Black and Blue

by Gena Showalter

  Falling hard.

  Fifteen

  BLUE AND EVIE CROUCHED in the rafters of the old barn where the auction for ribbons of John's skin was to be held. They'd been here for almost an hour, still, quiet, waiting, hidden by thick wooden beams and moldy hay.

  He held at bay memories of the aftermath of their explosive encounter . . . until the second hour, when they knocked on the door of his mind, demanding entry.

  Uncomfortable silence as they'd dressed.

  Evie unable to meet his gaze.

  A murmured "Well, that was fun, thanks" from her before she strode from the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. She hadn't claimed him, after all.

  Didn't matter. He'd claimed her.

  The time before, he'd felt horror that he'd betrayed Michael, and guilt. That time, he'd felt resolve. He wanted more. And so, more he would have. He couldn't resist her. Fighting the attraction had done no good.

  Now he would go after her. Win her.

  Finally, the back doors of the barn creaked, signaling they were being opened. A short, wiry human with thinning hair, a great-white-shark tattoo coming up the collar of his shirt, and a man-baby belly, strutted inside with two armed men at his sides. One had a rifle. The other had a pyre-gun. Both were human.

  Behind them, another male carried a small lacquered box with the Chinese symbol for revenge lining each side. There was no sign of Gregory, Tyson, or Tiffany, but Blue didn't care.

  This was happening.

  "--gonna go crazy for these," Shark was saying. He swiped his arm across the items on the nearest table, scattering everything to the ground.

  The male placed the box on the surface. He was an Agamen, with huge white horns protruding from his skull. Bona fide ivory towers. Seriously, a colony of fairies could live inside those things.

  Hell, maybe they did.

  "I'm to remind you that there's major heat on these," Horns said.

  Shark nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Consider me reminded. Now show me what I'm gonna be selling."

  Horns fiddled with the locks on the box. The lid was flipped open.

  Blue saw three golden ribbons resting inside and nearly vomited. The pain John must have suffered . . . must be suffering. He had to swallow back a roar of fury, had to lock his power down tight.

  "Pretty, aren't they?" Horns said with a crooked grin.

  "Are you kidding? They're gorgeous," Shark exclaimed. "When the Star girl finishes her designs . . . people are gonna go insane."

  Across the expanse of the rafters, Blue met Evie's gaze. Determination radiated from her.

  "They die," he mouthed. "Hard."

  Gripping two daggers, he dropped from the ceiling and landed on his feet. Evie did the same, and together they surged forward. The men noticed and reached for weapons--but they were too late. Blue threw both of his daggers, one finding a home in Shark's right eye, the other in his left. Howling with pain, the guy dropped to his knees. Meanwhile, Evie savagely knifed one of the humans across the throat, his skin ripping and blood spraying.

  Horns tried to sprint out the door, but Blue caught him with a thread of power--an invisible rope--and dragged him back, kicking and screaming. When Blue reached out, intending to slice through the horns to take them as a memento, the male bucked in an effort to jab him with the poisoned tips.

  A swift stab, stab, stab deflated all three of the Agamen's lungs. Alien anatomy classes came in handy sometimes. The male flopped forward, allowing Blue to break his neck with a vicious jerk.

  The last remaining target managed to get his hands on a pyre-gun and fire a shot at Evie. She ducked, the laser soaring just over her shoulder. Blue closed the distance in a blink, grabbing the human's arm, twisting, breaking the bone, and swiping the gun. He fed the barrel into the man's mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Yellow lights sparked from every orifice the human possessed, and blood quickly followed. He crumbled to the ground.

  You think you can take out my woman? Blue spit on the body.

  Your woman? Really?

  Whatever. He spun, desperate to fight someone else, but the battle was over. He stomped to the table, and Evie tagged along. They peered at the glittering golden ribbons curling so prettily against the velvet.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  He nodded to let her know he'd heard.

  "We'll find him."

  Yes, they would. They would never stop searching, never give up. He didn't care what they had to do or who they had to kill.

  "Let's get the box to Michael," he said.

  *

  The next few days were packed with activities. Evie held a press conference to announce she was taking over Black Industries and that she'd set up an exhibition game for the Invaders and Strikers at the end of the week. She called Tyson Star and set up a tour of the Star Light Hotel, but he wasn't the one to give her the tour. His personal assistant did the honors.

  She almost threw a tantrum.

  Also, Tiffany had yet to call Blue and ask him to meet her father.

  But at least no one had tried to kill him. Or Evie. It was safe to assume his cover was solid, he wasn't a target, and whoever had ordered the car chase had changed his--or her--mind.

  Even so, Evie was a bit on edge. She and Blue had not had their chat about expectations and had not made out again. Was he done with her?

  No. Impossible. Last time he'd been totally on fire for her. Flames that hot couldn't have just died out.

  Really? Reeeally? Have you ever witnessed a fire burning? Flames die out all the time, moron.

  She could hear him puttering around in the kitchen, and shivered. He'd snuck over a few hours ago. He'd snuck over every night, actually, secretly staying in the guest room, just as he'd promised Michael.

  Have I lost my appeal?

  No, she thought again. She wasn't a raving beauty like the women he was used to, and she had the wrong hair color . . . and the wrong boob size. . . . Hey. She frowned. What had he ever seen in her?

  She didn't know. But she had not fallen from the ugly tree and gotten hit by every branch, thank you. Blue had felt an attraction to her, and it had been strong enough that he'd forgotten his dislike of her.

  Maybe . . . the stress was getting to him? He worked constantly, and rarely slept.

  To be honest, she was having trouble keeping up with him.

  "Dinner," Blue called.

  He'd offered to cook, and she hadn't even given a token protest. Her culinary genius was limited to boiling soup and thawing the frozen dinners her father sometimes sent over.

  "Be right down." She had left him alone about half an hour ago; the sight of him preparing a meal, acting all domesticated, had nearly sent her into a euphoric state of shock.

  Translation: she'd wanted to jump him.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she padded to the kitchen. She checked the screen, saw Michael's name, and grinned. "Hey, you."

  "Hey, sunbeam," he replied. He called her once a day to check in.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "Better."

  He offered nothing more, so she said, "Did something happen?"

  "Nope. Just wondering if the exhibition game was set."

  A lie. He knew it was. He watched the news. "In two days, as planned. I've finalized all details for the after-party as well." A party where Blue would probably have to seduce the pants right off Tiffany Star. Nothing else had worked.

  He would always do anything necessary to get what he needed from a target, so maybe their aborted romance was for the best. Evie hadn't changed her mind. She would never be okay with her man bagging other women, no matter the reason.

  "Good," Michael said. "That's good."

  Blue stood behind the counter and, without moving a muscle, used his power to push a plate of spaghetti across the counter.

  "Thanks," she mouthed--and had to force herself to look away from him before she started drooling. Could the man never wear a shirt?

  I've had th
at chest pressed against mine, but I failed to touch or taste it. Bad Evie!

  It would be a lifelong regret.

  "I wanted to ask . . . how things are going with Blue?" There was something odd about her father's tone.

  "Fine," she said, grateful he couldn't see the sudden color in her cheeks. "Why?"

  "Are you two . . ."

  She stifled a groan. "Fighting? No."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Too bad for you, because that's the only question I'm willing to answer."

  "Sorry, sunbeam, but this is important. I love the man, I do, but he's not right for you."

  "You think I don't know that? And anyway, what brought this on?" she asked.

  "I keep remembering the way you looked at him."

  How had she looked at him?

  Blimey. Had Blue noticed?

  Blue stepped around her, getting in her face, clearly concerned. He mouthed, "Something wrong?"

  "My father is butting into something that is not his business," she said, loud enough for both men to hear.

  Blue straightened with a snap and paled, confusing her. Had he guessed what she meant? Was he offended--hurt by her father's lack of trust?

  The thought of Blue hurt . . . upset her.

  Michael sighed. "All right. I'll let it go. I just . . . I care about you, want the best for you."

  "Then why did you visit me only seven times while I was overseas?" The question left her before she could stop it, the neediness of her tone embarrassing her.

  He heaved another sigh. "Your mom . . . are you sure you want to hear this?"

  Mum had interfered? "Yes."

  "She threatened to hide you from me, and she was a good enough agent that I knew she could do it. I took whatever scraps she let me have, and pounced the moment you were legal."

  "Oh." "Oh"? That's all you have to say? Her entire outlook had just been turned inside out. Years of upset, for no reason. "Dad--" she croaked.

  "No, it's all right. It's okay. I knew why you were holding me at a distance, and I couldn't blame you. I've often thought I should have risked everything and just taken you away."

  She blinked away a prickle of tears. "Just knowing you wanted to . . . thank you," she said.

  "Yes, well." He cleared his throat as if he were having a little problem with tears, too. "I trained you to be an agent so that I could have more time with you. And you far surpassed my expectations. You should come back to work for me."

  "No." She hadn't changed her mind. When this was over, she was going back to her old life, where the lives of strangers rested in her hands--not the lives of loved ones.

  "Stubborn," he muttered. "Look, I've been watching the video and listening to the feed you sent me. I found a clip of Star at the Lucky Horn the day before the explosion, but there's no audio, so I can only guess that's when the bombing was being planned. Then, in the live feed from his estate, I heard something interesting."

  "What?"

  "I'll text you the details. Tomorrow morning, you and Blue have a new mission."

  The line went dead.

  She set down her phone, scooped up her plate, and settled in at the table where Blue waited. He hadn't yet touched his food. Had waited for her like a proper gentleman. She would have thought him calm if not for the tendrils of power now falling over her.

  They were strongest when he was upset . . . or aroused. Right now, they were very strong.

  So which was he?

  Trembling, she picked up her fork. He picked up his, and she was momentarily blinded to all but his long, blunt-tipped fingers. I've had those inside me.

  "Tell me about Claire," he said, voice flat, utterly emotionless.

  Instant mood killer!

  Why did he want to know? Why was he pressing this yet again? "No," she said.

  He stared at her, unwavering. "Have you ever talked about it with anyone?"

  "No." And she wouldn't. Couldn't.

  His nod of acceptance was stiff.

  Silent, they picked at their food for a few minutes. He was a good cook, and that kind of sucked, because it meant he was good at everything he did. That he had no deficiencies.

  Soon the tension got to her, his power still stroking over her, revving her up so much that liquid heat began to pool between her legs. Her voice was raspy as she said, "Are we ever going to talk about what happened in my foyer . . . and my office?"

  "Yes. But not now."

  What? Why? "When?"

  "Soon. I hope."

  Not good enough. She dropped her fork and glared at him. "Why wait?"

  His gaze raked over her, and heated, the lavender darkening to a deep, rich plum. "Feeling needy, princess?"

  Yes!

  Can't lie to him. So, instead of answering, she hopped to her feet. "If you don't want me anymore, just say it. I'm a big girl and I don't need coddling."

  He remained silent.

  Figured. She stepped around him with every intention of storming off. But he grabbed her by the waist and jerked her onto his lap. Those thick, muscular thighs. But he didn't keep her there. He pushed the plates aside and set her on the table.

  "I want you. I always want you." He unfastened her pants and tugged them and her knickers down her legs, leaving her bare from the waist down. "Now spread your legs."

  She obeyed, but not quickly enough for his taste. He placed his palms on her knees, his skin so hot the contact burned, burned so good, and pushed her thighs apart, as wide as they would go. Exposing her. Making her vulnerable to his view.

  He just sat there, looking at her. Heat in his glowing eyes. Expression taut. A charge thickened the air, and she found it difficult to breathe. She trembled, almost violently. Waiting was a beautiful agony . . . and then just agony.

  "Please." Begging him again? Yes. If that's what it took.

  "Oh, I'll give you something."

  "Will you give me everything?"

  "You're so pretty here," he said, ignoring her question. "I think it's time for dessert." And then he was on her, his mouth where she needed him. Hot and insistent, stoking her desire higher and higher with every flick of his masterful tongue. He licked up and down, from side to side, and all she could do was roll her hips and seek more.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair. "Blue!" And then she was lying down, resting her feet on the arms of his chair, and he was reaching out, his hands cupping her breasts, as he ate and ate and ate. Pleasure spiraled through her, strong, insistent, demanding, building, building. She wasn't going to last. Had wanted him too much, too long.

  A scream ripped from her as she climaxed.

  Blue tugged her upright and stood. He tore at the button and zipper on his pants. His shaft, so long and thick, stretched past the material. The head glistened, proving just how badly he wanted her.

  "Know how good you taste, baby? Never had anything like it. But now I need you to suck me."

  "Yes." She dropped to her knees, with no hesitation, and took him deep into her mouth. He moaned her name, a plea, a curse, then moaned again, whatever he said next unintelligible. He was so big he hurt her jaw, but she didn't care. She moved on him, again and again, until his hips were pumping in rhythm with her mouth. Faster . . . faster . . . she pressed her tongue against his shaft with every upward glide, and when she reached the top she gave a little suck . . . again and again . . . and it was so good, so bloody good.

  "About to . . . Baby, I want you to swallow me. Every drop."

  Then they were on the same page.

  She gave another suck, a harder one, and that was it, that finished him. He came, roaring with his satisfaction.

  After she'd taken everything he had to give, she rose to shaky legs--only to realize she and Blue were floating in midair.

  "Uh, do me a solid and ease us back down," she said even as she tensed, expecting a crash.

  He tucked himself back into his pants and frowned. Then they were drifting to the floor, landing.

  She pulled on her jeans and open
ed her mouth to say . . . what? That can't happen again? Or: Why won't you just do me already?

  Her phone beeped, saving her from having to decide.

  Michael's text. The new mission. "We're to intercept one of Star's employees tomorrow morning."

  Blue nodded. Then, without a word, he stalked from the kitchen.

  "I'm getting tired of watching you walk away," she called.

  He offered no response.

  What did he want from her? What were they to each other?

  What would happen next between them?

  Despite everything, she almost couldn't wait to find out.

  *

  He wasn't having sex with Evie until she trusted him enough to talk about Claire. The more he had of her, the more he wanted from her--and the less she offered. She had things backward, and it was time he turned things around.

  Judging by the one-sided conversation he'd heard when Evie was on the phone, he suspected Michael knew something was going on.

  Blue planned to nut up and tell the man all . . . just as soon as he knew what "all" encompassed. What, exactly, did he want from the girl?

  What would she give him?

  Right now, not much.

  Would disappointing Michael be worth it? Should Blue change his mind about going after her yet again and walk away before anything else was added to his "all" tab?

  His gaze strayed to Evie, who sat across from him in another unmarked sedan. She distracted him, obsessed him, angered him, frustrated him . . . delighted him. With her, he discovered a rare ecstasy.

  He'd once considered her a momentary pleasure. But she wasn't. She was more than that. So he asked himself again: Would disappointing Michael be worth it, no matter how little Evie wanted from him?

  Yeah.

  So no, there would be no changing his mind.

  Think carefully. His game was tomorrow, and the party the day after that. Which meant, in two days he would be turning up the heat on Tiffany Star. The thought left him cold, even disgusted, but he'd never been more determined to break a case.

  His stomach twisted in a thousand tiny knots. In private, he could compel Miss Tiffany to do and think whatever he wished. Sex could be taken off the menu. But in public, he would have to play the part of besotted suitor. There was no way around it.

  How would Evie react to, say, a kiss? End things with him then and there?

  Would oral sex at dinner be nothing more than a fond memory?

  He wanted to howl.

  He would talk to her before the party and make her understand. And he would talk to Michael when things calmed down. He wasn't a coward. He would deal with everything thrown his way.