Last Kiss Goodnight oa-1

by Gena Showalter

  “Like a parasite,” Solo gritted.

  A dismissive wave of Dr. E’s tiny hand. “I prefer the term ‘energy receptor.’ ”

  “Whatever. Go on. You have a point, I’m sure.”

  Before the little guy could open his mouth, Vika poked her head into the room, and said, “Solo?” Her mass of pale hair was brushed and gleaming. Her eyes were once again the color of plums, and though they were sparkling, she was frowning.

  Solo jumped to his feet. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. But I’m deaf again, and I just wanted to make sure you could hear.”

  “I can,” he said.

  Relief painted the edges of her sudden smile, dazzling him. “I’m glad.” She came the rest of the way inside and leaned against a wall. She must have dug through the dresser drawers, because she now wore an oversize sweatshirt that had to be rolled at the wrists and pants that had to be rolled at the ankles.

  Never had she looked younger, fresher, and his heart actually swelled in his chest. But he wanted to see her in clothing he had bought for her. Or clothing he had first worn. Wanted her surrounded by his things—their things. Wanted to give her . . . everything.

  “I wonder why the switching of our senses keeps happening,” she said. “I know you said you think it’s because we vowed to share all that we are, but do you think there’s more to it than that, since nothing’s sticking?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” A shrug. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

  Like the fact that he wanted to give her everything? Like the fact that he loved sharing this with her? “I’m glad it’s happening, and I hope you are too. No one else has ever had the chance to see the world through another person’s eyes, but we have. No one else has ever had the chance to hear through another person’s ears, but we have.”

  “We’re special?” she said, a question when she’d probably meant to make a statement.

  “We are. And maybe the abilities aren’t sticking because that’s what sharing is all about. Give and take. Ebb and flow.”

  She nodded, satisfied with that. “Well, Mr. Special, I’m going to raid the pantry and cook up a feast,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “Give me an hour. Meanwhile, prepare to be amazed.” She blew him a kiss, turned, and padded down the hallway.

  “You’ll never give her up, will you?” Dr. E demanded from behind him.

  Solo pivoted on his heel and faced the being who had so often given him terrible advice, laughed during his torture at the circus, and abandoned him time and time again, when Solo most needed help. “No.”

  Dr. E popped his jaw. “Not even to save my life?”

  “Not even.”

  A pause. Heavy, oppressive.

  “Very well,” the being said. “You have brought this on yourself.” With that, he vanished.

  • • •

  Vika found green beans, peas, carrots, and potatoes, and mixed them all together. She also found several packages of syn-chicken and was able to heat the pieces over the stove and drizzle them with a tasty butter glaze.

  There were so many spices to pick from, she was a little overwhelmed. There were things she’d never even heard of. She used only the ones she knew about, not wanting to ruin the first real meal she would prepare for Solo.

  At the farm, he would have chores for her. He’d already said so. She wanted to prove she could do anything he asked, that she could take care of him properly. And she prayed that she could!

  She had no formal education. Her mother had taught her to read and write, and her knowledge had been limited, too. I have a quick mind, she assured herself, and I can learn anything. And . . . and . . . she knew how to sew. Yes! That was a perfectly acceptable skill. She would mend Solo’s clothing, and he would be the best-dressed farmer in the entire world.

  And she could sell her jewelry and use the proceeds to buy him something special. Something he’d always wanted. She just had to find out what it was that he’d always wanted.

  When the chicken was warmed all the way through and the vegetables were boiling, she turned off the stove and prepared two plates. Steam rose, and the scents caused her mouth to water.

  Gold star for me, she thought, proud of herself. She’d sometimes watched the cook at the circus, knowing she would one day have to care for her own meals.

  She picked up the plates to carry them to the table, but caught sight of her tiger outside the window. He had returned. He was no longer prowling, but lying between the trees, his tail waving slowly. He yawned.

  A warm, strong body pressed against her back, and she shivered. Soft lips slid along the side of her neck, and the shivers intensified, wringing a moan from her. She set the plates down. Solo clasped her by the waist and turned her.

  He kissed one eyelid, then the other. “I’m ready to share again.”

  “Sharing is kind of fun, I guess.”

  “You guess? No, you know.” He kissed the tip of her nose, one cheek, then the other. Then he hovered over her lips, his warm breath caressing her. “So what were you doing, staring out the window? Dreaming of me already?”

  She walked her fingers up the ridges of his stomach, to his shoulders, and around, to his nape, intending to pull him down the rest of the way. “No, Mr. Ego, I was watching my tiger.”

  His muscles bunched underneath her hand. “Tiger?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She pulled, but Solo resisted. “He was injured, but he’s doing better.”

  Frowning, he lifted her off her feet and set her aside to press closer to the glass. He watched for a moment before jerking his head in her direction, his eyes wide.

  “He’s wearing a bandage,” he said.

  “I know.” Her ears began to ring.

  “Who put that bandage on him, Vika?”

  She heard him that time, and he had not sounded pleased. “Well . . .”

  “Vika.”

  “I did.”

  “What?” he shouted. “You went outside? Approached a dangerous predator? When? While I was sleeping?” he added, answering his own question.

  Exasperated now, she threw up her arms. “Yes, but X helped me. I was never in any danger.”

  “There are traps out there, Vika.”

  “Which is why X made me walk in strange places.”

  A red tint darkened his skin. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned him. X knew about it and didn’t wake me?”

  “Why would he? You were sleeping so peacefully. And again, I was never in any danger.”

  He worked his jaw, obviously trying to get himself under control. “X could have weakened, and the tiger could have maimed you.”

  “But neither of them did.”

  “How could you . . . why would you . . .” Shouting a curse, Solo pounded his fist into the kitchen counter, rattling the dishes.

  Vika jumped, startled by the volume.

  “Do you want to put me in an early grave?” he snarled. “Is that what this is about?” Another shout, another pound of his fist.

  This time, the dishes bounced off the counter and fell to the floor. Nothing broke, but the delicious, amazing food she’d spent forever preparing was ruined. Vika peered down at the mix of yellow, green, and orange and despaired. Not only would Solo not discover what an excellent cook she probably was, he now needed a lesson about his temper.

  “That kind of outburst won’t be tolerated,” she said sternly. “I dealt with that kind of thing all of my life, and I know you would never hurt me, but I won’t let you talk to me that way. I won’t have that kind of relationship with you.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, but she tore out of his grip. Head held high, she turned and marched away.

  Twenty-nine

  You are altogether beautiful, my darling, and there is no blemish in you.

  —SONG OF SOLOMON 4:7

  S OLO CLEANED UP THE kitchen, a bit sick to his stomach. He’d al
lowed anger to get the better of him, and he’d hurt his woman’s feelings, perhaps even frightened her. With her past, he’d known better. Had known to be careful.

  He was ashamed. He’d just . . . he’d been so scared for her. She’d entered the harsh cold and, unaware that one wrong step could shock her or kill her, she’d done it to approach a wild, injured beast. Did she have no sense? Could she not understand that Solo didn’t want to live without her?

  He stilled.

  He didn’t want to live without her.

  He played the words through his mind again and again, and realized they were true. He wanted her with him now, always, and forever. He didn’t just want to keep her, either. He wanted to be with her. Every minute of every day, he wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, make love to her. He wanted to learn more about her, think about her, and know he belonged to her. He wanted her to crave the same things from him.

  And he didn’t want to change her. Taking care of others was in her nature. She couldn’t look at the sick and hurting and not desire to help, and that was a beautiful quality to have, one that had drawn him to her, one that had captivated him, enchanted him.

  He never should have yelled at her, reminding her of her father, and he definitely owed her an apology.

  He searched the house and found her in the bedroom. She was removing the jewelry from her bag, placing what seemed to be thousands of necklaces, bracelets, and rings on the bed. The only other thing she’d brought, besides the items X had requested, were disposable cameras.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vika stilled, her wide purple gaze swinging to him.

  Without a word, he swiped up a camera and then Vika herself. She offered no protest. He settled in the chair across from the bed, and directed her body like a master with his puppet, forcing her to sit on his lap.

  Even though she was angry with him, utter contentment flooded Solo. Who would have ever believed someone trapped by such hideous circumstances could find such bliss? A woman as lovely as this one. Pleasure beyond imagining. Laughter. Sharing. Acceptance.

  The loss of his hearing, in short bursts or forever, truly was a pleasure for him to bear. Vika was taken care of. She was with him, his to protect and cherish. He would have to quit his job, of course, but then, he’d planned to do so anyway. He had warred all his life. Now it was time to rest. To enjoy the life he’d been given.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I won’t do it again, you have my word. My only excuse is that I was scared, thinking of you out there, hurt and bleeding, and I was completely unaware, unable to help if you needed me.”

  A moment passed. She ducked her head.

  He felt the vibration of her words and had to interject, “I need to see you to understand you, sweetheart,” stopping her.

  Her hair swished around her shoulders as she straightened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was telling you that I just couldn’t leave the tiger to his suffering.”

  It was odd, knowing she was speaking, watching her mouth move, yet hearing nothing. It was odder still, knowing he was speaking and hearing nothing. But that had always been the norm for her. “I know. Do you forgive me?”

  Her eyelids flipped up, revealing those plum eyes he found so irresistible. Interesting. This time, they’d only switched ears, not eyes. “Of course.”

  Again, she offered her forgiveness so easily. Another quality he had never been able to resist.

  She reached out and twisted the collar of his T-shirt. “So what do you want with the camera? Why’d you grab it?”

  “Maybe I wished to take naughty photos of you.”

  “In that case . . .” Grinning, she grabbed the camera from his hand and held it in the air. “What are you willing to do for it?”

  “Anything,” he said, utterly serious.

  “Anything?” A carefree laugh. “You vow it?”

  “I do.” An open bargain. Something he’d never before made. Something he would never make with anyone else.

  She planted a loud, smacking kiss on his lips before she relinquished control of the camera.

  “And what is it you’re going to want?” he asked, not the least bit concerned.

  “We’ll start with three more wishes.”

  Won’t grin. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not a genie in a bottle.”

  She ignored him, saying, “I’ll make a list and let you know everything you’ll be doing for me.”

  Really won’t grin. “I’ll look forward to reading it.”

  “Expect to be riveted.”

  Okay. He grinned.

  “Let’s take a look at these photos before I toss you on that bed.” He pressed the buttons on the disposable and discovered pictures of little Vika, no more than five years old. In each of the photos she was grinning so widely she was all teeth. Her hair was brushed to a glossy shine and hanging in pigtails at her ears. In one, she was in the middle of a twirl. In another, she was holding a large sequined bra up to her tiny chest. In yet another, she was pressed up against an older version of herself, and the two were blowing kisses to the camera with chocolate smeared all over their faces.

  “You have an addiction to chocolate, I think,” he said, a pang in his chest.

  “Only a small one. I can go through an entire five-minute span without thinking about or craving a piece.”

  He would buy her a chocolate factory, then. She could swim in the stuff, if she so desired.

  “And who is the other woman?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “My mother,” she said wistfully. “She was flighty and emotional, but I loved her.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her.”

  “Me too.”

  The loss of someone you loved could leave a big gaping hole in your chest. One you feared would never be filled. That was how he’d felt about his parents, and yet this woman had filled him in such a way that he doubted he could ever be hollowed again. He would carry the memory of her forever.

  He couldn’t let her be hurt.

  He set the camera aside. “How about we do a little practice fighting?” If he left her here—and with every second that passed he was more and more certain he would have to—he wanted her as prepared as possible.

  “All right,” she said, and if she was confused by the change of subject, she didn’t show it.

  “Give me a few minutes to get everything ready.” He stood with Vika in his arms, placed her in the chair, and stalked to the living room to move the couch and coffee table.

  When he finished, he returned to the bedroom. She was in the same place he’d left her.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  He frowned. He’d heard her voice, soft and sensual, but his ears hadn’t rung. Not this time.

  She frowned too. “Solo,” she said, standing.

  He’d heard her that time, too. “Can you hear me?”

  A shake of her head, as she said, “No. Can you?”

  “Yes.” So they’d switched back again.

  And they would probably switch yet again.

  She displayed the same relief as before. “I like sharing with you, I do, but I’m glad you can hear. The guilt was going to fry me like battered chicken.”

  He . . . had no idea which adage she’d butchered that time. “I told you not to feel guilty.”

  “You did. And do you not recall me telling you to bite someone?”

  So gorgeous when she’s feisty. “No. But just for the record, you’re supposed to tell me to bite you.”

  “Why would I want you to bite me?”

  “Because I’ll make sure you like it. Now, come into the living room and force me to bite someone.”

  “I will, and you’ll be sorry.” Radiating eagerness, she followed after him.

  They stopped on the rug he’d cleared and faced each other.

  “What’s first on the agenda?” she asked, fisting her hands at her sides and bracing her legs apart.

  “You’re going to prac
tice what I’ve already taught you and learn a few more tricks.”

  “What if I want to teach you something?” Without any more warning than that, she kicked out and knocked his ankles together, sending him to his knees. She was on him a second later, pushing him back and straddling his waist, a blade poised at his neck. “Like that.”

  So gorgeous when she’s fierce. “Where’d you get the knife?”

  “Snagged it from the counter when I left the kitchen. I was going to carry it in the bag since you were so against me carrying the gun.”

  And he’d missed the action. Either he’d lost his edge or he had no defenses against this woman. “Good girl.” Swiftly he rolled her over, pinning her to the ground with his weight. “But whatever will you do now?”

  She laughed.

  So gorgeous when she’s amused.

  “I’ll take pity on you and keep my knees to myself.”

  “Not sure that’s wise. I have no plans to take pity on you.”

  Thirty

  Do not let kindness and truth leave you. Bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.

  —PROVERBS 3:3

  N IGHT FELL, BUT SOLO wasn’t tired. And neither was Vika, judging from her flurry of activity. She had raided the dresser drawers and the closet and had withdrawn everything in need of repair. Now, she sat in front of the living room fire, sewing, a soft orange glow enveloping her, the pile of clothing beside her.

  Six times she’d shown him the work she’d done, watching his features intently. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he made sure to lavishly praise her efforts. And she was good. He just wished he knew what thoughts rolled through her mind.

  A light pressure on his right cheek had him turning. X stood on his shoulder, frowning at him.

  Can’t you hear me? His voice filled Solo’s head.

  “No. My ability to hear has been given to Vika again.”

  Vika looked over at him.

  How—Never mind. I have to tell you something. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t know until too late. I tried to stop them, but I failed. I’m so sorry.