by Jade Hart
I tucked myself into the back, squeezing next to Ocean. Her thigh pressed against mine in a blaze of flesh. My palm itched to touch her. I wanted to run my fingertips up her thigh. I wished the whole meet-and-greet could have gone a nicer way. My heart thudded as I watched her glaring out the window. Did she like coffee in the mornings? Did she have any pet-peeves? There was so much I didn’t know, and so much I wanted to ask.
She threw me a look that could kill a poltergeist. Her thigh stayed where it was, but her entire demeanor screamed: touch me and you die.
The van accelerated, and it wasn't long before we were out of the airport parking lot and on the open road. Scooters swarmed en masse around cars. Toots and yells were as useful as traffic lights as everyone negotiated their little patch of highway. Motorbikes held entire families: Dad driving, Mum on the back with a child squished between them, and a dog on the handlebars. Madness, but in its synchronized chaos, it worked.
The outside world ceased to exist the more I breathed in Ocean. She was so enthralling. I couldn't stop my body's reaction to her. Would she slice my jugular if I leaned in to kiss her?
Fragments of kissing her in my apartment made my heart pump thick blood through my body. Christ, I couldn't stand having her next to me and not touch her.
Before I could think, I rested my hand on her thigh, pressing fingers into her hard muscle.
She sucked in a breath and arms tightened around herself. But she didn't tell me to stop. I took that as a good sign.
I moved my hand, lazily, working my way higher in increments. Each inch I climbed, my body grew harder. Blazing black eyes latched onto mine. Her mouth parted a little. A flush of color on her neck made me duck and kiss her, very gently, on her collarbone; brushing aside her purple shirt to expose more skin. I breathed deep then gasped as her feminine fingers latched onto my wrist, pushing my hand higher.
I pulled back, looking deep into her eyes as she pressed my hand directly between her legs. Holy fuck. The heat radiating through her jeans turned me to mush. I wanted to attack her. To rip off her pants and take her on the back seat.
As quickly as she made me touch her, she pushed my hand away. Eyes shot to the driver and back to me. Ah, yes. We had an audience.
We were both tense and frustrated by the time the van pulled up a sweeping driveway of palm trees to a marble infused lobby.
We exited. Ocean bolted ahead, leaving me to think about shark attacks and gore to calm my cock down. “You go check in. I take care of your bags, sir.”
I smiled at the driver. “Thank you.” I tipped him and followed Ocean. She smiled at a female staff member as she received a cocktail, complete with little umbrella.
I stood close to her, expecting her to be as hot as a furnace after the flames of lust that licked us in the van, but her skin was cold. I frowned.
She caught me watching and froze. Something heavy passed between us. An emotion, so much deeper than physical attraction, sparked. I knew it sounded stupid, but I swore my soul spoke to hers.
My mind, reeling from the connection, jumped to easier thoughts—bombarding me with images of her naked breasts. How perfect they were. How perky her nipples grew when I sucked them. Holy hell, I needed her alone, and soon. I’d self-combust at the rate I was going.
I wanted to devour her, but these six days meant more to me than sex. I wanted to see if we could connect on an emotional level, but to do that I needed to be free of the worry of her teleporting the instant it got too much for her. I needed to hear her say she’d behave and stay.
While we waited for the woman to check us in, I murmured, “I want you to promise me something.” I touched the hand that was clasped around the cocktail.
Black fire erupted in her eyes. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Whatever your request is, you can shove it.” She took a deep suck of her drink, then frowned and her attention turned inward. “Um, sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.” She shook her head a fraction before taking another sip.
Whether or not she meant her temper to snap, I wished she could understand I only put my name on her file to stop my worry from consuming me. Or was she more pissed that Maurice and I had talked behind her back?
I paced away, giving her a minute to calm down. Maurice did a good job. Everywhere around me were trickling notes of fountains, lush scents of flowers, and tropical heaven. The hotel was a splendid feast for the eyes. White veined marble, carved Balinese statues, flower arrangements as tall as the ceiling. It was stunning.
A Balinese woman, wearing a white uniform with a frangipani behind her ear, beckoned me to follow. Ocean was already in tow. “Welcome. Please.” The lady’s smile was sunshine and excitement built within me again. Who cared if Ocean was mad? She couldn't stay mad. Look at where we were—who would fail to be happy here?
The gentle sound of a bamboo xylophone wafted on the breeze. A small smile tugged Ocean’s mouth.
I leaned toward her, whispering, “I saw that, you know. You smiled.”
“You saw nothing.” She held her head aloft, but her lips twitched.
Christ, she was stunning. Yes, the exterior was gorgeous, but the interior—the part she protected with a fiery temper—was even more delectable. Was she really here with me? She seemed too wild, too intelligent. . . too perfect.
I wanted to touch her again, to drink her in and never let her go.
Ocean said, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you got me here. I don't know what you're playing at, Callan. But you're not going to win.” Her shoulders tensed.
I was left blinking. One minute she was flaming mad, the next apologetic. Followed by temper again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d give me whiplash with the speed her moods changed. Was she always this temperamental? Also, was it so bad someone cared enough to want to protect her from harm? I pulled her up short, ignoring the coldness leaching off her. “You really don't get it, do you?” I ran a hand through my hair. “I'm not doing this for you.” There, let's see how she liked that piece of information. Because it was true. I wasn't doing this for her. I needed this. I needed to figure out what she meant to me in a neutral environment. To see if we worked—if the stress of worrying about her was worth it.
“Excuse me?” She stopped, not caring that the concierge watched us with a look of exasperation.
“I'm doing this for me.” I captured her around the waist. “I need to get to know you, Ocean. I need to know where this compulsion toward you comes from. I'm the guy who’s married to his job. Who isn't interested in anything apart from hunting and arresting assholes who make the world a miserable place.”
She froze in my grasp. “Then why are we here? Why waste my time, and yours?” A scowl planted itself on her face. “Whatever happened in your apartment was pure chemistry, nothing more. Don't read into things.”
I wanted to growl. There was more to us than two nights of quick passion and she knew it. But if she wanted to play that game, then perhaps I should change tactics. Whatever worked, I was happy to use. Change of plan.
I let her go. She didn't step back. “I need to either get you out of my system so I can go back to my life, or fall in love with you so much it changes my life completely. Ever since I saw you, I wanted you.” My jaw clenched. Did she know how hard that was to admit? “You break all my rules and scare me half to death.”
Her face froze, but it didn’t stop the glowing emotion in her eyes from buffeting me.
I swallowed hard. Now for the kicker. If she liked solving puzzles, then I had one for her. “I don't want this, do you understand?”
Her scowl evaporated, leaving a trace of uncertainty.
“But I'm man enough to chase you until I understand why I can't let you go.”
I couldn't believe we were having this conversation in a hotel lobby. A ripple of pressure ran up my back. Perhaps I was wrong to say I didn't want to be with her—it wasn't true. I had so much riding on this trip. I wanted to make her fall in love with me as much as I wanted to fall for
her, but I had a feeling if I came out and said it, she’d run the other way, or worse, pop into nothing and never see me again.
Conniving? Yes. Painful. Yes. But if it helped me win—then so be it.
Ocean huffed, storming ahead. The concierge took it as a sign to keep moving and I followed them into a glass elevator and we rode to the top floor. I was surprised the woman didn't poof into smoke with the pulsating energy coming from me and Ocean. It filled the small elevator with tension so thick it clogged my throat.
We climbed out and the woman picked up the pace, before stopping outside a carved wooden door with gecko's whittled into numbers: Suite 1011.
“Here you are, Mr. and Mrs. Bliss. We hope you have a pleasant stay with us.” The woman smiled at Ocean, passing the key-card once the door was open.
Ocean shook her head. “There's been a mistake. I want my own room.” She made to stalk back to reception, but I grabbed her round the middle, smiling at the concierge. “That's fine, I'll take it from here.” In Ocean's ear, I whispered, “Stop being so dramatic. You can have the bed and I'll take the couch, if it’s such a horrible thought to sleep with me.”
I pulled her into the room and slammed the door closed.
Maurice really exceeded my expectations.
Dark wood flooring led to a wide balcony with a table and chair, perfect for watching sunsets. The view looked down the beach and the hotel's sprawling gardens. The bed was on a platform, framed with draping sheer fabric falling from the ceiling. Rose petals in the shape of a heart were scattered on the spread and at the foot of the bed was a Balinese carved chaise lounge.
I checked out the bathroom. It was bigger than my lounge in Sydney. A giant Jacuzzi tub, and the large two-person shower with twin shower heads. Two sinks and iridescent tiles on the floor and walls. There was even a water fountain bubbling beneath shelving holding fresh towels and bathrobes.
I smiled. We could have some fun in that bath and shower.
I found Ocean standing in the middle of the room with her face strained, holding her temples. “I need some space. Something’s not right.” She looked almost in pain.
“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen something gruesome.” That was the best way to describe the screwed up expression in her eyes.
She shook her head, taking deep breaths, surprising me when she changed the subject, asking, “Why did you tell the hotel we were married if you don't want to be near me?” There was an edge to her voice which made me take notice. Did it hurt her to think I didn't want her after all?
“I told you. I didn’t. Maurice did,” I clipped, my own temper building at her attitude. Arguing was not my idea of a relaxing holiday.
I stripped off my t-shirt, prowling toward her. We worked well in the bedroom. If I seduced her, perhaps she’d mellow enough to talk about what was happening between us. To stop fighting it—to give in. Give in to me.
Her eyes went owl wide, and she took a step backward.
The door knocked. Bugger.
Ocean's shoulders fell, mouth parting in relief.
I growled, “Don't get too relieved. I'm not done with you yet.” Then I wrenched open the door.
“Luggage, sir,” an elderly bellhop chirped.
“Just put them there, thanks.” I allowed the man to deposit our two suitcases and gave him a tip, before closing the door and launching myself at Ocean.
She didn't stand a chance. I grabbed her around the waist and scooped her up. She yelped, writhing in my grip. “Ouch! I have an arm full of stitches, you moron.”
Shit! “God, I'm sorry. I forgot.” I put her very carefully back on her feet. “I'm sorry. Are you alright?”
Her face was white, hand gripping her left shoulder. I was so stupid. How did I forget she was injured? She just made me so mad. All I wanted to do was wipe that cold look off her face— make her hot and willing.
I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Will you forgive me?”
She pouted. “No.”
For some reason I grinned like an idiot. She played with me.
Not touching her, I ducked my head and captured her mouth. She froze. I pressed firmly against her lips.
She didn't respond, and a lance of uncertainty filled me. Kiss me, go on.
Ocean put her hand on my bare chest, pushing me away. Her touch melted me. It took all my energy not to crush her to me.
“What are you trying to do?” she whispered, dropping her hand.
“I told you. I want to figure out if there’s anything between us other than lust. If there is, then I want you forever. If there isn't, then we can get it out of our systems and move on.” It sounded so callous coming from my mouth. So heartless. But I said it because I was too afraid to tell her straight up that I was falling for her.
She sighed explosively, plonking on the bed. “Fine. You win.”
What? I took a tentative step and sat next to her, keeping my distance for now. “What did I win?”
Dropping her eyes, she said, “You're right. It's best to get the desire out of our system. We both don't want the forever thing. We both have other passions and commitments in life. I'm willing to treat this holiday as a casual friendship, with benefits.”
Was she not listening to me? I just admitted I wanted more than a casual fling. Was she deliberately being obtuse?
She looked up, face unreadable. “After the week, or however long Maurice has imprisoned us, I'll go my way, you go yours.” She stuck out her hand. “Deal?”
She couldn't have cut me more if she'd hacked my knees with an axe. Was that all I was to her? Sex? Or was she playing me the same way I attempted to play her?
I clenched my jaw. This was my fault. I backed her into this. I didn't want a week of sex and then to say, “see ya later, nice knowing ya.” I wanted a week of romance. Of wine and food and making love.
Ocean shifted, about to clamber off the bed. If I didn't agree she’d leave—her demeanor told me that. Why did she insist on running? What was she so afraid of? Taking a deep breath, I captured her hand and shook it. “Deal.”
No deal.
Chapter Thirty-six: Ocean
I made some lame excuse about needing the bathroom as soon as Callan shook my hand.
His green eyes burned me as I bolted and locked myself away. He agreed to enjoy a week of sex then go our separate ways. I wanted that. I made him promise. So why were tears streaming down my cheeks?
I clutched my head, fighting the strange thoughts and the feral rage bottled inside. It wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be so mean to him. Everything that came out of my mouth was horrid. Yes, I wanted to push him away, as he deserved better than a woman who lived to kill, but it didn’t give me the right to be a bitch from hell.
I stood panting, leaning against the wall. I wanted nothing more than for him to pound on the bathroom door and demand I stop being so cold-hearted. To command me to give him what I so desperately wished I was strong enough to give.
I slithered down the wall, sitting with my head in my hands. This was a complicated mess. My fundamental belief that I was strong enough to handle anything—kill any monster, save any victim—was decimated. I wasn't strong. I was weak.
I effectively signed up for a week of amazing sex with a man who saw into my Icelandic wasteland of a soul. A man who could help me in future missions. A man who wanted me as me. The thought of having a week with him, then sending him off, was heartbreaking. He’d fall for someone who wouldn’t cause him heart attacks every time she went to work. She’d be something I could never be.
Even if I stopped my vigilante ways, gave up my reason for existing and allowed myself to belong to Callan, it wouldn't be fair to him. Something was wrong with me.
After killing Bazeer, I was cold all the time. My fingers were ice picks. My heart an organ of frost. Spasms of rage and hatred enveloped me more and more frequently with no warning, attacking my own thoughts, turning me into something savage. It terrified me to death—I couldn’t control it. I
was turning bipolar, a psychotic mess. Was it because I touched death when I killed? Was the goodness in my soul almost consumed by coldness?
Almost an hour passed while I tumbled in my thoughts. A knock wrenched my head up.
“Ocean, are you okay in there?” Callan's voice was low. It set my jaw on edge as I fought every urge to hurl open the door and leap into his arms. To ask him to take away the evil whispers in my head, to help find the real me again.
“Yes, I'm fine. Just give me a moment. I'm going to take a shower.”
No response.
Dragging myself off the tiles, I turned the twin-headed shower on and stripped. I twisted in the mirror. My back was scabbing nicely; a few of the shallower whiplashes were pink and healing well. My shoulder was taped with waterproof padding to keep my stitches dry. It wasn’t good timing to holiday in a hot country. How was I supposed to go swimming?
The shower pounded heavy droplets on my neck and I allowed the water to whisk away my stress. Who cared what would happen at the end of the week? I had six days. Six wonderful days of being banned from teleporting, imprisoned in a room with a delicious man who was tanned, sexy, and drop-dead gorgeous.
I’d enjoy our holiday and figure the rest out later. I was strong enough to accept his friendship, to enjoy his body, and to give him my entire self for one week. Yes, but your entire self includes raging homicidal tendencies and grotesque thoughts which aren’t your own. Callan wouldn’t want me if he knew what was going on inside. I gasped, dropping the bar of soap. Thoughts that aren’t my own. The lives I stole—were they turning me into a monster?
I squeezed my eyes, forcing back crazy conclusions. I wouldn’t think that. If I pretended I was normal, I’d be fine. Callan was waiting for me; I couldn’t hide in here forever.
By the time I dried myself, I was somewhat sane. Callan was outside that door and he wanted me. Tonight, we’d go for a nice dinner, maybe a walk on the beach, and then we’d indulge. There was nowhere I needed to be.
I gulped—that wasn't true. Murderers were killing right this moment. My jaw clenched. I wouldn't think about that either. Maurice made me promise to take a break. Callan was a good distraction.
