Zero Day Exploit (Bayou’s End #1.5)

by Cole McCade

  Her soft hands printed themselves on him, leaving her mark on his flesh, on his soul. And when she tensed against him, tightened around him, trembling with the silent intensity of the shudders that had rolled through her in gripping waves…he crumbled. His foundations became dust, everything he had built his life upon eroding, leaving him falling with no way to hold himself up. No way but her—and he forgot how to breathe as he let those deep contractions pull him in and drag him down and take him over. Pleasure found him with biting teeth, with a straining surge, and as everything inside him snapped and unraveled, he whispered her name against her gasping lips.

  Whispered her name, and despaired—for how had he fallen this hard, this fast, for a woman who despised everything he stood for?

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE’D DONE IT AGAIN.

  Zero leaned against the wall, fighting for breath. Fighting for sense. Fighting not to scream when the moment she made a sound louder than a whisper, she’d discover the Wrath of the Perky Retail Clerk.

  Maybe if she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend she hadn’t been this stupid again. She could pretend it was some other man still buried hot inside her and leaving her throbbing with that wonderful melting soreness she loved to hold on to in the moments after. It spread through her body until she went limp, simmering with a lingering warmth that she didn’t want to associate with Evan. He was a liar. A liar, a manipulative asshole, a fucking bastard.

  And he’d touched her like she was a goddess, and loved her with an angel’s reverent heat.

  She’d never felt anything like it. She’d expected wildness and brutality and hard rough desperation. Not that slow, searing intensity that had caught her in its coils, squeezed her tight, made her forget where she was. Made her forget everything except the sure grip of his hands, the taste of his kiss, the feeling of something more in the way he touched her, as if he was trying to tell her something he didn’t have the words to say. It had left her heart aching and her body weak—and she would be a damned fool to believe any of it.

  “Zoraya?” Rough fingers buried in her hair with a touch far too tender for a man so large. For a liar, she reminded herself. This had to all be part of his act.

  Didn’t it?

  “Zoraya,” he repeated, and she tried to tell herself she was imagining the concern in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes. Pale green filled her vision, dark with satiation, flicking over her face with sharp little worried glances.

  It was a lot harder to hate him when he looked at her that way.

  “Get off me.” She pushed at him—only to suck in her breath when he shifted inside her, probing at her most sensitive depths, shrill in the wake of what he’d done to her. He closed his eyes, but not before she caught a flicker of hurt.

  “Hold still,” he said through grit teeth, then gripped her hips and pulled out, smooth and swift and leaving her struggling not to cry out.

  Her legs bent like rubber noodles. She propped herself against the wall and dragged her clothing back into place; the tags on the shirt itched against her back as she buttoned up swiftly. Oh God, it wasn’t even her clothing. She’d just let him take her in a fitting room in a department store…wearing clothes with the tags still on them. She was lucky they hadn’t ripped the security clips and ended up covered in ink.

  “This didn’t happen again.” She buried her face in her hands and sank down the wall. “Christ, this didn’t happen again. I’m going to get fired, Jesus Christ, this didn’t happen again.”

  “It did.” Evan settled down next to her, leaning shoulder to shoulder. One rough hand gently covered hers, drew it away from her face, and held it captured. Steady eyes regarded her, calm and worried. “Zero. Damage is already done. They already know you slept with me. Doing it a second time isn’t going to sacrifice your integrity any further. How are they going to know? Hack into the store’s security footage?”

  She stared at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Point.” He looked down. Still he held their clasped hands, resting on his knee while he stroked his rough thumb along the edge of her palm. “I didn’t come out here to seduce you.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “It was true then, too.” His gaze rose to hers.

  “Yeah?” She closed her eyes against that earnest look. She wasn’t supposed to find this comforting—the steady warmth of his hand around hers, his bulk leaning against her side, the scent they made together wrapped around her in a hazed cloud. She knew she should pull her hand back, but somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Tell me no, he’d said, and she’d pulled him close and kissed him anyway. He was like quicksand. One foot in and she was already lost, and all her struggling only sank her deeper.

  And she couldn’t blame him for this one. He’d been right. Eyes open, no lies, and still she’d made the choice—and she didn’t want to regret it. Not after the way he’d made her feel.

  God, she couldn’t be falling for him—could she?

  She cracked one eye open and stole a peek, only to find him watching her as if afraid he’d broken something. Hesitantly, she tightened her grip on his hand with a wan smile. “Still really good sex.”

  He blinked, both brows shooting up, before a broad grin spread across his lips. “Was it, then?”

  “Mm.” She tried to fight back a smile, but couldn’t help herself when he looked so delighted. God, under that asshole façade he really was just a Southern boy—emphasis on the boy, from that doofy grin. With a groan, she looked down and plucked at the blouse. The two top buttons barely dangled by a thread. “I don’t think I have a choice about buying this now…”

  Evan tilted his head—then reached out with calm deliberation, caught one of the buttons between thumb and forefinger, and methodically snapped it off.

  Zero lost it.

  She clapped her hand over her mouth and tried to stop, but once the first giggle burst free the flood refused to slow. Evan’s rolling baritone joined in low counterpoint to hers, his body shaking against her side as he laughed deeply, helplessly. Zero curled forward, giggling until her ribs ached, clutching her sides—until a polite tap rattled the door.

  “Is everything all right in there?” a woman called.

  Shit. Shit, it was probably one of the clerks. Zero scrambled to her feet, taking several deep breaths. “Yes—I’m fine! I’m fine, just—um—uh. The shirt’s scratchy. I’m ticklish.”

  Evan caught her eye. Ticklish? he mouthed. Seriously?

  Shut up, she mouthed back, grinning fit to burst.

  “I…see,” the clerk said. “Are you not alone in there, Miss?”

  Oh God. She could probably see Evan’s feet under the door—but if he stood, she’d see the top of his oversized fucking head. Zero grabbed his arm and dragged him up. “Get up,” she hissed. “Get up on the bench! Stay low!”

  She shoved him up onto the bench next to her discarded jeans, then clapped her hands over the top of his head and shoved him down into a crouch. He stared at her but let her push him around…but a wicked flicker in his eyes warned she’d pay for this when it was over.

  Zero whirled back to the door. She had to sound calm. Formidable. Evan had said she should be formidable. Right. “I’m alone. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  A woman’s pinched, suspicious face appeared under the bottom of the half-door. Zero quickly moved to bar her view of Evan, drawing herself up as best she could. She had the outfit; she could play the offended corporate socialite.

  “Excuse me?” she bit off in freezing tones. “This is an invasion of my privacy. Once I’ve changed, I…I’ll want to speak to your manager!” She stomped her foot—and immediately felt about five years old.

  But the clerk’s face disappeared. Evan grinned like a fiend and flashed a thumbs up, and Zero stuck her tongue out at him.

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” the clerk stammered. “That was inexcusable. I’ll be available if
you need any help.”

  Zero held her breath until she heard the click of the woman’s heels moving away, her shadow disappearing from beneath the door. The moment she thought it was safe Zero groaned, deflating and sagging against the wall.

  “…I can’t believe I just had to do that.”

  “Smooth. Next you’ll be ready for overpaid middle management.” Evan remained crouched on the bench, studying his reflection in the mirror. “I look like a demented vulture.”

  “Isn’t that what you do? Pick the bones of the dead?”

  “Ouch. That burned,” Evan said—then dissolved into laughter again.

  Zero tried to fight it, but it was just as useless as before. “Shut up!” she hissed, snickering against her palm. “She’ll hear you!”

  He shook his head, swallowing back, trying—only for his body to shake with soundless chuckles, his eyes squeezing shut. He thudded down to sit on the bench. She leaned against his shoulder, struggling to breathe, struggling not to make a sound, little whispering chuckles escaping until her entire body trembled with the effort not to cackle. Her breath wheezed and she sank down on the bench next to him, rubbing at her damp eyes as she tried to slow her panting.

  “I don’t even know what’s so funny,” she gasped.

  “Maybe you just needed a laugh.” A heavy arm settled around her shoulders, pulling her lightly against his warmth. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “I wonder why.”

  He winced, but his grin didn’t fade. “You’re way too good at making me feel guilty.”

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “I know. But that’s the downside of growing a conscience.”

  With a noncommittal sound, Zero leaned against him. They really should do something about escaping the fitting room with their dignity intact—or before the clerk came back to make sure they weren’t stealing anything other than a quickie before closing time. But she liked this, she thought. Sitting here with him, quiet, feeling his warmth and breathing in the scent of leather and Evan and a faint sharp whiff of snow that still clung so close. He shouldn’t feel so warm. So comfortable. She should be angry with him, but God…she was so tired of being angry and miserable and accusatory, right now. Right now, she wanted to just be.

  He turned his head. His lips pressed into her hair, and she closed her eyes. “Zero?” he murmured.

  “Hm?”

  “Let me come home with you tonight.”

  Something in his voice compelled her to open her eyes. Something heavy and aching. She tilted her head back, looking up at him. At pale and cutting eyes that no longer seemed as sharp as they had before. They were glass, she thought. Clear and reflective and razor-edged, but they’d shatter with one hard hit.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because…” He lowered his eyes. Rough fingers drifted along her cheek, and wove into her hair. “Because I want to sleep somewhere that feels like a home. Not just a cold hotel room.”

  Zero leaned into his touch, slid her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

  * * *

  She changed back into her jeans and hoodie before, together, they picked out a few more outfits with a certain wordless synchronicity, as if speaking might shatter the quiet promise she’d made to him with that kiss. She didn’t bother trying on the rest of the clothes. If it didn’t fit, it didn’t fit. She didn’t care about her wardrobe right now—though she felt strange letting him pay for the heap of skirts and jackets and blouses and slacks that ended up in shiny department-store garment bags, and she avoided the clerk’s eyes. What was the woman thinking, looking at this ratty barely-legal gutterpunk girl letting an older man buy her nice things?

  When did I start caring about things like that?

  She didn’t. She shouldn’t. And when Evan slung the bags over his shoulder and offered her his hand, she twined her fingers in his and lifted her chin and refused to give it a second thought. She wasn’t taking the clothing because he owed her. She was taking it because he was trying to help her, and for once she was just going to stop snarling and accept the gesture with grace, gratitude, and good faith.

  Until he pissed her off again.

  And she knew—without a doubt—that he would.

  She smiled to herself as they stepped out into the night. The clerk’s voice chased them into the snow, echoing a canned announcement about closing time over the store. Evan bumped her elbow with his.

  “What’s that smile for, hm?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, tightening her grip on his hand. “Just…this. The quiet of it. Of us.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to kill me today.”

  “I’ve thought about it.”

  He laughed, brief and rough. “I wouldn’t like you so much if you hadn’t.”

  “Funny.” With a shrug she lowered her eyes, watching her feet as she kicked up a few fresher clumps of snow, sending them pluming across the sidewalk with every step. “I don’t know. Suddenly I’m just…not as angry anymore. I guess I got tired of it.” She frowned. “It’s like fire, if you think about it.”

  “What is?”

  “Us. What happens when we’re around each other.” She struggled to find the words for something that was more a feeling than anything else, something vague she couldn’t quite grasp. “Fire is what it is. It’s not good or bad. It can keep someone warm or destroy everything they own; it can kill you or make the difference in your survival. But it’s not the fire’s fault if you stick your hand in it, you know?” Her gaze slid to their clasped hands. She shifted her grasp to lace her fingers in his. “That’s what it feels like, with us. We stood in each other’s fire, and we’ve been burning each other like hell. But that same fire’s what’s keeping me so warm right now.” With a laugh, she shook her head. “I’m really bad at explaining this. I don’t think that made any sense.”

  “No…I think I get the idea.” He pulled his hand from hers—and slid his arm around her shoulders, gathering her against his side until their strides fell in tandem and his heat chased away the wintry midnight chill. “I like that. Being the fire that keeps you warm.”

  He held her close while they waited for the train; held her close on the train, and damn her willpower but she let him. She wanted to be angry with herself for letting go of her fury after only a few days. For letting go of it at all. But life was too short to stay angry; too short to make herself fume over something that would be over as soon as it started, and would leave no more impact on her life than a memory. In a few days Evan would be just another dot against the blue, an airplane winging overhead. She’d look up at the silver underbellies flashing through the sky and wonder which one was taking him out of her life as if he’d never been there at all, leaving behind nothing but an absence that would quickly be swept away.

  Why, then, did the thought leave her so very melancholy, a sick quiet feeling of emptiness building in her chest?

  She leaned closer to him as they slipped off the train and out into the street. Amber lamplight fell down on them, speckled with dancing wisps of snow like glowing white-gold sprites, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like if this was every day: coming home with her hand twined in Evan’s, while the snow fell down on them with its insulating silence that seemed to blanket the world with dreamlike softness.

  Yeah, right.

  Upstairs in her apartment, she opened the foldout wardrobe built into one of the supporting walls of the loft area. She didn’t want to bunch the new outfits into the closet with all her jeans and ragged t-shirts, as if they’d somehow rub off on the posh new clothes and turn them grungy. As they peeled away the garment bags and hung everything up, she glanced at him sidelong and forced herself to finally break the companionable silence.

  “Thank you for this. Seriously.” She offered a smile. “I can’t afford all this. And…I know I need it. I know. I may not like it, but it’s necessary. It—all of this—was really sweet of you. I just wish I
could pay you back.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “You’ve already given enough by letting me stay.”

  “Trying to buy my affection?”

  ‘It’s not like that and you know it.”

  “I know.” She laughed, yet it faded and dried as she studied the rows of blazers and pretty blouses and soft, touchable skirts. “You know a change of clothing won’t change who I am, right?” She fingered the polished buttons on the cuff of one jacket. “These kinds of things…my older sister could wear them like a queen. Scheherazade’s like…pure grace. It’s like she’s doing you a favor just by being in the room with her.” She shook her head. “I can’t do that. I can’t be that. I’ve tried. Every time, I fell on my face.”

  “You don’t have to try to be anyone but yourself.” He brushed his knuckles under her chin. “It’s just a mask you wear, eight hours a day. Think of it like scuba gear. You can’t survive underwater without it, but it doesn’t make you a fish.”

  “No? I’m not a fish?”

  His lips quirked. “I think I’d have complained about the smell by now.”

  She frowned—then puffed out her cheeks, pursed her lips, and widened her eyes. “What ab—” Nope. Couldn’t talk like that. She tried sucking her cheeks in instead, then slurred, “What about now?” It came out more whu abba nu, but close enough.

  Evan stilled, just staring at her, blinking slowly, his expression blanking. “You—are you seriously—” He barked out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “I don’t even. No. I can’t. C’mere, you.”

  Before she could even puff out the breath she was holding, he slung an arm around her waist, scooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder, still laughing. Zero let out a little scream, swatting at him, snickering helplessly.

  “Put me down!”