body. The deep V of her thin white top, with a silver chain hanging seductively between her breasts, the tightness of her black leather pants.
Dallas gulped, paled.
Devyn had already lost interest in her and was playing some kind of game on his phone.
“He tell you boys the same thing and you’re expecting all kinds of pleasure? Should we just get in line?” she asked, then strode to the couch, about to scoot herself between the two very hard D’s. That way, she’d have a straight-shot view of Hector’s face. And his emotions. “Or am I interrupting some kind of male bonding ritual?”
Dark Taste of Rapture Page 22
